Shalampax Speaks

Bentteaspoon, the owner of Cherrelig Corp, a cult religion company that owns the Cherism cult religion, is having a spiritual crisis. I know because he came to me seeking advice.

I’m always amazed to learn that these simpering, whimpering, whiny little losers think that, because I write the spirituality column here at Shalampax Speaks, I’m somehow qualified to help them with their spiritual calamities. Idiots!

Don’t these jerks know anything about journalism? I’m not an expert in spirituality, or anything else for that matter. I don’t consult experts either. Instead, I make this crap up. Anything else would be far too much work.

Hey, I’ve got a life. What did you expect?

Anyway, it seems that Bentteaspoon is desperately depressed over the fact that his firm is the smallest cult religion company in Shalampax. Cherrelig Corp is his only business so, unlike the other cult religion company owners, each of whom has bank accounts with balances totaling several billion dollars, Bentteaspoon’s net financial worth amounts to a measly $1.5 billion. His financial insignificance is eating away at him.

As for his non-financial worth, I wouldn’t give you a red cent for it. And who the hell wants red cents?

What bothers me is, I can’t understand why his cult religion is doing so poorly. Cherism has everything that about half of the world’s population—those pigs that sometimes go by the label of men—could possibly want in a cult religion.

Cherism has a God. You have to have a God. That frees parishioners from the need to think.

But a God can be a real pain in the ass. He or She makes a bunch of rules then watches over you to make sure you follow them. And if you don’t? Oh boy, there’s going to be some wild hurting and smiting going on then. Fortunately, this isn’t a problem for Cherists because their God is asleep.

But what Cherism really has going for it is strippers. Cherists are expected to frequent strip clubs as part of their religious adherence.

Considering the strippers, I would have thought that guys would be flocking to this cult religion in record numbers and shipping off every penny they have as religious donations. But, apparently, that’s not the case. So now Bentteaspoon is feeling inconsolably inadequate when he compares himself to his industry peers. Well, boohoo.

My normal policy is to never help losers with their problems. If I do, then when their downward spiral not only continues, but accelerates to the darkest depths of the well of human suffering, as it inevitably must despite any advice that I or anyone else can give them, they blame me for it. Who the hell needs that?

Nevertheless, I decided to make an exception in this case. Bentteaspoon was clearly close to rock-bottom in his pit of despair. I didn’t give a damn about that, but I was hoping to get this poor sap into bed. (A gal’s got to do what a gal’s got to do.) However, if I knew that if I couldn’t cheer this guy up, at least a little, there was no way he was going to get it up.

I put on my best I’m-here-for-you face. Damn, that was difficult. I’m not much of an actress.

“Bentteaspoon,” I said, “money isn’t the ultimate measure of spirituality or happiness.”

I haven’t any idea what the ultimate measure of spirituality or happiness is. In fact, it probably is money, but I didn’t think telling Bentteaspoon that was going to help. Fortunately, he was too empty-headed to think to ask me to expand on the subject.

“So what if the other cult religion owners have several billion dollars more than you have?” I asked. “What would you do with a few billion more, anyway? There’s nothing worth spending it on here in Shalampax.”

I don’t think my words consoled him much, but he seemed to enjoy the sex, even if it did take his little soldier a while to salute.