January 1992
And I wasn't always this bitter. But sometimes things can happen to a man in the course of a few minutes that change his entire life. I don't know whether to call it mere coincidence or a portent of things to come (you decide, Dear Reader), but on a steamy summer night (August 16, 1987 -- 10th anniversary of Elvis' death) there was a freak accident down at the Bowl-a-Rama involving a 12-pounder, a ferret, and a fateful jar of Vick's Vap-O-Rub. For the sake of the children who might get a hold of this article, I won't go into the details. Suffice it to say that I was forced to leave work early that night, so I went limping home at about 2:15 a.m.
On the way home, my friend, Parrvin Ray, pulled up in his '76 Trans Am with a couple of skirts in the car and beckoned me over. "Ooh, Spim!" cooed one of the skirts. "We're going to Hardees. Do say you'll come with us."
***Okay, whoa! At this point, I feel it necessary to say that the demeaning and object-like treatment of women in this article does not necessarily reflect the views of this otherwise politically-correct publication. Any letters or rebuting articles can be sent to me, and I will see that Spim gets them, or, if you like, I will publish them. Sorry to interrupt. -- The Editor ****"Yeah!" Parvin shouted. "They've got all-you-can-drink ice tea for 79 cents, and, dammit, I'm gonna drink enough tea to kill a small goat!" But I digress.
I arrived at my trailer just in time to polish off half a case of Schlitz and catch the last 10 minutes of my favorite rerun of "Bill Dance's World o' Fishing" -- the one where he keeps holding up a purple and green spotted skunk-top spinner lure and saying "Boy, does it catch fish!" After a few 1-900 commercials, a gospel show came on called "Success In Life" starring Robert J. Tilton. I was so intrigued by his hair that I hung up on Bambi just 3 minutes and $40 into the call and watched the show for awhile. Reverend Tilton began the program by faith-healing a woman with an inner-ear infection as well as some guy with an ailing stock portfolio. He did this by laying his hands on the afflicted person (or, in the case of Miss Inne-Ear Infection, all over the afflicted person) and screaming "BE HEALED!" Then he bagan speaking in tongues -- oh, what I'd give to be bilingual like that.
But the show took an upward turn when Reverend Tilton introduced Wilma Pearl Pickett from Toadsuck, Arkansas, who once found herself in a downward spiral remarkably similar to my own. He said that Miss Pickett's only problem was that she had not "released her faith" with a $100 donation to his ministry. Once she did this, God showed her which direction her life needed to take. "You, too, will be shown the way as soon as you release your faith," Brother Tilton promised. "Aces!" I thought. "This is my big chance! I'm gonna get out of this trailor park, dead or alive!" I decided to release twice as much faith as the Toadsuck, Arkansas, woman by sending a $200 pledge. It was tax deductible, and besides, he took VISA.
4 - 6 weeks later, I recieved my package in the mail from brother Tilton:
1) My very own "Success In Life" membership card. He spelled my name "Spam
Rimsley", but I was ebullient none the less.
2) My very own lifesize poster
of the Reverend Tilton with his hand held out toward me like one of the Supremes
singing "Stop, In The Name Of Love." This was so I could touch his hand and
make use of his healing powers in the comfort of my own home, and without having
to wait until 2:30 in the morning.
3) My very own t-shirt bearing the image
of Christ, His arms outsttetched, floating in the heavens among billowy white
clouds and all manner of cherubim and seraphim with a caption beneath that read,
"My Saviour came back from the dead, and all I got was this lousy t-shirt."
The next day, proudly sporting my new t-shirt, I stood in front of the mirror and realized for the first time in my life that I looked good -- damn good! I was so inspired that I even made the sign of the cross. I ain't Catholic or nothing, but I figured, "What the hell?" I put on my derby, splashed a ladle-ful of Aqua Velva onto each cheek, and set out to paint the town. First stop -- K-Mart.
As I was paying for my Slurpee, a blue light pulsating in the corner of my eye served as a startling reminder: "Jeepers! My dad's wedding is next week, and I don't have a present!" I headed straight for the flashing beacon like a frat boy to a drunk cheerleader. My jaw fell slack and agape in utter shock and indignation as I realized that the Blue Light Special of the day was a whole rack of T-shirts just like the one I was wearing FOR ONLY $9.95 APIECE!!
My first reaction was one of violence as I rent my shameful garment and screamed words I never even knew existed before. But as the 5 saucy rent-a-cops dragged me out of the store, I stole one of their pens and found my calling: I would be the chronicler of my generation's injustices, a lone pinnacle among a forest of Robert Tiltons. Just as that blue light guides K-mart shoppers to better values, so, Dear Reader, shall I guide you to The Truth. I'm Spim Ramsley, and these are my thoughts.