“Back to the land of USD’s worth 1.18 pesos”
We go deeper in to town. Here the buildings, shops, and bars are older. More older. Most look like they were last painted in 1850 during a hurricane. Worn by time, colorful patches of previous paint jobs are exposed.

The road is three lanes wide, two are used for parking. See lots of old rusty pickup trucks and small size economy cars. Their front bumpers have dents. Collisions with… taxis? Lot of people are riding motorcycles. Sandra points to un-helmented male motorcyclist. On the back seat is a woman/girlfriend/sister/cousin/aunt holding a newborn baby. See a young girl riding a Honda cycle, weaving thru the traffic. She looks just old enough to be riding a bicycle with training wheels. Someone must have started it, her feet can’t reach the kickstarter. Don’t ask me how she changes gears. The best I figure is she stays in 1st gear all the time.
Then I wonder, how does she stand up at stop signs? Does she Alto? I learn my fifth word in Spanish.

James, a friend at work, asked me to find some Cozumel T-shirts for him and his family. Two, a size 3XXX, one, 2XX. Went to a store selling T-shirts, Onyx animals and chess sets, jewelry of all types (comparing prices, we did get a bargain earlier).

Look thru the T’s. A saleslady walks up. “Hola” she smiles, her bright gold teeth are almost blinding. I resist the urge to put my hands over my eyes, and realize I’ve learned my sixth word, ‘Hola’ must mean ‘hello’. “We’re looking for 3 XXX and 2 XX’s.”
“No, no 3 XXX, 2 XX.”
“Gracias,” Sandra says. I learn my seventh word in Spanish, ‘Thanks’.
Go next door, we exchange “Hola’s” ask for the 3XXX/2XX shirts. Same answer, “No.” The same with the next two stores, apparently no one in Cozumel sells 3 XXX or 2 XX sizes.

We try another store. As soon as we walk in, a lady with shiny golden teeth forgoes the customary “Hola’ and says, “I have 3 XXX and 2 XX sizes.” Huh?
Sandra and I look at each other, how did she know what we were looking for?
We look thru her stock, and find a woman’s T decorated with silver blue colored dolphins for Helen, Jame’s wife, one with multi-colored fish for his daughter Melissa, and a cow painting a sign that reads ‘Eat More Fish Cozumel” for James the fisherman.

A sign read ‘3 for $25’. I’m getting the hang of the ‘art of haggling’ so I ask, “20 USD?” “No, sorry senior, $25 US doll loors.” She has the monopoly on sizes 3 XXX and 2 XX in all Cozumel I figured. As we pay, I’m still bothered by how she knew what we were looking for.

As we come to other stores, salespeople entice us in. I’m called a ‘tightwad’ only once as we pass one. Maybe I should turn around, go into his store, look around, tease him with looking and putting items back on the shelf, haggle about the prices, get them as low as I can get, then leave without buying anything. No, the salesman is obviously having a bad, or slow day I reason. I’m ashamed I thought of the idea and move on.

We see a store with a 3’ painted ‘corn on the cob’ on its glass window. We go in and smell corn cooking. Should I haggle over the price? A young woman wipes her hands on a towel and says something in Spanish.
I ask, “Poly vou English?”

She shakes her head, shrugs her shoulders, the universal sign of “What in the world are you saying?” Sandra holds up two fingers and points to the picture of the corn, “Dos?” (‘two’) “Si, Si.”
‘Dos’ is the eighth word I’ve now learned, give me a week here and I’ll be speaking Spanish good enough to drive a taxi.
The corn lady pours the yellow vegetable minus the cob into bowls, then points to three on the counter. Her eyebrows go up, wrinkles appear on her forehead, another universal expression of a ‘question mark’.

One bowl has a white powdery substance. Looks like salt. The brown color, I think is a spicy seasoning I use on junk food and quick snacks (popcorn, soup, cereal nut mix). The third is green powder I haven’t a clue what it is, but suspect it’s pulverized jalapeno. I point to the brown. She nods, hands me a spoon and I soak the ‘corn without an ear.’

I should have taken the hint. As soon as the brown seasoning hit the corn it turns a beet red color, like an ‘instant third degree sunburn’ on the kernel.
Steam rises from the bowl. I took a small teaspoon bite of the corn.

All the volcanoes in Mexico erupt at the same time in my mouth. Saliva turns to lava.
All the water at Niagara Falls flowed from my eyes.

I go blind.
My tongue hates me and promises to do so for the rest of its life, if it lives.
My mind flashes the scene from the movie ‘Alien’ were the space creatures acid-blood eats holes thru the floor / ceiling / next floor / ceiling. My stomach screams ‘DON’T LET IT IN HERE! PLEASE, HAVE MERCY!”

Like a shotgun blast, the pellets of #6 shot of corn takes flight. An old pickup truck parked across the street is hit, several holes appear in its side.

I grab at my bottled water. Reasoning screams “SAVE SOME FOR THE REST OF THE DAY!” Logic yells “WATER IS NOT GOING TO DO ANY GOOD!” My mind and tongue are arguing with everyobdy, “YOUR IDIOT! DO SOMETHING! QUICK!”
I drink it all. I need more, the fire isn’t anywere nearly out. I look around me and see resturants and bars, but then remember I can’t drink the Mexican water!

My mind flashes back the time Jack, a friend from Indiana was visiting us, and ate his first pizza with jalapenos. He was running around our house trying to peel the skin off his tongue until Sandra gave him a piece of chocolate to neutralize the fire.

“CHOCOLATE, I NEED CHOCOLATE!” I scream! I CAN’T DRINK THEIR WATER, CAN I EAT THEIR CHOCOLATE?” I don’t know, confusion reigns over all sensibilities.

Then I remembered. There was a piece of candy on our cabin table courtesy of the cruise line, Did I pick it up? I quickly pat at my pants pockets. Not this one, not this one. I pull out Mexican pesos. Wait! What’s this? My hand explores. “YES!” It’s the piece of chocolate wrapped in foil. My mouth screams, “PUT IT IN!” Reasoning explains “TAKE THE FOIL OFF FIRST!” My mouth argues “THAT WILL TAKE TO LONG!” The chocolate is melted, the foil hard to unwrap. “I’M DYING! HURRY!” my tongue begs. This is no time to argue, I put the piece in and quickly chew. “Mmmmmmmm,” the lava begins to subside, the tastes of metal and chocolate takes its place.

In a few brief seconds all the world is right again.

I can see to walk, but still wiping at my eyes. We turn back towards the beach. A man approaches, looks like a street person without a cardboard sign that says ‘Will labor for food, please help’. He pulls out a hand full of tanzanite necklaces and shows them to us. “You like? 15 US doll lors.” He dangles them eye level. Caught unaware since I was expecting him to ask for a handout, “Er… Gracias, no.” “For you, 10?” “Gracias,” we shake our heads ‘No.’ He moves on.

Sandra and I take pictures of each other at a public square. A man with a horse carriage watches me take a picture of Sandra, and she starts to ‘click’ me, when he asks “Take picture?” pointing to both of us.

I wonder how much US Doll loors. “Si” Sandra says. He turns to his horse and asks its permission, “Have picture made with these nice people?” The horse answers back by nodding his head. We laugh, but not because it’s bi-lingual.
He points for us to get in the carriage (the man, not the horse). We smile, and ‘click’ our picture is taken.

I expect the man (or maybe the horse) to ask for a financial remuneration for their work. They don’t.
As we start to walk off, I still expect the man (not the horse) to call out “2 doll loors!” We walk a couple of steps. “O.K, 1”. They still don’t. They were just being friendly and hospitable. I reach into my pocket, separate the chocolate’s foil from the Mexican coins and give them to him. The man tips his hat, asks his horse, “He is a nice man, yes?” The horse nods in agreement. More laughter. I regret I didn’t bring the video camera.

