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Devils at 35,000 Feet

by Reverend E. Dwayne Looper


My story is hard to believe, but it is true and I swear it is true on my mother's Bible.

I once boarded a plane to speak at Ken and Gloria Copeland's "The Godly Man" convention in Missoula, Missouri. I found myself seated next to a religious priest of some kind. I knew from his dress that he was a false Satanic cultist posing as a Christian of some kind. This is what he looked like:

The Devil Masquerades as an Angel of Light

Now take a good look, my beloved brethren, for this is the face of a Devil. That he is dark-skinned is enough to make one suspicious in this day and age. Now, I'm not saying that a negro or a Mexican or one of them Arabs can't be saved. What I am saying is that the dark-skinned races tend to use more drugs and alcohol and so they are a lot more liable to get possessed by Satan. You see, drugs and alcohol -- and sex -- are doorways Satan uses to get into people. That's why dark-skinned people are so much more wicked than light-skinned people. There is lust in dark skin, and maybe it's, oh, what's that excuse queers use? Jean something. Let me look here in my file called "LIES OF THE DEVIL. "Ah, here it is, it's the word genetic. That's the word. Genetics is a lie when it comes to trying to evade the sin of being a sodomite or a lesbian, but maybe it could be an excuse for craving alcohol or drugs inasmuch as our flesh is fallen and Satan controls the flesh. Now that's a pretty high-falutin' theory, and it doesn't take the place of GOD'S WORD, THE BIBLE -- but maybe it can help to explain why these negros like malt liquor and crack so much and why their menfolk are always grabbing at their privates. True, white boys they sure like methamphetamines, cocaine, bowling, and the like, but sin is sin! So in God's book crack is just as bad as cigarettes or being a liberal. Sin is sin. You can put a ribbon on a pig, but its still a pig! So sinners, you are going to Hell if you don't accept Jesus no matter what your sin is. Your good little non-Christian grandma who "played with the Ouija board" is in Hell with Ted Bundy and Hitler, Amen.  

Anyway, I am seated next to this fella and he asks me what I do and I say, "I am a MAN OF GOD. I AM A PREACHER OF GOD'S HOLY WORD, THE BIBLE. And my name is Reverend E. Dwayne Looper," I said as I extended the hand of a man who is saved and knows it.

"How delightful!" he replied, "I am also a man of God. I am the Apostle Abdul el Ricardo and I am the leader of the First Pentecostal Church of His Risen Holiness." 

"That sounds mighty fancy, where's your church at?" I asked.

"We meet in the garage of my home, " he said rather meekly.

"Well brother," I replied, "if you spend all of your church's money on these fancy clothes then no wonder you meet in a garage. Why I bet you must have spent $800 on that get-up you're wearing, huh?"

"You will not speak to the Apostle in this manner," he hissed, " and my robes of holiness cost $4,000 if you must know."

"Brother," I admonished him, "the Bible tells us that God does not look on the outward appearance, but on the inward appearance. Now look at me: I am wearing a "Nine-Way" suit I bought at Sears years ago for $79.95. It has a reversible jacket, a reversible vest, and it came with two pairs of trousers, one blue and one brown. So by reversing the coat -- it's brown on one side and blue on the other -- and by reversing the vest and switching the pants around, I have nine different suits for $75.00. And get this -- its 'no iron' polyester and machine-washable! Plus I've had it since 1972 and it still looks great -- as do the other four "Nine-Way" suits I bought on sale."

"That is all very good for a mere reverend, but I am an Apostle. I honor God with my robes."

"Look, the last Apostle was the Apostle Paul and we haven't any apostles since," I insisted as I betrayed my irritation with this Pharisee.

"No, no, no!" he barked. "I am called to be an Apostle and I have great powers! Do not look askance at me, criticize my dress, or question my apostolic authority."

"And what if I do, Mr. Fancy-Pants, and what if I do?"

"Then God will deal with you. It is none of my business."


"What are you doing, sir?"

"I'm growling!"


"Yep, growling. I'm expecting to see some bears come running outta nowheres to attack me because I made fun of you! Isn't that what God does? Huh, remember when he..."

"Oh yes, the teenage boys," he said, "God sent two she-bears to kill forty-two boys who made fun of the Prophet Elisha's bald head. But there are no bears in the sky my foolish friend. God will not send bears. He will deal with your impudence in some other manner."

"Ha! Look fella, I don't believe you're an Apostle, let alone a Christian. What I think you are is some pinhead Satanist who is running some petty con job in the garage of your home! Look Abdul, I bet when you're not skinnin' the sheep you're doing auto body in your garage! Ain't that it fella? Ain't that it? You're running some kinda scam? Huh?"

"Swine!" he said as he made a funny hand gesture at me. 

I then started feeling mighty weird and realized that this guy had just unleashed a demon on me!

