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!