We see a dog, if you could call it that. It’s so meatless you can count his ribs, see his veins pumping with a slow heartbeat. I don’t know if it’s true about people eating dog here, clearly this one wouldn’t feed many, much less one. Maybe that’s what was keeping it alive and from being eaten.

We’re running out of time and have to get back for our ‘beginning snorkeling’ excursion. We flag a cab and get in.

As we look for our seatbelts to strap in for our ‘take off’ we hear a whistle. Captain cabbie waits.

A young man and woman in their early twenties, stick their head thru the window. “Going to the marina? Want to share a cab and fare?” He asks us. “Sure!” They ask the cab driver “How much?” I start to say “$14” but the cab driver answers “4 doll loors.” Not $14? It’s the same distance coming here as it is going back, $4?

They get in. During the drive back, we forget the time warp experienced coming to town as the couple tells us they’re college students from California, in Mexico for a month, not in a hurry to get back to the U.S. on their way to Cancun and are having a good time. Sharing the cab fare helps them save money. They ask us where we’re from, if we’re having a good time, what we’ve seen, going to do.

Before we know it the cab stops. We’re at the ship’s wharf.

Sandra and I get out, start to pay our $2 but decide to pay for the other couple’s share. They’re grateful, and wish us well. We do the same.

Sandra and I walk the pier, thru the tax/duty free building (prices in town were better bargains).

On the pier, Sandra and I ask a stranger to take our picture with ‘Celebration’ in the background. No one else is on the pier, or our picture.

Looking back
Before going in to San Miguel, we didn’t know what to expect.
The whole time there we didn’t see a drug dealers, signs of gang activity, homeless people, nor did anyone asks us for spare change, that is without offering something in exchange. I’m not saying the problems aren’t there, I don’t know, if they are we never saw them.

We never felt threaten, except maybe we’d take back with us the idea “not to take life so seriously.” “Or fast.”

Everyone seemed to have a high work ethic. The people displayed the creed, “If you want to eat, you work.” They may not have much, at least compared to what some small businesses, or even the lowest income families in the U.S. have, but take pride in what they own or manage.

Also I noticed, they look out for each other. Just like the lady at the shop that knew what size T-shirts we were looking for without our ever being in her store. I never did figure that out.

To survive, the people have learned to work together, and help each other.
Everyone was pleasant, not demanding, or with the attitude “YOU OWE ME BACK CAUSE I DID THIS FOR YOU!” Like the hospitable man with the horse carriage, not expecting anything in return for taking our picture, he and his horse just being… friendly. Sure, maybe he was hoping we’d hire him, but didn’t get upset we didn’t.

Like the young American couple just starting out in life, sharing a cab with us…

We saw thru new eyes.

“Isn’t Cozumel a tourist trap,” you ask? “After all, that’s why they’re so nice, they’re wanting the U.S. dollar?”

Maybe, but isn’t America too? How many times are we bomb barded with commercialization to “buy this,” “You deserve it,” “You owe it to yourself!” You’ll be somebody if you own this!” We’re told we need things to survive. We value ‘things’ over people.

We’re modernized and spoiled, but this Mexican society, and culture, tells me we still have a lot more to learn about helping each other.

Maybe there’s something to it, America.

It hasn’t been that long since the tragedy of 9/11. We pulled together then. What happened?

On to Carmen de Playa in chapter 9 -
Warning: Chapter 9 contains more graphic violence

Last chance to go back Home

Tagged: al speegle, Al Speegle Jr, author, Bible, christian, christian satire, Christianity, columnist, cruise, Elvis, Holy Observer, humor, Jim Watkins, Kenneth Copeland, Lark News, Life Stories, Love, ocean, religion, Ronnie Kendig, saralee perel, satire, sea, sermon notes, sex, smoking, spiel, TBN, The Door, The Door Magazine, The Wittenburg Door, The X Files, Travel, Trinity Broadcasting Network, War, wordpress, writers, writing ]]> http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/21/from-chaos-to-cozumel-chaprters-7-8/feed/ 0 alspeegle dsc_118 http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/21/from-chaos-to-cozumel-parts-5-6/ http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/21/from-chaos-to-cozumel-parts-5-6/#comments Sun, 21 Jun 2009 04:13:19 +0000 Al Speegle http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/?p=209 ]]>
“Ride Captain Ride, Aboard Our Mystery ship…”
Sandra and I walk around the ship. To say it’s huge would be an understatement.

From forward to aft, it’s like a city block long. We go to the stern and look over the side. The ship is beginning to pull away from the dock.
”Let’s go to the front!” Sandra says. I know what direction it is, but how to get there is the question. I pull out the ship’s deck plan. Up three decks.

Four flights of stairs and an elevator later we’re near the front.

Take another staircase to the very top deck for a better view. Start to open a door when I read a sign “Adults Only, No Cameras Please.” We turn to go back down the steps and face an elderly couple about in their 70’s on their way up. They too, read the sign. The woman turns to the man and says “At least I’ll know where you’ll be the whole trip.” He smiles at Sandra as we pass by.

We find the deck, it’s just above the ship’s bridge. There’s about twenty people looking forward. A US Coast Guard helicopter hovers overhead, then pulls ahead of the ship. Small shrimp boats move aside to get out of our way. We see Coast Guard vessels on our left and right escorting us out. The helicopter returns, circles overhead, then goes forward again. It does this several times until we’re pass the harbor and out to sea. It’s a security measure I’m sure, but I wondered if anyone was already on the ‘Adult Only-No Cameras, Please’ deck.

Thirty minutes and minus eighteen people later, Sandra and I have the deck to ourselves. I haven’t had sleep for almost 32 hours my mind reminds me. I argue back, who could sleep at a time like this?

We’re thoroughly enjoying the view. The breeze against our faces is cool, we can feel the steady rhythm of the engines pushing us on.

We see several dolphins surface and dip back under.

There’s more ships just ahead, oil tankers and cargo freighters waiting in line to go into Galveston harbor. One freighter in particular, is directly ahead, and looks like it’s coming straight at us. It looks likes it’s getting closer. Closer. Uncomfortably closer. I start wondering how much time it would take to get to our cabin, dawn our floatation vests, and get to ‘C’ muster station before anyone else notices.

The freighter is closer, about 1,000 yards now. I break out in a sweat as the approaching ship grows in size. It looks as big as the ‘Celebration’. 500 yards…

I see tomorrows newspapers top story, “Cruise Ship Accident, Of the 1,486 people and crew of 640 aboard, only two were killed as they stood watching the ships collide. Names of the deceased are being withheld until notification of next of kin.”

Closer, maybe 200 yards now…

Maybe this a game of ‘chicken’ to see which ship will back off first?
The ship’s bridge is just below us, do I run down there and declare the Captain insane and relieve him of his command? And do what? Take control? I remembered seeing a movie, or was it a ‘Star Trek’ episode, maybe it was the book “Mutiny On The Bounday” where the ships doctor had to officially determine the Captain as “being incompetent to perform his duties. Once so declared, the second in command took over.”

Where’s the ships doctor? I wonder. I pull out my deck plan map. ‘Infirmary…Deck 3/Aft.’ We’re at “Deck 11/ Forward. Seven decks down, the other end of the ship.

No way we could make it in time! I look up. The freighter looks like it’s starting to turn, I can see a little of it’s left side exposed like it’s turning… Now more of it… IT IS TURNING! OUR CAPTAIN WON, HAH!

As the ship passes I waved at the loser and yell “Let that be a lesson to you!” I face the other ships, shake my fist at them, “And all you other Captains out there, ours is not to be reckoned with!” We pass by them, they aren’t moving. I guess they took my warning.

– More Cruise Lines in Chapter 6 -

Chapter 6

It’s 5 o’clock. I haven’t slept for 33 hours now. Who could sleep in this unknown, exciting environment at sea called the ‘Celebration.’ There’s so much to see and get acquainted with. Sandra and I continue our tour of what will be our neighborhood for the next five days. We pass crewmembers, they bow to us like we’re royalty.