My bowels began to churn and gush within as if the Rivers of Living Water inside of me had breached the levee, if you catch my drift. I jumped from my seat and rushed into the rear commode of the plane and began to let loose a gaseous plume that could not possibly have been human in nature! The stewardess must have thought I was a Mooslim terrorist trying to expel a deadly nerve agent, such was the stench and noise level of my flatulence. An onboard law enforcement agent was summoned and forced opened the door where I sat.

"Dear God!" he howled as the vapors ravaged his sinuses, "I haven't smelt anything that bad since jalapeno night at the colostomy convention! Are you dying, man?"

I assured him that I was not dying and was not a Mooslim agent. He allowed me to return to my misery as the aircrew moved the passengers in the rear to the front of the plane in order to escape the sulfurous effluent of my colon. Order would seem to have returned, but Satan had other plans to turn this trip into a Demonic Disco that even Bob Larson couldn't rebuke with a thousand pleadings of the Blood and the cutting of the silver cords and lay lines with which Lucifer had encircled this doomed flight.

As I sat in the misery and stench, the flatulence became palpable. Suddenly, the smell took on a demonic shape:

The Shittumbird, an Ancient Demon

I recognized it immediately from my studies in demonology. It was the ancient nemesis of Saints everywhere. It was the dreaded OWL of the BOWELS! This particular demon's job was to fly into the bowels of humans and cause chaos, confusion, misery, and stench. The Owl of the Bowels, also known in ancient tongues as the Shittumbird, was now in me. I was not possessed, but rather was oppressed. The cause was the Apostle Ricardo, whom I now knew to be a Satanist of high order! 

I was doubled over in pain upon the commode as the owl flew around me. The Hell creature ceaselessly beat me on my head and body with his leathery wings. His fetid breath reeked of dead fish, rotted cabbage, and a thousand other foul odors. This was an ancient demon, for it was the Owl of the Bowels who had entered Adam after his Fall and had caused flatulence in Father Adam and all of his sons down to this present day. And now I was in the whirlwind as the Owl had guided the aircraft into the very intestines of Hell itself!

As I prayed for physical and spiritual deliverance, we suddenly and unexpectedly flew into a literal storm whose lightning, thunder, and turbulence were so severe that it literally tore the plane to pieces!!! The stern of the aircraft, where I was seated, ripped loose and I was tossed helter-skelter into the savage jet stream! I was trapped inside the commode with my pants down around my ankles while the freezing air of 35,000 feet whistled up through the hole in the bottom of the toilet! The commode somersaulted wildly about as if it were a Charismatic Christian at a Melodyland Miracle Healing and Holy Ghost Laughter rally. I could hear the invisible demons mocking me in derision! "DIE LOOOOOOOPER!" they hissed as I tumbled. 

There was a banging sound as the bilge tank, now hanging by a thread from the commode, kept slamming into commode. I watched as the bilge tank swayed wildly back and forth. When it swung away from the airplane, I could see the storm-filled skies through the hole in the bottom of the toilet! Then the bilge tank would slam back into the plane, plunging me into an inky darkness where I was doused with the odious blue chemical which the bilge held.

It was surreal as I peered down between my legs. Through the hole in bottom of the toilet, I watched as lightning flashed in the raging skies! A mighty lightning bolt struck and I saw , through the hole in the toilet, the hurtling, flaming wreckage if the plane diving earthwards! Suddenly, another great thunderbolt lighted the skies as if it were the very flashlight of Satan. I watched the illuminated spectacle as the Owl of the Bowels grabbed the Apostle Ricardo in its talons so as to take him away to safety! The Owl, however, unexpectedly took wing in my direction and the Apostle Ricardo suddenly thrust his head into the bottom of the toilet! We made eye contact as he glared at me from between my legs. His face was glowing red and I could now see the horns on his head! I felt the heat of his evil searing my tender underside. He then looked me straight in the eye and said, "F**K YOU AND YOUR CHEAP SUITS, LOOPER! AH HA HA HA HA!!!    

Then he and the Owl sped off in the direction of Los Angeles!


Was this to be the end? Was I to meet my maker in such an ignominious way?

Twas not to be, for God had determined an ingenious way to protect my nether regions, and indeed my and entire body, from the deadly frostbite and chill that would have otherwise killed me deader than Pia Zadora's career. Right after the Owl had departed, the bilge tank slammed back into the plane for a last time with a mighty blow! My personage was splattered my personage from head to toe with blue goo! You see God, in his grace, had effectively coated my body in a thick, glutinous paste that froze immediately when exposed to the freezing air, thus insulating my body from the wind and chill as I plummeted to what I thought would be a certain and sensational "Death on the Bowl" as our dear Elvis had experienced! I could see headlines screaming, "Looper Dies on the Throne Covered in Blue Potty Goo!" What occasion that would give to the mockers of God to mock God even more mockingly than they had previously mocked!  

