I'll Make The Punk's Day

Occasionally I do what my donors support me to do -- I do missionary work! There's no use in spying for this current regime like I used to for the previous one, spilling the baked beans on where the terrorist camps were dotted about Africa (which the Apartheid armed forces subsequently bombed into oblivion, I must add). And yes, I do still smuggle guns to freedom fighters and mercenaries who are fighting the good fight against Muslims and neo-communists. But I'm talking about the more boring, traditional stuff.

I'm in favour of the career missionary, like myself, who sacrifices his entire life to the missionary cause. How else are we ever going to convert the pagan masses to our Christian way of life? But Christians love the short-term thing and I sometimes allow some of these wannabes to come along with me so I can give them an indelible image of what a real missionary does. Bible in one hand, gun in the other, I march across the heathen continent and preach the Good News and watch the devil run for cover.

The other day a young guy came around to my mission offices and asked to accompany me on a mission. I was convinced he was a secular humanist spy from some New Age organisation, possibly Gun Free South Africa, as soon as I laid my righteous eyes on him. He had long hair, wore surfer attire and sported an ear ring. He also had a tattoo on his forearm: the words "Jesus rocks my world" in some diabolical gothic type.

He almost soiled himself when he entered my office and saw me cleaning a number of weapons while I listened to a modernised version of Onward Christian Soldiers at full volume. "Awesome! That's like lank impressive, bru," he said when he spotted my latest shooting range target pinned to my front door -- six bullet holes all crammed into the bullseye.

After two hours of interrogating him, I was less convinced that he was a spy, and more convinced that I needed to hold him down, shave his head, rip his ear ring out, and remove his tattoo with a sharp knife.

I may still do all of this. I've allowed him to come along with me next week when I lead a short-term mission to one of our mission stations in Zambia. No ways I'm going to let a long-haired punk taint my image and offend God. The little twit doesn't know what's coming his way, but I'm putting on a very friendly face so he remains unsuspecting. I'll keep you posted.

Fight the good fight.