We visit one deck at a time. We leave the forward observation deck (located under the ‘Adults Only-No Cameras Please! one) and enter the gym / spa. There’s four treadmills, two stepmasters, a bench press with weights. Sandra tries a treadmill, while I weight myself on the scale.

Sandra’s has been losing weight for the past six months.
I found more.

Before we left for the cruise, Sandra’s weight loss instructor informed her “On a cruise, most people gain 5-7 pounds.”

Fast forward: Chapter 12,118. Page 3,086,341
I told my Mom, “Sandra only gained a half pound. I’m afraid to look.”

Back twelve pounds
Leave the gym after an English (literally) speaking young woman greets us with “Would you like to make an appointment for a massage?”

She directs us to the masseuse room. We decline, knowing what would happen. We’d never leave, spend our whole five-day cruise here in this room. Both masseuses would have to work in 12 hours shifts, working their fingers to the bones and our muscles.

“So,” our friends would ask, “What’d you see in Cozumel?” “Didn’t go into town.” “How ‘bout Playa del Carman?” “No.” “Bet you loved the water when you went snorkeling!” “Didn’t snorkel.” “What was the ship like?” “Don’t know, never saw it.” “What was the food like?” “Never ate.” “What’d you do then?” My eyes would simply glaze over.

Outside, see two hot tubs, empty of people and water.

Next, we see a sun deck over looking a pool empty of people and water, but with a waterslide. We walk thru the patio.

We sit at a table. Waiters are carrying fully stocked trays featuring the ship’s ‘Drink of the Day.’ They come by us every ten seconds.

We listen to the man playing the pan, an instrument that looks like a 55- gallon drum with both ends beat in. Lots of people here are getting in a festive mood, dancing to the reggae music. Kids are playing ‘floor chess’ with pieces as tall as them.

We leave. My head is nodding, eyes closing. Got to get up and move around. Walk a little ways and see a shuffleboard pattern painted on the wooden deck. “What’s a cruise without shuffleboard?” I ask Sandra.

Fast forward: Chapter? Probably around 15,000,000 Book three:
Bill, our pastor asked, “Did you play shuffleboard, too?”
“No, never had time the whole cruise.” I answered.

Back to hopefully getting to play shuffleboard on deck.

See life boats. Lots of lifeboats hanging over the side. Enough for 1,048 passengers and crew of 640? Probably so, most of them would still be waiting in line for food or a quick pizza, while the waiters continue to serve the drink of the day. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

We go down a flight of stairs to the children’s pool. It too, is empty. Some kids are playing ping pong.

Pass thru a glass door and smell food. Another food palace with kings, queens and their offspring waiting in line.

Go thru an arcade with lots of video games, a combination bar and disco, another bar, a trolley car with sushi and fish fetus’ being served. We pass it up, if you know sushi like I know sushi…, another bar, the adult arcade commonly known as the casino, a garden square decorated with palm trees, five paintings on easels to be auctioned off as one of the ship’s activities. The Peter Max looked interesting.

Last stop this deck, the Astro lounge, a large theater where the floorshows, bingo, and cruise meetings will be held. Seriously doubt 1,048 people can fit in here, maybe 200, 300 max if no one breathes.

Walk down some stairs in the theater, thru the aisles, to the lounge below. Exit the lounge to a beauty salon, followed by shopping malls of stores (jewelry/t-shirts/ perfumes/post cards/suntan lotion-all tax-duty free). See the tuxedo rental shop. I need to remember its location for the tux I’ve reserved for the Captains dinner. Next to it is a liquor store where you can buy, but can’t drink until the last day of the cruise. Next to it is a jewelry shop where you can wear as soon as you make your purchase.

Come to one of the two large main dinning rooms. We check to see if they’re serving dinner.
“Yes, we are,” the headwaiter checks our ‘sign and sail’ card for our table number. My stomach begins a celebration on it’s own.
“You’ve reserved ‘late’ dinner, it begins at 8.”
I look at my watch, it says 6:20, I think. I want to tell him about not getting any sleep for thirty-three hours, the car trouble we had getting here, the hotels being full, the waiting line just to get on the ship, etc. but say nothing. My logic, having long abandoned me, has sided with him. My stomach complains but to no avail. We press on.

Next is the Admirals Room, the ships library. I do a quick look around, and immediately like this room. Books, cards, games can be checked out here when it’s open, and offers access to the internet (satellite, not DSL obviously).
“Cool!” I scream, “No I-net withdrawal this vacation!” I read one of the computer screens. The first 3 minutes is free, then 75 cents per minute thereafter ‘conveniently charged to my ‘sign and SALE’ card. I could call on my cell phone for 40 a minute, but the roaming charge…

Sandra points up to the stain glass ceiling with cruise ships etched with lead. Paintings of various ships line the ceiling walls. There’s a ships bell from the cruise ship ‘Lusitania’. The name rang a bell… wasn’t it the ‘cruise liner’ torpedoed and sunk back in 1915 by Nazi Germany? It WAS ferrying tourists, and unknown to them, armament and ammunition from America to England during World War 1. 1,195 people (123 Americans) were killed in the attack.
I hated to think about the seriousness of the loss of life, but deep down I wondered if they couldn’t find their muster station… or get their life vests on.

Pass by another bar, then the other main dinning room. We check to see if we can eat here. The headwaiter looks at our card, “No, sorry sir, you’re scheduled to eat over in the Admiral’s Dinning Room at 8. It’s only thirty minutes.” I want to tell him about not sleeping for- now it’s going on 34 and a half hours… the car trouble, and everything else, but my stomach is speaking louder than I can talk, so I let. He leans over, points to my belly, and speaks to it directly, “Thirty minutes!”

I don’t know if I can stay awake that long.

We walk a hallway and come to a wall. We have to go left or right. It’s a serious decision. Do we walk or take the elevator down to get around to the other side? While waiting for the elevator I almost fall asleep.

The elevator doors open. It’s packed with people. The doors close, so do my eyes. “Keep moving!” Drill master Sandra orders. We take the stairs. I almost fall asleep walking down the stairs.

We walk a short hallway, then have go back up the stairs to get back to the deck we were just on. “Why?” I asked no one in particular. The wall, we find out later, is the back of the kitchen.

We come to a line of people at the stairwell waiting to go up. “Why?”
They’re waiting for the doors to the Admiral’s dinning Room to open. At 8 sharp.

We go back down the hallway to the elevator, wait in a short line, take it up two decks. We’re thinking maybe the line of people at the fast food places have shrunk since everyone is now waiting to eat at the main dinning rooms. At 8. Sharp.

Go thru some glass doors, smell food. Stare at aaaallll the food… and aaaallll the people waiting in line to get to it.

We pass the food and people and see an ‘Open 24-hour Pizzeria’. Eighteen hours of people are waiting in a line. “24 hours, sharp!” my mind reminds me.

We move on, pass another bar, no line there, go thru some more glass doors, no line waiting to go thru them, go outside to a sun deck and pool that is filled with plenty of empty. Look over the railing, no line here either. We see the vacant children’s pool below. Look behind us, no line, and above to the deck we’d seen earlier. Still no line there either.

I’m weak, hungry and sleepy. I sit in a deck chair while Sandra goes to wait in line to get enough food for us both.

I pass out. The last thing I thought I heard was “Ladies and Gentlemen, that concludes our tour. Thank you for flying PriceLess cruise ‘LINES’. We hope you’ll stay awake and enjoy the next four days with us, somewhere in a line.”

Continued in chapter 7, Al goes into a coma for eighteen hours. He wakes in Cozumel –

A reminder, chapter 8 contains graphic violence.

