The Battalion. (College Station, Tex.) 1893-current, October 16, 1986, Image 2

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    Page 2/The Battalion/Thursday, October 16,1986
God misquoted, didn’t say Robertson should
The Lord spoke to me the
other night.
“Karl,” He said.
“What?” I answered sleep
ily. It was late and I wasn’t
too sure of who was calling
my name. Practical jokes
abound at this time of night.
“This is God speaking,” he
said, punctuating his
statement with a clap of
thunder. “I’ve got something
I want to say to you.”
I was wide awake. Needless to say I felt obliged
to listen.
“I’ve been misquoted,” he said.
I was worried. If there is anything a journalist
fears it’s someone saying they have been misquot
ed, especially when that someone is extremely im
portant. I couldn’t think of any time that I had
quoted, much less misquoted, the Supreme Being,
but I decided to apologize anyway.
“It’s not you, it’s someone else who made the
mistake,” the Almighty said.
I was relieved to know that I was not responsible
for a mistake that might cause a plague of frogs to
descend upon the land.
“Who was it?” I asked.
“Pat Robertson,” the Lord of Lords replied.
For those of you who haven’t heard, Robertson
said that God told him he should run for presi
dent. Robertson feels that this nation needs God’s
leadership. Since God can’t run for president be
cause he isn’t an American citizen, Robertson has
decided to run in his place. I asked the King of
Kings to explain the details of Robertson’s reli
gious blunder.
“It’s this presidential race,” God said. “One eve
ning Robertson was praying to me, I usually try to
ignore him but he was being pretty persistent. He
asked me if I thought he should run for president,
and I told him I thought he should run for pizza. I
was a little hungry, and I thought I would see if he
would actually do the Lord’s work for a change.”
“So you never told him that he should run for
president?” I asked.
“Heavens no,” the Holy Father said. “Robertson
misunderstood what I said. He has always had a
problem interpreting my word, especially when he
interprets my word for those people who are silly
enough to listen to him.”
I wasn’t too shocked by the revelation, the God
of Robertson’s sermons and the God of the Bible I
have read seemed to be two different Beings.
Since I was the First person since Joan of Arc to
have an exclusive interview with the Creator, I de
cided I had better ask a few more questions.
“Do you ever get involved in politics?” I asked.
“Not usually,” the Great One said. “I like to
think that you people are capable of running your
own affairs without my interference.”
“That’s the beauty of this world,” he said. “If I
wanted everyone to believe one way I wouldn’t
have given you people free choice. That’s why
there are dozens of Protestant sects, Catholics,
gfive me
. a sigh...
* t
Hot funny,
© 9 (
Jews, Moslems, Buddhists, atheists and many dif- and Falwell I wouldn’t have given you pet
ferent philosophies.”
“Does that mean you don’t want our nation to be
ruled by the likes of Pat Robertson, Jimmy Swag-
gart, Jerry Falwell and all the others who say they
are doing/our will?” I asked.
“Of course not,” the Almighty replied. “If I
wanted everyone to follow Robertson, Swaggart
“Do you want to know the worst aspect oft
whole matter?” God asked.
“Certainly,” I said.
“1 still haven’t gotten that pizza.”
Karl Pallmeyer is a senior journalism majorm
columnist for The Battalion.
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Strategic footnotes
Reagan should rea*
top |
and \
William F.
Buckley Jr.
If doctors acted like chiropractors
My secretary,
the multi-talented
and semi-precious
Miss Wanda Frib-
ish, was in a minor
automobile accident recently on her way
to work.
It wasn’t her fault. Nothing is ever
Miss Fribish’s fault. She gave up being at
fault when she joined the women’s
movement and started saying assertive
things like “Out of my face, Pencil-
neck,” and “Take a long walk on a short
pier, Four-eyes.”
A driver attempted to pull into the
lane occupied by Miss Fribish and she
had to take evasive action.
In doing so, the right tires of her car
blew out when she hit against the curb.
Miss Fribish and her car came to a
screeching halt on the sidewalk. Luckily,
she was not harmed.
When she called the office to say she
would be late, however, she was livid
with a rage equivalent to several sticks of
“I don’t blame you for being angry,” I
said to her. “Sounds like a road hog to
“That’s not what made me so mad,
Typewriter-face,” she replied. “While I
was waiting on a tow truck, two chiro
practors stopped and gave me their
“You mean, they solicited your busi
ness right there at the scene of the acci
“Do I stutter, Newsprint-nose? That’s
exactly what happened.
“The First one said, ‘You could have
severe neck and spinal injuries and not
be aware of it. Come by my clinic for a
free initial examination.’ ”
“And what did you say to him?” I
asked Miss Fribish.
) ©tsefe SCEJ pps 4-IOMAI2C2'
' , Otorrep FEATUse siviC?
“I said, ‘Out of my face, Pencil-
neck.’ ”
“And what about the second chiro
“He said the same thing.”
“And you said?”
“I said, ‘Take a long walk on a short
pier, Four-eyes.’ ”
After Miss Fribish told me of her ex
perience, I began to consider what it
would be like if regular physicians ever
became as pushy as chiropractors.
If you watch television, you know that
about every eight minutes there will be a
commercial advertising the services of a
“Come on down, folks, and see Curly
the Chiropractor. Have one vertebra
pushed back in place, get the next one
aligned for free.”
Imagine a medical doctor appearing
on your television screen saying, “Hello,
Dr. Achenot here. If you’ve been feeling
rotten lately call me for an appointment.
