BENNY HINN KICKS ASS
By Gomer Frito-Lay, Religious Correspondant

Benny Hinn, for those of you who have not jumped hip-deep into the mire of television evangelism, is the master of his craft. And I, like so many Appalachian fuckwits, love him for it.

It all begins with a bright white collar-less suit jacket (reminiscent of Austin Powers' Dr. Evil) over a pair of equally white trousers that can only be described as parachute pants.

He tops it all off with a glorious Donald Trump-style comb-over. It bends, it careens, it swooshes. His hair preoccupies me the way Atlantic City strippers used to, or the way genital warts preoccupy Atlantic City strippers. I have spent whole weekends contemplating its architecture.

Benny Hinn is worth watching not simply because he is an odd character but because he is a rock-em sock-em evangelical nutjob. I promise you your money's worth. He claims to have raised people from the dead, the crazy bastard. He claims every newborn baby is assigned a personal demon that oversees the child until such time as that child is "born again." He even once said, "The Spirit tells me Fidel Castro will die in the '90s."

Hinn is a frequent guest at TBN (Trinity Broadcast Network) where he preaches and cajoles old people out of their pensions. This is something I particularly like about old Benny: ripping off old people. I like it because they deserve it. If at age 70 you are so completely lacking in wisdom that you are willing to fork over your social security check to a guy who is absolutely dripping hucksterism, then good, go hungry.

Ah, but his crusades are where the real action is. He rents out a stadium, charges thirty bucks a head, and proceeds to relieve the multitudes of both their infirmities and the remainder of their ready cash. The usual scenario goes something like this: some aging binge-and-vomit cheerleader claiming to be a tapeworm host volunteers to be dragged up on stage and smacked in the forehead. She goes down like a load of bricks. A few minutes later, she's up and at 'em, praising God and Benny. The crowd roars.

You say this is all bullshit. You are wrong. Keep in mind that he actually gets 50,000 people to spontaneously go apeshit. Willing shills to be sure, but no more so than the 50,000 people who go giddy over Bon Jovi singing "Dead or Alive" for the millionth time. And, to his credit, Benny Hinn doesn't try to pack his old ass into a pair of leather pants like Jon Bon Jovi.

Benny Hinn is a rock star. God I love him.