To continue onward, bravely
or
to go back to shore

Tagged: al speegle, Al Speegle Jr, author, benny hinn, Bible, car repair, christian, christian satire, Christianity, columnist, cozumel, cruise, Elvis, humor, Jim Watkins, Kenneth Copeland, Lark News, Life Stories, Love, Mark Twain, ocean, religion, Ronnie Kendig, saralee perel, satire, sea, sermon notes, smoking, spiel, TBN, The Door, The Door Magazine, The Wittenburg Door, The X Files, Travel, Trinity Broadcasting Network, War, writers, writing ]]> http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/21/from-chaos-to-cozumel-parts-5-6/feed/ 0 alspeegle http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/21/from-cozumel-to-chaos-parts-3-4/ http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/21/from-cozumel-to-chaos-parts-3-4/#comments Sun, 21 Jun 2009 03:58:35 +0000 Al Speegle http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/?p=204 ]]>
Chapter 3

“ALL (1,486) ABOARD!”
The bus driver shakes me, “Mister, this where you get off.”
“What? Huh?” My eyes try to open, my mind stays in a coma, “Cozumel already?” I look around.
He points to a building, “Go in there, get on the ship. Make a left at the first island you come to. You can’t miss it.”

I finally find Sandra in a line of about fifty people waiting to get in the terminal.

I pick up the eight-pound carry on and move a little, then drop it. I hadn’t noticed how heavy eight pounds is.

We wait in line to get on the escalator. Stepping on it, we made good time. For the next hour we would not move as fast.

We wait in a line of 1,000 people ahead of us to go thru the X-ray/metal detector.
I turn and see the remaining 484 people of the total passenger list behind us.
We walk to another line dragging the carry on, it feels like it’s gained twenty pounds. I look around. This line, I think, is longer than the others combined.
Pick up/drop the carry on (I swear it weights a hundred pounds by now) twenty thousand eight hundred times before we get to the check-in desk.
It’s here our tickets/reservations/paperwork is verified. The man at the counter is polite, “I need to see your drivers licenses and a credit card, please.”

While Sandra shows hers, I pull my license out, “WHAT?” I find the missing credit card I thought I’d lost earlier.

We hand them over. He looks at them, and us carefully, then types at the keyboard. He waits for a reply, “The system is slow today.” He says it like it’s the first time ever. “Your first cruise, Mr. And Mrs. Speegle? I’ll bet your excited.”

Sandra tells him it’s for our 25th anniversary. “How wonderful, and congratulations!” He types some more. “Sorry for the delay.”

I look behind me, there’s now only 200 people behind us. I catch my eyes closing, do a quick head jerk.
“Celebrating a little early?” he smiles and winks. I want to tell him want we’ve had to go thru the past twenty-nine hours but ‘Reasoning’ visits me temporarily, checks in, then leaves again. He told me it’d be best not to say anything. I’d try to smile, but my cheeks are too tired.
“There you are, you’re confirmed!” He smiles and hands us our paperwork, licenses and credit card. I make a special mental note where I put each. I grab at the three hundred pound carry on, “Can we go aboard now?”
“Soon Mr. Speegle. Next line down, please.”

We wait in a short line to get our ‘$ail & $ign’ card. It’s our ship’s credit card for everything we’ll purchase while on board. “Now do we–?” I start to ask. “Next line, sir.”

We slowly walk another corridor, the carry on is tried from being picked up and down and wants to rest when I hear a voice, “Smile and look into the camera.” A digital picture is taken. We never see it, but I find out later it’s to verify who we are when we disembark and return to the ship at the foreign port of calls.

We walk down a long hallway, I look out the window and see a huge white wall, then realize it’s the side of the ‘Celebration.’ “Sleep!” my body is crying. “No way,” my mind replies, “It’s full steam ahead.”

To Close For Comfort

We cross the gangplank and step aboard at 2:40, twenty minutes before the ship departs. The troubles of the last 30 hours are forgotten. We enter a large room, and surprise! I hear the lady behind me cry “Another line?” It’s comforting other people are feeling the same way I do.

I gaze round. The room is decorated with what looks like pre-Las Vagas era furniture. I spot the ‘Shore Excursions’ desk. The line looks like 1,284 people are already making their reservations for what they plan to do in Cozumel.
Sandra and I talk, “Do we make ours out now, or should we wait? What do we want to do? What if everything is booked up later?”

Logic is in our berth, probably asleep. Maybe we can catch up with him there. I hate to wake him, but– Sandra suggests we find our cabin and drop the carry on. I grab some excursion pamphlets and follow.

Paradise Lost?
One deck down we try to find our cabin, the 82nd of 138. “There’s R81 and R83, here’s 85, where’s 82? Are we on the right deck?” I see a sign, ‘ODD’ number addresses are on one side of the ship, ‘EVEN’ on the other.
We head for the other side stepping over luggage sound asleep while others are resting and waiting to get in their rooms.

“R80… R82. Here we are.” I look up and down the hallway, “Where’s our luggage? I don’t see our luggage!” The six-ton carry on may have been worth the trouble after all.

I insert our plastic key card in the electric lock. Nothing! It doesn’t work, the door won’t open. I don’t remember who gave us the card, do we have to go back thru the lines to exchange it for the right one?

So close… but so far away.

– Please, help us get in our cabin in chapter 4 -

Chapter 4

To Close for Comfort-part two
I try the card key again. The door still refuses to open. A young man wearing a starch white uniform walks up. He introduces himself as ‘Tennysion’ he’ll be our cabin steward.
“Our key doesn’t work!” I tell him. “I’ve had this problem before at hotels. They’ve ALWAYS had to reprogram the key.”

“Let me try.” He places the card in the slot, a little green LED light turned red. He turns the handle down, and opens the door. He smiles as he hands me the key. “There you are sir.” I needed to see how it worked. I closed the door and tried. The light stayed green. I jiggled the handle. Nothing.

“Push the key in more,” Tennysion patiently watches.

I pushed. Finally the green light morphes to red, the same shade as my face.
“Your first cruise?” he says politely, his eyes wondering between Sandra and me.

“Yes” Sandra says, and she’s was off telling him about this being our 25th anniversary but leaving out the ‘long drive/no sleep for thirty hours/car trouble/no motels available/live boiled shrimp’ episodes.

“Our luggage?” I impolitely interrupt, “I don’t see our luggage.”

“It should be here soon, I’ll go look for it.” He bowed, turned and disappeared.

The cabin was nice, comforable looking, and better then some hotels we’ve stayed. The two single beds looked inviting as sleep called to sleep. Sandra went to the window, pulled the curtains to reveal a 4’ x 3’ ‘square’ porthole.
I see a phone, table with the ships stationary, an ice bucket already stocked with ice, three bottles of cola and two waters. A note informs us the sodas are $3.50 each and waters $4, and would be conveniently charged to our sail & sign card, if used.

Flash forward: Chapter 935. Page 10,094

So we have say good-bye to cabin R82, our home for five beautiful and wonderful days. As I look around one last time for my missing green socks and one sneaker, I bumped my head on the table holding the three $3.50 sodas and two $4 waters.

Flash forward: Chapter 1,232 Page 102,114

Leaving the $20 (each) towels with the ‘Celebration’s’ logo, and $3.50 sodas and $4 waters behind, we said good-bye.”

Flash forward: Chapter 2,093 Page 1,198,052
But I still wondered why there wasn’t a charge for the floatation vest, could it mean they are really ours to keep?

Flash back to the past present.
Over the table was a large mirror looking back. I saw my reflection again. I looked worn and haggard, like 500 miles of bad road, under it that is. It was no wonder that waiter topside asked me if I “Want another drink?” and I replied, “I’d have to have a FIRST one, before I could have ANOTHER.”

I see the TV hanging on the wall. Night stand with the TV remote, a ship newspaper, and two hidden floatation vests labeled ‘Celebration R82’ and ‘C’.
The bathroom was bigger than we’d heard about. The three foot vanity mirror was stocked with sleeping aids, beauty masks, razors, shampoo, and anti-acids. Plenty of soft towels ($20 each) with the ‘Celebration’ logo. The shower was big enough for two (don’t ask). The toilet didn’t flush, it sucked (don’t ask, but think ‘liposuction’).

