Bombproof

In the 80s, we had a far more widespread culture of suspicion in SA than we do today. Whites were suspicious of their own shadows -- because they were black. And blacks were suspicious of whites, because they had black shadows. I was suspicious of everyone, including myself at times. So I made sure that our mission post was delivered to a church up the road from our small, inconspicuous office that just happened to be in the same street as a conservative evangelical church.

Well, times have changed ... but not that much. People are still deeply suspicious of people like me; and I am still profoundly suspicious of everyone, but I've come to accept that I'll always have a dark shadow. So when we moved our mission office to a bigger but equally inconspicuous suburban house, I felt that our mail still could not be delivered to our door. Who knows, the postman could easily be a commie bastard spying for the regime. Or worse, an atheist assassin who may try unsuccessfully to take me out but perhaps fatally wound one of my staff members.

Turns out my decision to have our post delivered to the old lady's address two houses from our mission office was God-inspired. This morning, a letterbomb exploded in her postbox.

I usually get to the office bright and early and make sure I collect the post from her box before she does -- the old wrinkled dinosaur is still completely unaware that her postbox is shared by the secretive people down the road. So this morning I'm a little late because Liberty was having a series of convulsions near the rose bushes -- I thought he was demon possessed at first, but now I suspect the repeated hits to the head during paintball. I've got to stop using those frozen pellets.

But I digress ...

So I'm speeding down the road toward the mission office, when I see the old duck strolling down the path in her dressing gown. Towards the postbox. I screeched to a halt, rolled out in dramatic special forces fashion, dived over her thankfully low fence and shoved her facedown onto the wet lawn. Just in time. The postbox exploded in a million lethal fragments of wood and metal. A letterbomb. Obviously an assassination attempt. And obviously not a hit on the old lady.

I debriefed the traumatised fossil, making her believe that some rebellious pagan child from up the road had detonated one too many firecrackers in her postbox and that I would be teaching the little swine a good lesson. She knows all about the paintball episode last Halloween -- my version, of course -- and so is in favour of me administering righteous discipline on kids who follow the Dark Lord.

I've built her a new postbox made from the same material used to build the space shuttle. The next letterbomb that goes off will hardly dent the postbox and will definitely sound like a substandard Pakistani firecracker exploding several blocks away. If I happen to be delayed by another one of Liberty's demon-like convulsions, she'll simply assume a hungry pack of snails ate her mail.

Fight the good fight. And please send emails rather than normal post ... I can't be held responsible for your incinerated mail.

Free State

So they've thrown another worthless politician into prison. They should throw away the key, but instead of life imprisonment like he deserves for being the crook and atheist that he is, he'll get treated like a VIP and be out on parole before his wife even misses him. (If I know this corrupt government, they'll probably sneak her in to give him some special conjugal pleasures while the other inmates have to do themselves.)

My opinions are quite transparent and obvious: every black commie politico should be locked up for life. But there's a bigger issue here -- what are we to do about our overcrowded prisons and out-of-control crime rate? It's just going to cost the God-fearing, mostly-law-abiding tax payer more and more to send away these thieving, raping, murdering buggers. Here's my solution ...

Let's create a giant shooting range. I suggest the Free State -- and we don't change the name, just because of the irony. We build a huge electrified fence around the whole province, give all the God-fearing mielie farmers nice new farms somewhere else, and then put all the criminals and commie politicians inside. We can then have human-hunting safaris -- I'm sure right wingers from the US will pay a mint for my new and improved version of canned hunting. I sure as hell would spend much of my donor-sponsored funds on this live target shooting. Beats chasing Liberty, my Sudanese-convert garden boy, around the garden with my paintball gun.

Eventually we'll wipe out all the criminals and atheist politicians and the mielie farmers can have their province back. I think Jesus may just decide to come back to this regenerated land rather than Israel.

Fight the good fight.

A Buttock Is Fair Game

A concerned reader of my blog has questioned why on earth I would strip-search my Sudanese convert gardener. Umm, wasn't I clear about that? I suspected that he had stolen some paintball pellets. And yes, I did find a pellet -- but I thought it would have been lodged up his rectum, when in fact it was buried in his left buttock. I just had to be sure.

Before I get a small cyberstorm of demands to explain, allow me to explain.

You may remember that I was just a little incensed at the remote possibility that the porn drop on my missionary website may have resembled a well-hung Sudanese convert giving my wife a good seeing to. So I tried out my new frozen paintballs dipped in battery acid on Liberty during family paintball. It obviously works pretty well, as the pellet lodged in his ass proves.

I removed the offending piece of shrapnel with a pair of tweezers and his wound has healed remarkably. These guys from North Africa are very resilient. He's been debriefed and we've worked through the forgiveness issues -- he understands that I needed to vent my frustrations and experiment on a lesser human before attempting to do so on one of my fundamentalist pastor buddies in a few weeks time at our annual Fundamentalist Paintball-athon.