I continued to plunge from the heavens in a crazy spiral. The sensations of darkness and tumult were more wild than even Jonah had experienced in the belly of the great fish that had swallowed him whole. Fortunately, in my twenties I had undergone astronaut training with NASA and was familiar with being violently spun about in the test chamber. And although I have served with distinction aboard two Space Shuttle missions as NASA's principal investigator looking into the effects of "Weightlessness and Space on Religious Persons" those experiences and my astronaut training could never have prepared me for this horrendous and unplanned descent! 

As a side note, my NASA work has been supported and celebrated by the Christian GOP, for all we who name the name of Jesus want to know what to expect when we are Raptured. Thus, my space work is performed in order that I may write about what Rapturees should expect when they are unexpectedly confronted with the feeling of sudden weightlessness and a rapid, unplanned acceleration into space to meet Jesus at an altitude of 103,518 feet above earth. While I do not know the date of the Rapture, God has revealed to me the altitude at which we shall meet King Jesus.  

But I digress. 

As the paper towels, kleenexes, and kotexes flew wildly about my frigid tomb, I said my final prayers to Jesus and asked him to please spare me were it his will. As DR. O.P.B., my physicist friend once said,

"Laws of physics that tend to destroy an object can become suspended in the right conditions," and I was praying that those right conditions would prevail as I, God's man of faith and power, was having his faith sorely tested by Jehovah in this wholly remarkable way that has not been seen since the sun went backwards in the skies. What a miracle! The sun moving backwards in the skies! Certainly the people of that day must have stopped as they were riding their dinosaurs to look in wonder at this miracle. Yet, I asked, could I? Could I see this episode as a miracle and not a tragedy?

I knew from my aeronautical training that the plane had been moving at a ground speed of about 550mph when I had been forcibly and violently ejected, thus rendering me an aerial missile moving at about that speed, less losses in speed caused by drag as the commode was in no way aerodynamic. I feared that I would impact into the fertile, yet unforgiving, soil of the Midwest, and crater in at a depth of six feet or so, the normal depth of human burial.

I hoped that if I was to perish in such an unceremonious manner, that they would simply shovel dirt into the impact crater and set a modest headstone in place rather than unearth me in such an embarrassing pose, seated as I was on an airline toilet with my form coated in an odious blue syrup! What an ignoble end for the man who had led George W. "Puddinhead" Bush to Jesus Christ!

As God would have it, I was plunging directly into a traveling carnival that had been set up in a plowed cornfield. The commode hit the top car of the Ferris wheel as it was moving. The car was filled with two wicked sinners, Drunks no doubt, who were crushed immediately as if they had been in a trash compactor. 

The force of my impact sent the Ferris wheel spinning madly! As it spun, it ejected the many unsaved and flung them about as if they were rag dolls. Some survived while others did not. What was important, however, is that I was saved to serve God. 

After circling enough times on the Ferris wheel to dissipate most of the kinetic energy stored in the commode, the commode flew off the Ferris wheel and traveled some 800 feet whereupon it landed softly in an enormous, steaming pile of fresh elephant manure that had been stored by carnival workers adjacent to the Fun House.

I did in fact crater ten feet deep into this twenty-foot high mound of manure! As workers unearthed me, God spake unto from the Book of Isaiah saying, "Your righteousness is as filthy rags!"

I knew then why this terrifying experience had happened: God needed to humble me as I had become prideful in my own righteousness and good works. God wanted me to know that he would share his glory with no one and that I was human manure, made fit to serve him only because of my lovely Jesus.

I wept.

As the workers finally located and removed me some five hours later, a spate of news reporters with live video cameras looked on. I was still semi-frozen into a seated position somewhat reminiscent of Auguste' Rodin's "The Thinker."

Howls of laughter and mockery went up from the assembled crowd as I was strapped into a sling and hoisted bodily by a crane. You see, the workers deigned not to touch me as I had been declared "unsanitary" by the local health authorities.

There I was suspended in mid-air covered in the garments of blue syrup and manure as floodlights illuminated me. I felt the palpable derision and my heart was broken in that moment. I determined to serve God in humility as I had been taught from the days of my youth at the foot of my godly parents.

I was taken to an area hospital for cleansing and treatment. My only injury was to my pride. While 219 others perished that day, what was important is that God taught me a lesson so that I am now a better Christian. Yes friends, I experienced my own miracle that day and you can to. Today, you can experience the miracle called salvation. It is just a prayer away and my friend Jack Chick can tell you all about it.


As a postscript, I must add that my "Nine-Way" suit came through the ordeal as well as I did. A kindly Christian nurse at the hospital took it home and laundered it during my short convalescence.  I wore the suit as I walked out of the hospital to meet the swarm of reporters and well-wishers. Call me a slave to fashion, but I say Sears is still the place for clothes.