An announcement blared from somewhere out in the hall, “A lifeboat drill will be conducted at 3:30. Please report to your muster station with your floatation vests at that time. Thank you.”

“We’d better go find it,” Sandra said. “If trying to locate our station takes as long as trying to find our room we’d better leave now.” I looked at the bed, “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Pass The Muster, Please!”
Five muster stations later, we found ours. ‘C’ as designated by our vest. I consult our ship’s deck map, five decks up, third from the top, next to a bar.
“Great,” I thought, “If we hit an iceberg and where ever we happen to be on the ship, all we have to do is find our cabin, get our vests, go up five flights of stairs, the elevators won’t work, of course, pass four muster stations already filled with people in ‘panic mode,’ get thru the madness happing there, get to our station just in time for passengers ‘R82’ to drown.” This is going to be an exciting trip.

“The vests are simple to put on,” the female crewmember said, demonstrating. “Head goes thru the vest. One strap around the waist, the other under and between your legs, click the snaps. Easy!”

I put my head thru the vest. Good so far. I reach around for a strap. It plays ‘tag’ with me each time I attempt to grab at it. “Catch me if you can!” it says. I know, I’ll do a 360 spin and catch it on the rebound. Hah, I’m smarter than the average belt. I whirl. The belt knocks over an empty drinking glass sitting on a table. This no average strap.

I look around to see if other people are having the same problem. Some are, most aren’t.

Sandra reaches over and ‘tags’ it for me. Click. One down, one to go. I think I’ll catch the crouch belt by jumping up and down. Before I launch Sandra reaches for it and fastens the snap. “There!” she says.
It’s loose fitting, I raise my hand getting the crew members attention, “I need a size 40 Large vest,” I tell her.
“Ahh, one size fits all, sir.”

Adjust the belts, tighten, then loosen, tighten some more.
I’m thinking all of this is happening in a calm situation. Lord knows what it would be like with the ship sinking and water over our heads.
I notice a transparent plastic pill bottle shape container attached to the vest, and realize it’s a strobe light. It reads “Activates on contact with water, do not attempt to remove battery.” I don’t see a battery. I inspect the vest closer. Flare gun? No! Shark repellant? I raise my hand again, “Where’s the flare gun and shark repellant?” For some reason, she ignores me.

A loud horn blows several quick times, like getting a telephone busy signal, except it sounds ten million times louder. ”That’s the signal,” the crewmember says, “to go to your cabin, get your vest and report back here.” She points to the bar lounge. “That ladies and gentilmen, concludes our drill. Enjoy your cruise!”

I don’t know how many people fit in one lifeboat, but I look around our muster station and see about fifty people. Imagine fifty people trying to get to ‘C’ after passing thru ‘A’,‘B’,‘D’, and ‘E’ with fifty people at EACH of those stations all in a calm manner while the ship is sinking.
“Yes, it’s going to be an exciting trip.”

Sail on to chapters 5 & 6
or
To go home

Tagged: al speegle, Al Speegle Jr, America, author, benny hinn, Bible, car repair, christian, christian satire, Christianity, columnist, cruise, Daystar, Elvis, Freedom, Galveston, Holy Observer, humor, Hunter S. Thompson, Jim Watkins, Kenneth Copeland, Lark News, Life Stories, Love, Mark Twain, ocean, religion, Ronnie Kendig, satire, sea, sermon notes, smoking, spiel, TBN, The Door, The Door Magazine, The Wittenburg Door, The X Files, Travel, Trinity Broadcasting Network, War, wordpress, writers, writing ]]> http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/21/from-cozumel-to-chaos-parts-3-4/feed/ 0 alspeegle side of 'Celebration' http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/21/from-chaos-to-cozumel-and-back-part-1-2/ http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/21/from-chaos-to-cozumel-and-back-part-1-2/#comments Sun, 21 Jun 2009 03:47:14 +0000 Al Speegle http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/?p=198 ]]> Ever been on a cruise? Please join us as we take our first for our 25th wedding anniversary.
We’ll be traveling from Dallas to the port of Galveston Island, and for five fun-filled sunny days, sailing aboard the PriceLess cruise line ship, Celebration to beautiful Cozumel and Playa de Carman Mexico.
So sit back and relax.
Take that vacation you’ve been promising yourself.
Have a good time, after all, what could go wrong, except maybe forgetting your suntan lotion!
(And your sunglasses… the car breaking down… losing your credit card… not sleeping for 60 hours causing your mind to take a detour to parts unknown…)


Warning: Chapters 8 and 9 contains graphic violence!

Chapter 1

Mark Twain summed it best in his book, Following the Equator:
“The day begins. I do not know how a day could be more reposeful: no motion; a level sea; nothing in sight from horizon to horizon; the speed of the ship furnishes a cooling breeze; there is no mail to read and answer;
no newspapers to excite you; no telegrams to fret you or fright you—the world is far, far away;
it has ceased to exist for you—seemed a fading dream, along the first days; has dissolved to an unreality now;
it has gone from your mind with all its businesses and ambitions, its prosperities and disasters; its exultations and despairs, its joys and griefs and cares and worries.
They are no concern of yours anymore; they have gone out of your life; they are a storm which has passed and left a deep claim behind.
…If I had my way I would sail on forever and never go live on solid ground again.”

“Get your motor running…”
Friday. We slept good, woke up at 8 a.m. ready to meet the day.
Finished packing, lunch with my Mom, then pull eight long hours of work on night shift. Hopefully nothing bad will happen at my job causing me to work overtime.
Nothing does and I don’t.

“Headed down the highway…”
Bags in the car, checked/send e-mail, hug the dogs, and we’re off exactly at midnight. Right on schedule.
Sandra and I figured we’d arrive at Galveston by 5:30 a.m., giving us enough time to find a hotel, get six hours sleep, and be fully refreshed for our boarding the ‘Celebration’ at 1:00 p.m.

“Looking for adventure, for whatever comes our way…”
I drove while Sandra, my bride of 25 years slept.
Nice thing about driving at night, no traffic or road construction.
Three hours later, I’m getting tired. And sleepy. The excitement and adrenaline is wearing off. I can’t find a station on the car’s radio, getting nothing but static. I’d read about a trick airline pilots and long haul truckers use to help them stay awake, tickle the back of the throat with the tongue. After five minutes it went to sleep followed closely by my eyelids.

Passed some signs “Hotel, Ten Miles.” Maybe we should we stop and get some sleep? NO! I tell myself, I want to get to Galveston, we’ll sleep there.

Five miles and ten more arguments with the sandman, up ahead I see “Hotel Ahead COMFORTABLE BEDS Trucker’s Welcome.”
Not airline pilots? I ask. Five miles later, I hear a voice whisper, Are you sure you don’t want to stop and sleep? I answer firmly and loudly, “NO!”.
Suddenly Sandra woke. Refreshed, she wants to drive. I’m ready to let her. We exchange places. I drop the seat back and try to nap.
I can’t sleep.
We talk about events, other vacations taken, and special memories of our twenty-five years together.
An hour and a half later I fell into dream world. The last thing I remember seeing was a sign, HOUSTON 8.

“Welcome To My Nightmare”
Sandra woke me, “The engine, or something in the front of the car is making a strange sound.”
“What… where are we?”
“Just outside of Houston.”
My eyes try to focus, I can see the skyline.
I listen, hear the noise. Sounds the radiator overflow container boiling over. I don’t want to alarm Sandra, but my mind starts thinking of the worse possibilities, a hole in the radiator, maybe the water pump going out, or the oil pump…

We stop to check. I finally find the flaslight under the suitcases.
“Nope, not that…” I pull on hoses, smell for antifreeze, check the dipstick. Everything looked okay. “I…I don’t know what the noise is.”
Started the car engine, no noise. Put car in first gear, then second, third. As we sped up in fourth, the noise started again. Maybe it’s the transmission?
I prayed we’d at least get to Galveston, 45 miles away. If we could make it that far, and if worse came to worst, we’d leave the car parked at the hotel, get some sleep, hire a cab, or maybe the hotel would have a shuttle, get to the ship, worry later. We’d be back Thursday and would have the car looked at then.