Fight the good fight.

PS I'm now very sure that Liberty is not the porn star I thought he was. I found the same offending picture on a very popular porn site [I was doing research]. Turns out it's a famous black porn star from Jamaica, not Sudan. I've always said blacks all look the same.

Mistaken Identity

[Word deleted] it! Turns out I did make frontpage news for my heroic citizen's arrest of a highway stone-throwing terrorist. But the newspaper skewed the truth -- as usual. According to them, it was a racist attack on an innocent youngster trying to cross the highway. Some motorist -- obviously a commie sympathising atheist satanist bastard -- reportedly saw the whole event unfolding like a big budget action movie. I supposedly screeched to a halt on the highway, narrowly avoiding a huge car pile-up, and then ran like a beserk, demon-possessed lunatic across the road and rugby-tackled an innocent kid on the side of the road. And then I supposedly proceeded to assault him in the most violent racist attack the motorist has seen since the riot police days under apartheid, tied him up and threw him in the back of my vehicle and tore off at high speed. The last part was accurate, at least.

There are no innocent black kids standing on the side of the highway. They're all potential stone-throwing terrorists. I did the city a favour by arresting him, whether he was the stone thrower or not. At least now he knows that a life of terror will catch up with him, should he choose to follow the devil.

I plan to send this newspaper article to my American guest as an example of how I've again been persecuted for preaching the gospel. This will be splashed on every right wing fundamentalist Christian newsletter and website to prove that whites should have never surrendered power to the commies.

Fight the good fight. Complete world domination is a stone's throw away.

Stone Throw Away From Hell

I can't wait until Christians like me take dominion of the world. I'm praying it's in my lifetime. Other than the obvious benefits of ruling the planet for Jesus, the one thing I'm really looking forward to is stoning people to death who refuse to do things my way ... I mean, God's way. Just like we're instructed to in the Law of Moses As Interpreted By Pete.

This hit home quite literally yesterday evening while I was driving an American guest speaker back to the airport. I had flown him out to the country to speak about the importance of carrying weapons and using them against evildoers. So while we were travelling the infamous highway to the airport, I was as military alert as I've ever been, but the flying brick hurled from the side of the road almost caught me off guard. I said *almost*. The little heathen bastard was hiding behind a bush and I didn't see him before the missile was about two metres from impact. I've taken a few advanced driving courses, so with the combination of my driving skills and my superhuman reflexes, I managed to avert total disaster. The brick would have struck my American passenger in the head and sent him home to Jesus in a split second if I was not the driver. But I was. And he's still alive and on his way safely home to the American South.

The hurtling brick from hell smacked the side of the vehicle instead of the side of my guest's precious dome. As long as it took my vehicle to make a spectacular skidding halt on the side of the road and for my door to fly open, I had rolled out in a graceful manouvre with my weapon drawn. The little heathen bastard hardly had time to soil his pants before I had pinned him down and administered a good few righteous backhands.

I tied him up, threw him in the back of my vehicle, dropped off the very impressed American who promised to raise even more support for my mission work when he got back to the Land of the Free and the Brave, and then dropped off the brick thrower at the nearest police station. I'm sure I'll finally be front page news as the hero I am rather than the villain of the peace people imagine I am.

Despite the wicked behaviour of this heathen brick thrower, I've been left with an indelible image of how glorious it will be when the righteous take dominion of the world and we can legally stone the godless who refuse to convert. I'll make sure this little idiot gets the first brick.

Fight the good fight.

Below The Red Radar

BG invited her commie father to a mission braai yesterday. It was a carefully orchestrated event that may easily become material for a spy thriller one day -- I've been thinking more and more that I should start a film production company to take back that godless industry and spread some God-fearing instead of Christ-hating. I'll change Hollywood to Holy-wood.

But I digress, as usual ...

So BG's father came to the braai with his bottle of whiskey and enough meat to feed a small but hungry tribe of cannibals in Borneo. I had to send one of my staffers to buy more wood. As I was saying, we had spent many days and nights planning this day. We posed as an NGO that builds houses for the poor and just happens to be Christian. I knew this would help us fly under the commie bastard's radar. Just in case he recognised me from all the media publicity I've gotten over the years, I went under a false name and even grew a beard for the occasion. My warrior wife said I looked a lot like Chuck Norris and even screamed out his name while we were getting intimate in the missionary way the night before. I was quite happy to be associated with my film hero, even if my wife was acting like a right whore. Certainly did wonders for my performance.

I digress, again ...

