Shall We Gather On The Patio

So, I was flipping through the channels the other night and I'm almost embarrassed to admit that the particular show that caught my attention was something called "Campmeeting" on the Inspiration Network. It was truly sick. Three old white men who had Grecian-Formula-ed every hair on their ugly-ass heads and were barely able to move their mouths from the tight-faced effect of too much plastic surgery, were sitting outside on a balcony overlooking Jerusalem (yes, the one in Israel) and were taking turns telling viewers why they should call in to their prayer lines (back in South Carolina) and cough up substantial sums of money, because by doing so, like magic, their money troubles would disappear. I know that sentence was pretty fucking long, but it's not nearly as long as the prison sentences those three men deserve for the scam they're running. The only financial troubles that would get "healed" from viewers calling those so-called "prayer lines" to donate money would be those of the preachers, and by preachers, I mean money-grubbing, scum-of-the-earth bottom-feeders. It's hard to imagine that people listen to those snake oil salesmen who actually say the words, "you must obey", but they do and they do! The youngest of the three men, David Cerullo, is president and CEO of the Inspiration Network and here's where he lives:


It's a 12,000-square-foot lakefront bungalo in Lake Keowee, South Carolina, valued at over $2 million. He barely squeaks by on a salary of $1.5 million per year and his whole family is on the payroll. So, yeah, everybody needs to call in and give a little money to help them maintain that meager lifestyle.
Let me just add that I love, love the name of the show, "Campmeeting", designed to bring to mind the old-time tent revival, I'm sure. Sadly, the only things that get revived during this so-called meeting are the bank accounts of those shysters. And why did they travel all the way to Jerusalem to do the patio beg? If they're going for "Jesus-like", then, shit, go all the way...have the crew mike 'em and nail their asses to seven foot crosses and while they hang up there bleeding, they could ask people to call in and donate money. I'd pay to see that.