“Please, just get us to the dock!” hammered my thoughts turning them into 45 prayers as each mile clicked us closer.
We cross the bridge that connects the island. It’s all down hill now. If the engine died we could coast to the pier. Maybe. “Thank You Lord!”
We began searching for a hotel.

(Having not sleep for 22 hours plays funny tricks with ones thinking.
Judgment and speech are effected too. I didn’t realize it, but logic and reasoning have abandoned my brain. They’ve decided to take a vacation without me.)

Chapter 2

We pulled into a hotel driveway. I go inside. The clerk is asleep at the desk. “Excuse me, I haven’t slept since 8 yesterday, we need a wake up call at 12.” I held out my credit card.
“Sorry sir,” the clerk sez rubbing his eyes, “There’s no rooms available. It’s Saturday. Everyone comes in from the mainland for the weekend. You might try ‘____’.”
We tried ‘____’ and ‘_____ _____’ then ‘____’.
I explained to this latest clerk, “I haven’t slept since 8 yesterday. We need sleep desperately, just a few hours…” I was digging in my billfold trying to find the credit card, it’s not there, did I leave back at the last place? Maybe the first one? I couldn’t remember.

“Sorry, we’re booked up but may have one available at 11. Would you like to check back?”

We tried twelve others after retracing the drive and visits to the first, second, and third hotels looking for the missing credit card. Didn’t find it, or a room.

We decided to get some breakfast, maybe some time out of the car would help. While Sandra was in the restroom, I almost fall asleep face down in my sunny side up eggs.

We tried another hotel. Booked up. I look over at its pool, “Maybe they’d let us sleep there? We can ask.” I go back in, “Two single lawn chairs by the pool please, no smoking, give us a wake up call at 12, thank you very much.”

She looks at me, the expression on her face is odd, “Ahh… Sorry sir, but no.”
“We NEED SLEEP-”
“It’s against company policy!”
“PLEASE,” I beg, “WE’LL PAY!”
“NO!”
“BUT-”
She grabs a portable radio, “SECURITY, FRONT DESK A.S.A.P.!”

As I exit the door, I see my reflection in the mirror door. I haven’t shaved since yesterday, little bits of egg clings in my mustache. My eyes are bloodshot, clothes wrinkled. I notice I smell like last weeks dirty socks. All these add up to the description of someone living not at the beach, but on it.

Frustrated I gave up looking for a hotel and decided we’d be more productive time-wise having the car looked at.

An hour later, we were still trying to find a repair shop. The ones we found were ‘Closed Saturday and Sunday’. Maybe all the car mechanics leave the island for the mainland?
Drove around, stopped at a convenience store, asked “Doesn’t anybody work on weekends? On cars, I mean.”

“Down two streets,” he points, “make a right going North, up five blocks, make a right, pass a railroad track, go three blocks, go under the highway. Four lights down, on the right.”

I drive two blocks and forget the rest of the directions.

While driving, we see a Firerock Car Repair Center, but is it open? It’s open. The service manager asks “Having trouble?”
If only he knew.

I begin rambling some words into phrases that make perfect sense to me.
I think I told him “We’re from out of town, drove the whole way from near Dallas, I was asleep when our car started making a strange sound outside of Houston and we need sleep while our dogs back home are enjoying theirs. We’re suppose to board our ship, well it’s not our ship, but PriceLess’s, for five days to Mexico, on the-what’s the name of the ship? I…I can’t remember… but it doesn’t take five days to get there, just one, and we can’t find a hotel. Here, in Galveston I mean, not Mexico.”
I’m so tired I can’t even talk with my hands anymore.
“We have to be on board no later than 3:30 or the ship sails, then we’d have plenty of time to have the car repaired but we don’t won’t that, staying here to have the car repaired I mean. We’d rather be on the ship, going to Mexico. But yes, I want the car repaired, either now or when we get back Thursday from Mexico if we make it to the ship to go to Mexico, and we’ll be right back. Thursday.”

Reasoning visits me briefly to check in on me, I pause and take a breath. “Excuse me, I haven’t had any sleep since 8 yesterday morning.” I look at my watch, it’s eleven-nineteen. I can’t calculate how long it’s been since I slept last.

The service manager scratched his head and said, “Have a seat, I’ll get back to you. Your key please?”

We waited an hour for them to look at the car. Sandra napped in the car. In the waiting room I stared at the brewing coffee pot wishing it would hurry up, then began wondering if I should have a cup or not. With my mind hitting on just five cylinders, a caffeine rush right now may not be a good idea. I tried to nap on the waiting area couch but couldn’t get comfortable. My legs would wake me telling me how well they were sleeping.

“Mr. Speegle,” the ships Captain dressed in his snow white starched uniform was calling out to me from over the deck railing, “I’m sorry we have to leave now. We can’t wait any longer!”

“MR. SPEEGLE!”

I jerked up looking around. The captain left, the service manager took his place.

“Bad news. The right CV joint needs replacing. Time guestimating to get the parts from the warehouse, if they have ‘em in stock, and installed, two hours.”

IF they have them? TWO HOURS? Have the car repaired today, or wait until Thursday? Was the dream a sign of warning, or just a daytime nightmare?
A tough decision to call. Get it done now and we won’t have to worry about it later versus the thought what if they can’t get it finished in time and risk missing the boat.

“Two hours for sure?” I ask.
“Give or take ten minutes,” he assured me.

While waiting to have the car fixed, Sandra sees a pet store next door. Animal lover that she is, we visit it.
We watch the husband and wife owners hand feed newly born Cockatoos with something that looks like regurgitated a la’ worm. The lady owner does her best to sell us some birds but stop when I tell her, or I think I tell her what I think I told the people at the car repair center. The male species pet store owner looks at his watch and says “Two hours huh?”

I look out the shop’s window. Across the street I see a banner over a restaurant, “Live Broiled Shrimp.” I wondered how they survive the cooking. I start giggling uncontrollably and muttering the phrase out loud. Over and over. I drift over to the shop’s aquarium, take a look the fish and begin laughing hysterically.

The kind natured male pet shop owner tells me, “Your car might be ready if you want to go check.” His eyes shift from me to the other customers.
“Two hours? Already?” I look at my watch, its face is blurred. I hold it up to him, “See what time it is?” Before he can answer, “Time to get another watch,” I laugh, “It’s not working.”
“It’s 1:00” he says.

At 1:08 we’re on our way. I’m exhausted, but get my second wind after seeing the stack of our ship peeking above the terminal.
Planning the trip, I’d researched the statistics of the ‘Celebration’, but at the moment couldn’t remember:

733’ x 92’ x 8 decks, cruise speed 21 knots, guest capacity 1,486, staff 670, 3 pools-2 for adults, 1 for children, 2 hot tubs, 2 main dining rooms, several bistros that served meals if you don’t to dress ‘elegantly casual’ in the main one, a 24 hour pizzeria, 24 hour room service, casinos, spa/gym, theater with live entertainment, plus 24 hour in-room movies. A floating city.

We drive up to a line of waiting cars where porters help unload baggage. We’re handed a paper that says “Important Information Please Read Immediately!” The print gets smaller but I think it’s notifying us to make sure we haven’t packed our tickets and necessary paper work (Proof of Citizenship) in the luggage about to be taken by the porter to the ship.

Sandra will carry a packed bag with our paperwork/cameras/extra set of clothing just in case we don’t see our baggage for a while.