So BG's politician father was none the wiser and fell for our righteous deception hook, line and boerewors. I think the whiskey helped as well. These commie swine can only drink like alcoholic fish ... I had to bite my lips raw restraining myself from quoting countless verses from the Bible about the folly of drunken debauchery, but then again, what else can we expect from unbelievers? So I sipped my grapejuice and listened to how he was working on ways to make even more money from the 2010 World Cup. Thieving bastard. I knew these commies were all crooks ... the NP would never have lined their pockets if they were still in power.

He drank a lot, ate more than a small tribe of hungry cannibals and told some very off-colour jokes. But they were at the expense of gays, so I didn't have to put on my laugh. It was genuine! I even memorised at least five of his jokes to tell in my Bible study about the abomination of homosexuality next week.

By the end of the evening, we had found out a few bits of information that will come in really handy in the future. Like which high-ranking government officials actually have shares in the porn industry and how I can make use of existing loopholes to hold onto my small armoury of weapons without falling foul of the law.

I've invited him to a staff paintball event in a few days time. I may try out a few of those frozen paintballs soaked in battery acid that I used on Liberty the other day. He'll never see it coming, but he'll sure as hell feel it.

Fight the good fight.

Black Friday

This post has nothing to do with my new receptionist recruit. It has nothing to do with porn, funny enough. Then it would have been a blue Friday, dummy. No, when I say black, I'm not talking about race but the colour of the hearts of those out to get me.

Turns out my favourite war story, that of me being a sniper in the special forces, is all a figment of my imagination. Well, that's what my slandering accusers will have everyone, including my American Christian donors, think about me. That I'm actually a bit loony and have made up a whole bunch of lies about myself. That I wanted to be a legendary war hero, but never was, so made up some hogwash adventure tales to paint a rambo image of myself.

At the risk of repeating myself, these are all [word deleted] lies. Lies, lies, [words deleted] lies!!

I was a sniper for Jesus. I did take out unsuspecting terrorists before I was saved. Then when Jesus saved my soul, I decided to blow their kneecaps off rather than kill them. Then I'd make them confess their sins -- at the threat of death, obviously -- and if they surrendered their lives to Jesus, I let them live for God. If they stubbornly refused to adopt the white man's religion and continued to embrace their atheist commie beliefs, I'd put them out of their misery and sent them to Hell.

Now who in their right mind would not believe a story like this?

Never mind. I have always said, the best defense is a good offense. So I'm going to write yet another book with a crappy cover about how the compromising church is trying to silence a faithful warrior of the Lord.

Fight the good fight. If the Lord is for us, who can be against us?

Smash And Repent

I know you're not supposed to gloat at the demise of the wicked, but I can't help it this time. Okay, I can never help it. I rejoice when God-haters get a taste of what they can expect in eternity.

I read a newspaper article a few days ago that really got me smiling. A sports car was all but totalled when the idiot driving it slammed it into the side of a road -- speed and booze are the apparent reasons for the once awesome beast of a car now lying in a crumpled wreck in some scrap yard.

The driver apparently bolted. Don't blame him.

But here's the part that got me whooping with joy. The car -- a four million rand Italian sports car -- was licensed to an adult sex shop. Ha! You see? Crime does not pay, and neither does porn. Next time I stage a placard-wielding protest outside a sex shop, I will be waving giant laminated posters featuring images of the wrecked sports car with a dire warning of Turn From Porn Or Prepare For A Climactic Catastrophe in illuminated letters.

As you can see, I'm not into this love the sinner, but hate the sin thing. That's just pussy-footing around evil. Confront the sinner, I say, with the fiery warnings of God's Word and then you'll see some results.

Fight the good fight.

Blue Monday

I was met with the most disgusting sight this morning as I turned on my PC to check my email. As soon as I log on, my computer automatically takes me to my ministry's homepage. I may be more conservative than the Amish, but when it comes to advancing God's cause, I have no qualms about using technology. The same cannot be said of the Amish.

As I was saying, I had one of those blue Mondays. But when I say blue, I don't simply mean a depressing it's-back-to-work-the-weekends-over kind of thing. I don't feel depressed to get on with the Lord's work, so I have to be talking about something else. Which I am. This is it .... blue as in PORN!!

At first I thought I had been misdirected to a porn site because of some *research* I'd been doing over the weekend, but it turns out that some diabolical servant of the dark lord hacked into my missionary website. And to make matters worse, he/she did not simply make his/her/it's evil presence known like some hackers do. This wicked spawn of Satan posted the most disgusting porn images I've seen in a long time where there once were only pages of all my glorious exploits for Jesus in darkest Africa. And to add insult to injury, it looked a lot like Liberty giving my wife a good seeing to. I can't be certain, but that Sudanese convert's privates are not that private -- I have had to strip-search him on a number of occasions when I suspected him of stealing a paintball or two (I guess I'd do the same if I was the family's moving paintball target).

