Skip to main content

Holy Crap: Jack Van Impe Presents

Many of you probably aren't aware of the miraculous fun to be found on Christian television. You likely have three or four or more of these channels being beamed into your home free of charge, but you skim by them as quickly as your sinful fingers will carry you. I'm here to suggest that you pause a moment and revel in the horrifying display. I vow that you won't be sorry, because finding entertainment on Christian television is as easy as drowning in the river Jordan. Consider this a covenant.

Let's begin with Jack Van Impe. I quit believing in God when I was 14, and I started watching Jack Van Impe Presents at around the same time. For a kid hooked on the horror of The Omen, Jack was like manna from heaven. He would sit there and predict the end of the world every week. And, sonofabitch, he's still doing it over 20 years later.

The format of the show is delightfully unchanged after all these decades. Jack's chronically chipper wife, Rexella, reads brief excerpts of news stories from the last week. She then asks Jack what the stories mean. Jack explains that the stories mean that Jesus is returning at around midnight. Rexella praises Jack for his brilliance. Jack chuckles in acceptance of the praise. Then, they throw it to an announcer who hawks DVDs and books.

Rexella Van Impe fascinates me. She's a perfectly Stepford kind of wife. Seemingly. I have my dark fantasies, though. I think that when the studio lights are dimmed, Rexella stays behind to light the black candles and sharpen the knives. I imagine that she sacrifices bunnies and plays naked Twister with Satan. But maybe that's just me.

I remember when Jack seemed certain that Pope John Paul II was the Antichrist, but then that Pope up and died without taking the rest of us with him. These days, Jack likes to insinuate that President Obama is the Evil One. He's a bit cagey about it, though. I suppose that when you've been predicting that one world leader after another is the Antichrist for many years, and they all fail to live up to their devilish potential . . . well, that's enough to make even the best prophet a little gun-shy.

Jack bills himself as “The Walking Bible” because he's memorized over 16,000 bible verses. Cool. I guess that means I can call myself “The Walking Elvis Costello”. Someone tell Elvis to sit down. Jack also likes to condemn our dreadful modern ways, so at least we have that in common. On a recent program, Jack came down on modern churches “with their rock bands and chorus lines and lattes on Sunday mornings”. That's what I'm talking about. Religion ain't fun if it ain't crazy, and Jack is nothing if he's not crazy.

Fearless reader, stop depriving yourself. Get to know Jack.  Before it's too late . . . 

Tell 'em why, Rexella.

Comments

  1. I love your article and agree w/ you on everything.

    Allow me to quote the song "The Reflecting God", "Light a candle full of sinners. Set the world on fire". This includes Jack Van Impe and his wife. Can someone prescribe them a cup of STFU?!

    ReplyDelete
  2. He must quote all 16,000 of those memorized verses during each episode of that show of his.

    You think he would start picking world leaders that most of us would agree are at least dastardly, if not evil. He's had plenty to choose from.

    Then again, there are an alarming number of people jumping on the Obama = Old Scratch bandwagon.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Since you wrote this article Jack Van Idiot has had a massive brainfart & his memorized bible verses has dropped to 15000 only to be replaced by hundreds of "coded time events". But to find out what those are you'll hafta buy his "jvi prophecy bible" which is a bible he wrote himself, in red letter crayon to support his non-existant weekly end of the world.

    Trivia: his basset hound voiced announcer is called Chuck Ohman as in "Oh man I can't believe I'm still reading this shit on tv!!!"

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Sporting Crap: Athletic Napping

Spiking The Pillow I don’t often praise the lobotomized jackals that run our television networks, but they do deserve credit for one great service.   They really know how to facilitate a nap.   This is especially evident when it comes to televised sports, many of which seem to exist merely to put the audience to sleep.   How can insomnia hope to triumph when faced with the following forms of athletic Ambien? Golf Next to competitive accounting and synchronized typing, golf is the most boring spectator sport in existence.   It seems odd that an activity invented by men for the sole purpose of escaping from their wives for an entire day should become a televised event, but here it is.   There is little about golf that isn’t conducive to swift sleep.   The limp ping of the ball as it’s struck.   The funereal silence of the crowd.   The gentle whisper of the announcer.   I’ve been hopped up on an afternoon of speed and fear, only to find Morphean solace by the second hole.  Th

Merry Crapmas!

The following tale is as true as my memory allows. It occurred four years ago in the City of Indians, where we often drink too much and do stupid things. I’m sure that life is nothing like that where you live. While not directly related to the birth of little baby Jesus, the story is ultimately His fault, because He failed to come to my aid in a timely fashion.  Up your nose with a rubber hose, little baby Jesus.  It all began at the company Christmas party, a place famous for the bad decisions it inspires.  I chalk it up to a year's worth of proletarian frustration exploding into a burst of revolutionary stupidity.  This party, however, did not seem likely to descend into proper bacchanalia. I sat in a downtown bar surrounded by boring, witless people who spoke constantly of nothing.  As nature abhors a vacuum, so I abhor the vacuous.  I escaped the inanity by drinking and drinking and drinking. And, when the party was over, I remained in the bar with two of my least o