The porter instructs me to drive to the Port of Galveston fenced parking lot, “Just down street.”
Here we go again…

“That street?” I ask.
“Yes sir.”
“No turns, bridges, stop lights?”
“Make a right, go straight. Can’t miss it.”
Wanna bet!

I find it. The attendant holds out his hand, “$40.”
“What?! I paid already, we have tickets-”
“The parking lot is owned by the city, not the cruiseline,” he explains.

I pay. I park. A bus will shuttle us back to the wharf, and without charging extra. What a bargain! I’m sarcastic in my thoughts because of lack of sleep, but relieved the ordeal is finally over. Or so I thought.

While waiting for the bus to load with more passengers, I pass out.

To resume the cruise

or to return home

Tagged: al speegle, Al Speegle Jr, America, asking directions, author, Bible, car repair, christian, christian satire, columnist, cozumel, cruise, cruising, cruislines, Daystar, driving, Elvis, Freedom, Galveston, graphic violence, Holy Observer, Houston, humor, Hunter S. Thompson, insomnia, Kenneth Copeland, Lark News, Life Stories, live boiled shrimp, Love, Mexico, ocean, peace of mind, Prayer, religion, sarcasism, satire, sea, sermon notes, sleep, smoking, TBN, The Door, The Door Magazine, The Wittenburg Door, The X Files, Travel, Trinity Broadcasting Network, true stories, true story, vacation, War, wedding anniversary, wordpress, writer, writers, writing ]]> http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/21/from-chaos-to-cozumel-and-back-part-1-2/feed/ 0 alspeegle Bow of 'Celebration' http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/21/tbns-psyops-manual/ http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/21/tbns-psyops-manual/#comments Sun, 21 Jun 2009 03:29:46 +0000 Al Speegle http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/?p=193 ]]>
TBN’s PsyOps Manual

Congratulations! You’ve purchased TBN’s Word of Faith Operations Manual, and are on your way to the rewarding lifestyle you deserve.
This is chapter 1 of 35. It contains all you’ll need to know about Psychological Operations, or PsyOps.

A brief history of PsyOps:
Developed in 1984 and is used by U.S. military and intelligence agencies.

How does it work

The principle is simple:

Define a need to the recipient; fulfill the need to meet your desired results.

For example, tell the subject “God wants you to have the best car/house/healing (define the need), and you can have it when you give to this ministry!”(fulfill the need to meet your desired results)
They will.
Another example using the re-enforcement principle, “Prove God and his word (define the need), give to this ministry (fulfill the need to meet your desired results), and he’ll bless you back 10, 20, 100% fold!” (define the need)

How can you lose?

You may ask, isn’t this dishonest–deceiving people–as well as propagating a false gospel?

Think of it as a marketing strategy. Dollars are tight. The competition is fierce. You want to be blessed, don’t you? That’s why you ordered this program, to have an edge. That’s why we’ve developed this program.
We want you to succeed!

Now, you should have no doubts.

See how easy PsyOps works? Define a need, fulfill the need to meet your desired results.

Let’s begin. Find the CD that came with your PsyOps kit, labeled “TBN Praise-A-Thon.”
Next find the transcription entitled, “Praise-A-Thon Study Plan 1” to be on your way to becoming the multimillionaire you‘ve always dreamed you’d be.

Chapter 2 Subliminal Messages in Music

Chapter 3 Utilizing Propaganda Effectively

Chapter 4 Damage Control

Chapter 5 Acquiring Your First Television $tation

Al’s Spiel

Tagged: al speegle, Al Speegle Jr, author, Bible, christian, christian satire, Christianity, columnist, Daystar, Holy Observer, humor, Jim Watkins, Kenneth Copeland, Lark News, Life Stories, Love, Marketing, North Texas Christian Writers, ocean, Praise-a-Thon, PsyOps, religion, Ronnie Kendig, satire, sermon notes, smoking, spiel, Steve Miller, TBN, The Door, The Door Magazine, The Wittenburg Door, The X Files, Travel, Trinity Broadcasting Network, War, wordpress, writers, writing ]]> http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/21/tbns-psyops-manual/feed/ 0 alspeegle http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/21/the-screwtape-e-mail/ http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/21/the-screwtape-e-mail/#comments Sun, 21 Jun 2009 03:10:43 +0000 Al Speegle http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/?p=187 ]]> THE SCREWTAPE E-MAIL appeared in THE WITTENBERG DOOR magazine, issue #188, July/August 2003

“THE SCREWTAPE E-MAIL”
To: hogwash@destined2hell
From: screwtape@destined2hell
Subject: Paul Crouch, Trinity Broadcasting Network(TBN)

Got your e-mail, I’m always glad to get your status reports.

Our father below is ecstatic about the progress with TBN and the way you are handling your assigned human, Paul Crouch.

To answer your question about his latest attempt to acquire another satellite, the answer is as clear and obvious as the horn tips on your ugly little head. Yes, by all means help him, but hinder his efforts for a short period. Pressure him long enough to cause him to whine to his supporters (or cash cows as you call them) and appeal for more money. In their giving sacrificially to TBN they’ll believe in having done their all and become complacent in further commitments; thereby diverting the funding from those that truly serve their master. See the logic? Simple, really.

Remember dear Hogwash, do not make a vicious attack on Crouch, or you risk him running to our enemy’s arms. We cannot allow that to happen. TBN serves our cause more than his. As long as they continue to spread their false teachings, our purpose is accomplished, namely the prevention of the message of the cross.

I remember back when Crouch started TBN. Our kingdom was worried that the enemy’s side would greatly advance. Our concern went for naught when High Command wisely summoned your fellow devils, Greed and Pride. They worked double duty on Crouch until he began to understand the full potential of his endeavor. You see the results of your colleagues’ labour today.

Paul and his televangelists (awarded the degree of ‘Honorary Devils’ from our chancellor’s office at Tempter’s Training College) have successfully perverted the truth for lies.

Never in history, with the exception of our father’s encounter with the first human woman, has anyone so widely perpetuated the belief “Ye shall be as gods!” as much as our spokespersons at TBN.

Kudos to Kenneth and Gloria Copeland. Both have been most helpful by convincing some foolish humans they are ‘little gods’ and causing them to believe they can call miracles into existence with the power of their spoken word.

With voices of victory they seemingly triumph in the conquest of our enemy above, expecting him to do their bidding like a common servant who doesn’t have any say so in the matter. I shudder with fear and trembling that we would even consider, much less attempt with ours.

When Ken said on TBN’s Praise-a-Thon, “I was surprised when I found out who the biggest failure in the Bible actually is…God. He lost his top-ranking, most anointed angel, the first man and woman he ever created, the whole earth,(and) a third of the angels-that’s a big loss.” I must ask you dear nephew, was that your inspiration, or does he actually believe this?

With teachings like these on TBN, the enemy’s son would turn over in his grave, if he were still in it.

Your next question about Benny Hinn:
Should you continue to deceive him with false teachings and prophecies?
At this stage, I think it would be a waste of devil’s power, time, and resources hanging around him. He is at the point he does quite well on his own. Leave Hinn to his own devices. Reduce your work force with him, but keep Ego and Envy assigned.

Continue with your ‘bad works’ with Crouch and TBN. Our numbers of souls deceived are increasing daily.

Warmest affection,

Uncle Screwtape

More of Al’s Screwy Tapes

Tagged: al speegle, Al Speegle Jr, America, author, benny hinn, Bible, christian, christian satire, Christianity, columnist, cruise, Daystar, Elvis, Galveston, Holy Observer, humor, Hunter S. Thompson, Jim Watkins, Kenneth Copeland, Life Stories, Love, Mark Twain, ocean, religion, Ronnie Kendig, satire, sea, sermon notes, smoking, spiel, TBN, The Door, The Door Magazine, The Wittenburg Door, The X Files, Travel, Trinity Broadcasting Network, War, wordpress, writing ]]> http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/21/the-screwtape-e-mail/feed/ 0 alspeegle http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/21/my-turkeys-cooked-or-not/ http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/21/my-turkeys-cooked-or-not/#comments Sun, 21 Jun 2009 02:51:25 +0000 Al Speegle http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/?p=179 ]]>

The office Thanksgiving party ‘Food To Bring’ list was posted in the break room. I signed my name next to ‘turkey’.
Little did I know it’d be prophetic.

