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My teacher has a pretty sweet theory tattooed just above the crack of her chin cleft (facial tramp stamp): “Any businessman who can pry dough from The Christian Church will grow happily fat on all the succulent baby lambs he can slurp, as the rest of the sad, sorry world crumbles into damp dead dust.”

I have Product Plan. I have purchased ad space in a few hundred thousand copies of The Glorious Holey Bible [sic] and posted an ad inside (ad text is below). I need you to write up a Business Proposal that outlines a plan to raise money from churches to fund my product.

Let’s face it World, your young child is going to stumble upon porn on the Internet. It is going to happen—no use arguing that. So, don’t you want your child laying his eyes on pornography that shares the same wholesome values that you do? Yup! So pack your ‘puter with Filthright Erotic Videos from Acculove Productions. The individuals in our hardcore videos are all gender appropriate duos with an ethnically matching member of the opposite sex. Prior to every muscular, graphic seed drenched session of sex, the couple is portrayed in a romantic, neutral setting– falling in love, sharing a deep spiritual bond, engaging in a healthy normalized social life, being joined in holy matrimony in a house of the Lord (Episcopalians need not apply) and vowing before God and family that the intercourse they are about to engage in will be purely for the purposes of procreation. Only after a brief tithing ceremony do they touch. Our couples then serenely, respectfully make meaningful love in a strictly vaginal missionary format. Our actors do not fuck, ball, hump, bang or knock the bottom out of a sweet assed gash of nappy dugout. Our savior (God) is mentioned softly every few minutes at first and then louder and more frequently as the march of time strides towards its explosive ejaculatory conclusion when His Glorious Name is screamed out with aplomb. After a few stiff moments of awkward silence presented in glorious Real Time® the woman gathers the bed sheets, douses them with lighter fluid, stuffs them into the fireplace and sets them alight. She rocks frozen mesmerized by the ominous flickering licks of orange light that dance across her softly quivering face and lips. Confused, dissatisfied, and on the brink of tears, the woman then slips out of her silk robelet, absconds with her favorite tall plastic bottle of soothing body wash and steps into a steamy shower where she scrubs and scrubs but never gets clean. These eloquent visual passages are inter-cut with shots of the man, finding and pulling on his crumpled boxer shorts and staggering to his desktop computer where, after activating his wireless internet DSL connection, and insuring that the soft gush of the shower in the next room will render his new bride out of contact for the moment, slouches in his office chair and navigates his browser towards a site which contains 14th Century Biblical depictions of young adults in strenuous physical situations. Thumbing absently at his decreasingly flaccid member, the man evolves into furious pumping at his shaft until, head back, spine erect, and hard of breath his still moistened wifelet finds herself the gasping witness of his abuse. Flush with yelping spasms of uncontrollable weepling release, she blindly pads her frantic way out the front door of their modest bungalow and into the middle of the street in the inevitable furious path of a roaring yellow school bus. The children are still screaming by the time the man finds his way out to the ruckus and sifts through the crimson hunks and goo that once represented his lifepartner, searching for some impossible sign of a pulse. Grief stricken, the man rushes back into the house, pulls on a set of properly pressed seasonally appropriate conservative clothes and drives carefully and consciensciously towards an economically faltering part of town. He makes his way to the back entrance of a flashing worn palace marked “Peep Show”. He gets a stack of $20’s from the ATM and goes into a booth. He sticks the first $20 in the slot and the screen comes up revealing, through a window a small, loving family eating together and exchanging pleasantries. They peek at the riveted hypnotized audient subtly. The man then picks up the phone extension and says to the family, “I want you to comfort the kid. Reassure him.” The family dutifully dotes on the young one in a real and decent manner. The child beams. The man says into the phone, “Tell him that he can do what ever he wants in life… Say ‘ The whole world is your oyster’.” Upon hearing this, the ‘dad’ punches a small red ‘security’ button mounted under the table and a big bouncer busts into the booth, barking “Come on fella, no funny stuff. You’re outta here creep, let’s go.” And hustles the man out. As the man is bullied out the door, a dozen oysters fall out of his jacket pocket to the floor where they wheeze and suck and slimily scatter oceanward. This we have found to be an effective means of starting your kin on the proper clearheaded path that shimmers as it climbs towards the Kingdom of Heaven. $39.95

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