Remember our motto: ‘If Dr. Achenot
can’t make you feel better, then you
might as well give up hope and wait to
die.’ ”
And can you imagine doctors solicit
ing in public like Miss Fribish’s chiro
“I see you there with a cigarette in
your mouth, sir. I’m a doctor. Call me
when you get lung cancer.”
Or, in a restaurant: “Excuse me,
Ma’am. I hate to interrupt your meal,
but I’m a doctor, and you look really
sick. It’s probably the heartbreak of pso
riasis. Here’s my card and have a nice
I hope such a thing never occurs, but
you never know. In the meantime, if
you are accosted by an overzealous
chiropractor, remember the words of
Miss Fribish:
“. . . And the horse you rode in on,
Lumbago-breath! ”
Copyright 1986, Cowles Syndicate
Everyone con
cerned with sum
mit diplomacy has
spoken, perhaps
even overspoken,
on Factor A, over
against Factor A
prime, up against
Factor B, which is
disguising the
menace of Factor
B prime. So we
shall dwell on
strategic footnotes.
A mere half-page in the current issue
of Time magazine condenses the mem
oirs of Yelena Bonner. She is the wife of
Andrei Sakharov, the physicist who
gave the Soviet Union the hydrogen
bomb, in due course repented of the be
havior of the government to which he
had given it, and was exiled to Gorky
Five years ago.
We know all about the treatment of
dissidents by the Soviet Union. Recently
we effected the release of two of them,
Yuri and Irina Orlov. It is probable that
we first petitioned for the release of
Sakharov, but the Soviet Union regu
larly uses as a reason for not releasing
him that his mind carries deep secrets of
the kind that might damage the Soviet
Union, were he free to divulge them.
But the thing Sakharov and his wife
carry in their memory has less to do with
variations on E equals MC squared than
on how it is that official Russia deals
with those who are in disrepute, but
who, for complicated international rea
sons, official Russia dares not simply
eliminate (Stalin style), or even sequester
in Siberia (post-Stalin style).
Ever since he was exiled in Gorky,
Sakharov, by one means or another, has
managed to get out this or that detail of
what he has been submitted to, but
never in such detail as now, thanks to his
wife’s brief permission to visit Western
Bonner writes eloquently about what
life is like in Gorky under KGB surveil
lance. But this eye fastens on the Sakha
rovs and their automobile. Yes, they are
one of the few Russians who actually
own a car, a 1976 Somethingorother
(the make is not revealed in the Time
To have a car in the Soviet Union,
even if you are restricted in where you
can go with it, is on the order of having,
in the United States, a newspaper-tele-
gressman. Official Russia didn’t want
simply to remove the car from the Sak-
han>\ s. soil m<Hinted nMcadsomeiliiMji
<m ilic oidci of ,t National v J
the order of
Gouncil Operation Overlord.
1. When Sakharov declared a
strike, the KGB stole the car.
Co; | >1
2. When the Sakharovs proccdiBjT
with their hunger strike (designedioM^I
licit an exit visa for their daughteJLT
law), the KGB called to say, “Ha?:]
Your car has been found! Cornell I
East ( .oi k\ .md gel it!" HieSaMianST^.
knew better than to leave their apar
mem. I
d. So, f rustrated, the KGB broke
the Sakharovs’ apartment and J c J
patched them to hospitals to befcl^ 1
ted A It ri t his w .is if me. tho n:. F f
turned t< > t lien .ipai tment — and.ler® J
behold. . . . B^il
§se \\l
I < >utsi( 1( w ,|s t hell 1,11. On;; ?
strangely misshapen. EverythingcbP 6
that could be wiisi i e\ml was. EvenBFji
ashtrays had been removed. It toolm I
Sakharovs, who could design a spa«® e ^l
hide to Venus in the same period,!®
mont hs to |>iei e it together. pd,
5. Whenever the Sakharovs did
thing displeasing to the KGB,their®
tomobile suffered, in effigy. If Hu
spoke, by whatever means, to a fore r
correspondent, a tire would be slasln
a window fractured. And they were: 1 j, (
they could not pick up hitchhikers L tne
suiting in difficulties. atl | le
6. Once they picked up two old MCade
Their car was stopped, and theN®^j a |
ladies dragged out of it. Anothert®lj t
111 (■ \ saw aiii.m w ilh a ( hildol la,:;
ing with a broken leg. They stoppej 0 j ] (
take them to a hospital. The B®L
rushed into the car, took the vlT £
poutingly delivered the child totk
aid station and cautioned the Sail
rovs: One more of these and you i;
your car, permanently.
Ronald Reagan apparently
have an opportunity to add to hist J
mit agenda four new tires for the»
rovs and a brand-new ashtray,
never be inopportune for thepresif
to hear in mind that, in dealing
General Secretary Gorbachev, I#
dealing with the principal enginefi
ficial Russia. And official Russia
Union of Soviet Socialist Republic
the embodiment of the kindofpf :
who do that kind of thing to that kb
We strung up people liketheseat
remburg, and now we have champ-
with them. Amazing what an in«
of nuclear bombs will do foryou.
Copyright 1986, Universal PressSpdU
1 wl
The Battalion
(USPS 045 360)
Member of
Texas Press Association
Southwest Journalism Conference
The Battalion Editorial Board
Cathie Anderson, Editor
Kirsten Dietz, Managing Editor
Loren Steffy, Opinion Page Editor
Frank Smith, City Editor
Sue Krenek, News Editor
Ken Sury, Sports Editor
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