Some of you may remember my chill born-again Christian landlord from Nit-tastic tales. When I found myself moving back to Las Vegas after 12 years away, I got in touch with him again for a room. I went to him again because his rooms were always cheap, and because I'm lazy and I hate and fear change, and because I had built up little or no credit history in my life up until then and I therefore carried a bad credit score.
When I left Las Vegas in 2006, my landlord owned 25 houses, most of which he rented out by the room. When the housing and financial crisis hit a few years later, he panicked and sold out at rock-bottom prices. Now he owns just his personal house, within which there is a single detached room and bathroom for rent, and this small space is where I live.
What I didn't know about my landlord is that he became much more religious during my absence. As it was, even back during my first stint here, he had been pretty serious about trying to proselytize me into Jesus's loving embrace, but only for a short period of time, because back then I had acquired some New Testament scholarship for myself, but in my case I was hate-studying the Bible, in the same manner that medieval monks used to study books of demonology.
In terms of the New Testament, I've always had some serious issues with Paul, aka St. Paul. Enumerating these issues would go beyond the scope of this post; besides, it's been 20 years or more since I last looked into the matter, and I don't really wish to fall back down that rabbit hole.
Suffice it to say I concluded that Paul was a charlatan and a pathological liar, and if true, that would be important because it was Paul and his various followers in several of his churches who put the New Testament together. They selected which of the Gospels would go in and which would stay out. They had the first cut on the editing, and Paul and his cronies are responsible for the vast bulk of sections which come after the Gospels: Romans, Corinthians, Galatians, Ephesians, Philippians, et al. And these latter sections make up the lion's share of a surprising number of sermons in churches of all denominations. You'd think that the preachers would stick mostly to the Gospels and leave the appendices alone, but they don't, not at all.
Basically, Jesus may be the main character in the New Testament, but Paul is its sometimes-hidden narrator, and he's a classically unreliable version of that. The upshot of my study back then was that I was able to use my knowledge of Paul to get my landlord off my back about Jesus.
Flash forward to tonight, where I'm putting every one of my Stephen King books in boxes to take to a storage facility tomorrow because my landlord feels that they are magically ruining his marriage.
Yep. A while back he was in the room fixing something and he saw them on the shelves. Lately he's been having trouble with his wife and he asked God about it and God told him in no uncertain terms that my Stephen King books are creating a demonic influence in the house which is negatively affecting his marriage.
He is paying for the storage space; I told him that I would not pay to keep my own beloved books stored away from me. He also said that he doesn't want "that Hitler stuff" in his house. By that he must mean Richard J. Evans's three-volume masterpiece of history: The Coming of the Third Reich, The Third Reich in Power, and The Third Reich at War, all of which are fantastic books and essential reading for anyone who doesn't want to see the return of fascism anywhere in the world.
That implicitly means that I have to get rid of everything else to which he would likely object. So now all of the sudden I'm the Pope, and it's the 16th century, and I'm censoring books. So here we go, Roma locuta est, causa finita est.
Fortune Telling with Playing Cards should probably go, but what about The Sivananda Companion to Yoga? Neal Stephenson's The Fall looks pretty harmless, and it takes hundreds of pages to find out that the main character is a cybernetic Miltonian Satan--but the subtitle is or, Dodge in Hell, but that part is written really small.
How about Mike Matusow's Check-Raising the Devil ? I'm prepared to explain how check-raising can be a means of thwarting. How about Nelson's, Streib's and Heston's Kill Everyone poker tournament book? Bad vibes? The sickly green filter on the picture of a thousand poker players in the Amazon Room could imply that some sort of mass murder is about to take place.
There are Lisa Scottoline's Devil's Corner and Douglas Preston's and Lincoln Child's Brimstone--I haven't actually read either of those; they're somewhat rare Advanced Reader copies that I picked up when I was a bookstore manager thinking that they might be worth something some day. Same thing with Dean Koontz's Odd Thomas, still in its plastic. The Koontz title is innocuous enough, so it gets to stay, while Stephen King's On Writing has to go because it's Stephen King.
Then there's Pratchett's and Gaiman's Good Omens. On the cover there's an angel reading a book, but the M in Omens forms itself into a devil's tail, and the subtitle is The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch." Goodbye, Good Omens. Other Terry Pratchett books which have to go: Sourcery and Equal Rites--puns can't save you now--and there's also his Moving Pictures, which sounds fine, but it has a little imp on the cover.
Here are some books that can stay: Cormac McCarthy's No Country for Old Men, his Blood Meridian, and The Road. Of course the existence of a loving God in any of these three books would be a sick, sick joke, but the titles and covers pass the smell test. Finally we have William S. Burroughs's Naked Lunch, a title that's a little risque but far enough removed from deviltry. Let's quote a little passage from Naked Lunch to celebrate.
Johnny extracts a candiru from Mary's **** with his calipers...He drops it into a bottle of mescal where it turns into a Maguey worm...he gives her a douche of jungle bone-softener, her vaginal teeth flow out mixed with blood and cysts...Her **** shines fresh and sweet as spring grass...
Yes, I'm aware that I should should move out of here on principle, but did I happen to mention that I'm very lazy and that I hate and fear change? Also, moving now would be a blow to the bankroll. Also, I care about my landlord as a person and I want to see his marriage work out for him. That's why I'm going to tell him that God told me that he and his wife need marriage counselling; I did hear a very firm voice in my head earlier today telling me exactly that...no joke. And imposing some magical Feng Shui/Marie Kondo theocratic nightmare on me his tenant is not going to spark any more lasting joy than any other placebo, which is never much.
Last edited by suitedjustice; 03-02-2020 at 09:44 AM.