I don't suspect my faithful wife of becoming a porn star in a moment of insane weakness. But I've deleted all the porn vomited from the pits of hell onto my website, so I'll never know the truth. I'll have to undergo some secret psycho therapy to delete the images from my mind, and with it all traces of suspicion. But before I undergo this reformating of my mental hard drive, I'll be trying out some frozen paintball pellets dipped in battery acid on Liberty this afternoon during family paintball.

Fight the good fight.

Crouching Tiger, Hidden Gold

Turns out my black receptionist is also a black belt in karate. I can't believe how much God has blessed me by appointing her as my affirmative action receptionist, crack sharpshooter and personal bodyguard. But there has been a small mishap in the office, which thank-you-Jesus wasn't as bad as it could have been.

You see, Black Gold, or BG as we call her around the office, had not met my wife until yesterday afternoon. My kids were all at a birthday party -- a paintball theme, to my great approval -- so she popped into the office quickly to say hi. I was briefing my receptionist about some particular typing tasks I wanted her to attend to, when my wife approached very quietly from behind. I am familiar with the unique sound of her footsteps, so I thought nothing of it. But before I knew what the blazes was going on, BG had pushed me aside, and in one swift movement that would have impressed Chuck Norris, kicked my wife's feet from under her and pinned her to the ground. A beautiful, violent movement that could easily have inspired a multitude of martial art films.

Driven by sheer instinct, I launched myself at BG and we spent the next few minutes wrestling on the floor while my shocked wife looked on in mild horror.

Once I had successfully constrained BG -- she fights like a wild beast, I'm proud to say -- I was able to introduce her to my wife. Not quite the scenario I had planned for their first meeting. (Praise be to God, my wife was so confused by the swiftness of the attack that she didn't observe how much I enjoyed the floor wrestling.)

Fight the good fight. And if you're a potential terrorist out to get me, be warned that I am well protected.

The Interrogator

My "Black Gold" receptionist has proven her worth already. She narrowly missed my all-time record at the shooting range yesterday, and only because I had primed one of my staff members to shout out, "Is that an ANC flag over there?" as she was about to blast her last round into the centre of the bulls-eye. The shot flew wildly in the direction the staff member was frantically pointing at -- good thing those commie bastards hadn't really hoisted their diabolical flag. Someone would have tasted some ex-terrorist lead in their [word removed].

But her real value is her hostile telephone manner. It fits perfectly with my over-all image as the bad-boy of ultra-conservative Christianity. By bad-boy, I'm not referring to the Halloween paintball incident or the alleged sexual misconduct [all lies, by the way, if you read my earlier blog posts]. I'm talking about the anal-retentive, bad-tempered prophet image that I have. You have to be this way when dealing with pornographers and secular humanists. They don't understand any other language. Tough love!

So if you call and ask for me, do not be intimidated by the telephonic interrogation you will receive. If you've ever seen movies where the bad guys are tortured mercilessly until they cough up the necessary info ... well, magnify the way these sorry bastards feel and you'll have an inkling of how my receptionist will make you feel. But be bold as the Lion of Judah! Simply state loudly and rapidly, "I love Jesus, I hate commies, I hate homos, I hate everything Pete hates!!" You'll be put through immediately.

Fight the good fight. Speak to you later ... if you make it past The Interrogator!

Black Gold

At long last ... I can now proudly state that my organisation is multi-racial. After weeks of tireless interviews, I finally struck gold.

I finally found the perfect replacement receptionist. And she is black. What a brilliant stroke of luck, a black woman who packs a gun, can shoot almost as well as me, hates Communism, humanism, evolutionism, homosexualism, paganism, secularism, antichristism and every other evil-ism. Before she answers her first call, however, I need to have pre-warned my entire support base that when they hear 'yebo' on the other side of the line, they have not got the wrong township number.

Here's the beauty of it all ... this woman used to be a trained ANC terrorist. Somewhere along the line, she found one of my millions of tracts distributed in the 80s on one of my many cross-border *evangelistic* crusades. She kept it secretly hidden -- at one stage, in an unmentionable orifice -- and the seeds I planted grew in the darkness until one day emerged a cactus of righteousness that will withstand the most scorching onslaught of wickedness. In short, she repented of her evil ways and surrendered her life to Jesus. Thank goodness for my tract, which helped her to realise that a true Christian does not need to disarm, but simply change sides.

So now I have hired her as my new receptionist. But this is a glorious smokescreen ... she is also going to act as a political spy in enemy terroritory. You see, her father is a leading political figure. And he thinks she is simply doing some charitable Christian work, not working for Paintball Pete. The Bible does speak of God blinding the eyes of the wicked ... perfect example of a modern miracle. Or righteous deception, if you will.

Fight the good fight.