Need an Exorcism?

Imagine my chagrin this morning when I saw perched ominously atop my usual stack of Gmails complaining about my use of extreme profanity on Good Reads, a Google text ad: “Hearing Random Voices? – Take the Demon Test To Find Out Now If You’re In Need of an Exorcism!”

Um, excuse me, but — like I need a “Demon Test” to tell me if I’m in need of an exorcism? I was a kid in the ’70s. I know fucking well that if I need an exorcism, I won’t get a memo from the Jesus Freaks; the spewing pea soup and a higher-than-usual quantity of priests hurtling out my window will probably be my first clues.

Had I not thought to myself, “What part of the country produces numbskulls like this” and run a WhoIs on the URL, I might have actually have imagined I was turning into a Giant Slug like Leslie Nielsen in this second-season Night Gallery episode I still occasionally have nightmares about. The answer is, Santa Monica, which is a dead giveaway.

Have you ever been to Santa Monica? It is about a hundred feet square and its most notable features are a carousel and a Ferris wheel. There are no crazy religious people in Santa Monica; the wackiest churches there believe perfectly reasonable things about how the President of the Galactic Federation brought billions of people to Earth in DC-8’s and blew them up using hydrogen bombs. All the holy rollers are elsewhere in Los Angeles County.



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