Wanting something other then the usual bland meat, I’d seen advertisements on tv for Cajun Fried turkey from a fast food place that usually sells fried chicken.

I inquired. $35 plus tax. I ordered one filling out the paper work stating the pickup date of November 24, 11 – 11:30 a.m.

The morning of the party, I was at the chicken place at 10:50. I showed the lady at the counter my pre-paid receipt. She disappeared to the back.

While waiting the smell of cooking food reminded me I was hungry. Hmmm… maybe I should sample a bite or three of the turkey before returning to work… My mouth watered.

“Here you are, sir. Hope you enjoy it!” She handed me the bag.

“Thanks!” I reached, one hand clutching the top of the bag, the other at the bottom for support.
“Huh?” The bottom felt cold.
My hands roamed the bird. Sure enough, not only was it cold, it was frozen. “What’s this?” I asked the smiling lady.

“It’s your turkey.”

“It’s…it’s not cooked!”

“Sure it is!”

“No ma’m, it isn’t.” I thumped it annoucing the sound and hardness of a bowling ball.

She peeled back the bag, pointed to the plastic wrap next to the cooking instructions, ‘Cooked Turkey, Cajun Style’ “See, it’s cooked! You just have ta warm it up. Takes about two hours.”

Two hours!” I screamed. You don’t understand. Twenty people are suppose to be eating off it in thirty minutes!

“Not this one,” she patted it like it was a lone lost relative, “it’ll take two hours.”

“Wha…” I’m stunned. “You sell fast food. When I order chicken it’s hot, not luke-warm, or cold. Especially not frozen. It’s cooked, ready to eat!”

“Sir, it’s cooked.”

I rolled my eyes, here we go again. “Ma’m, nobody is going to be eating it in thirty minutes, much less ten. What am I going to do?”

“You want the turkey or not?”

I grabbed the fowl, feeling fouled. I was cooking, not just warmed up. I was frying. Steamed. Burning beyond well done.
I sat in my car wondering what to do. How am I going to face everyone at work with a frozen turkey?
I did something I should have done at the start. I prayed. I didn’t expect God to zap the bird with the spiritual micro-wave of his hand, but it’d be nice…
No, I asked for help, and wisdom as to what to do. I started the car and headed for work.

Exiting the highway I spied a Bar-B-Q restaurant. I wonder if they have a way or method of cooking something quickly…” I went in, explained what happened.

‘Willie’ nodded sympathetically, “We use an oven.” He closed one eye, looked at the turkey mentally guestimating the cooking time, “Take two hours, maybe an hour and half. Sorry.”

I leaned back against the wall, disgusted. I looked at the clock, 11:20. That’ll mean it’d be ready about 1, not in time for the party. Another prayer.
After opening my eyes I noticed he was slicing a turkey loaf.
My answer was right in front of me, Thank you, Lord! “Willie, how many of those do you have?”

“Bout thirty.”

“How much will I need to feed twenty people?”

“Most people eat can five ounces, some eight–”

“Give me five pounds. That’ll tie them over until the bird is done!”

And it did.

One more thing to be thankful for…

Al’s Cooked Homepage

Tagged: al speegle, Al Speegle Jr, author, Bible, chicken, christian, christian satire, Christianity, columnist, cruise, eat, Elvis, food, Holy Observer, humor, Hunter S. Thompson, Jim Watkins, Kenneth Copeland, Lark News, Life Stories, Love, Mark Twain, ocean, religion, Ronnie Kendig, saralee perel, satire, sea, sermon notes, sex, smoking, spiel, Steve Miller, TBN, Thanksgiving, The Door, The Door Magazine, The Wittenburg Door, The X Files, Travel, Trinity Broadcasting Network, turkey, War, wordpress, work, writers, writing ]]> http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/21/my-turkeys-cooked-or-not/feed/ 0 alspeegle http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/21/the-adventures-of-hunklebenny-hinn/ http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/21/the-adventures-of-hunklebenny-hinn/#comments Sun, 21 Jun 2009 02:32:49 +0000 Al Speegle http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/?p=170 ]]>
“THE ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBENNY HINN” appeared in THE WITTENBURG DOOR , issue #186 March/April 2003.

“It’s my turn!”

“Tis not!” Hucklebenny countered.

“Is too! You were David last time, I ‘member I played Go’liah last time cause that knot,” Sammy’s hand rubbed at the side of his head, “It took a week for the swell’n ta go down!”

“Ahh Sammy, come on. You know you play Go’lyiah better’n me.” Hucklebenny smiled, hoping his words would convince his brother. Again.

“Yeah that’s only cause I’s got lots mo’ practice than you.” He turned and bent over to pick out a dried mud clod, “Lemme see…this looks like a good en”

Benny saw his opportunity, aimed his slingshot and fired.

“OOOOW!” Sammy dropped face down in the dirt.

“BENEDICTUS HUCKLEBENNY HINN! I SAW THAT!”

Every time he heard his momma say his name that way, he knew he was in trouble. Again.

Momma Clemance rushed to his brother, lifted him up, and began dusting at Sammy’s clothes. “Lands sake, you boy’s gonna be the death of me yet.” She gave him one last inspection, kissed him on the cheek, and turned to Benny. “BENEDICTUS HUCKLEBENNY HINN,” she had that glare he knew only too well. Her hand reached out, “Gimme.” He handed her the slingshot and knew her were eyes blazing hell and damnation.
It was a stare that could sour milk still in a cow during the coldest day of winter.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”

“Momma, God told me to-“

“Now you hush up this instant. It’s blasphemous you always saying God’s been telling you things!”

“But Ma, it’s all true-“

“Uh huh, like that time you said God told you Pa was going to be the Mayor of Jaffa? My, how you got him excited and all, he was happier than a dog just let outta de house. That was, until he found out he couldn’t be elect’d cause he ain’t a Jew. Why’d you go and put that fool notion in his head anyway? An Arab running for Mayor. Bless his soul. T’aint it hard enough us being Palestin’ns living here in Israel without you goin’ and stirring up mo’ trouble…”

Benny looked at his Mother, his mind starting to drift like a skip on the Mediterranean. He licked his lips, and could taste the salt.

“And that time he said you was going to be a travel agent and see the world, and then you was…” She leaned closer, “BOY, YOU LIST’N TA ME?”

“Uh…” He blinked his eyes and swallowed, “But Momma, you watch an see. I’m gonna be famous, an rich too. I’m gonna live in a hun’ner dollar house, an-“

She shook her head, “Hunklebenny, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times, quit your exaggerat’n.”

“I’m sorry Mamma, I won’t do it again.” Hands behind his back he crossed his fingers, “I promise.” He hugged his mother.

“Now get, you two. Scoot. It’s almost time for school.”

As she turned to leave, he stuck his tongue out at Sammy and smiled.

Instead of heading for school, Hucklebenny convinced his brother to go fishing.
“Who ever catches the first fish doesn’t have to do the supper dishes for a week, O.K.? Now come on, I ain’t got all day for you to think it over. You with me or not?”

They settled in at the stream. “Thar’s a rabbit, see ‘im?” Benny pointed towards a clump of trees, “bet Ma an Pa would like rabbit for dinner, huh.” He patted at his pocket, “Darn it, I don’t have my slingshot.”

“I got mine! Watch my pole O.K.?” Sammy shot off like greased lighting.

With Sammy now out of his hair, Hucklebenny laid back, taking in the sunshine. His eyes got lazy. Suddenly he felt a pull on his line. “What the…” He jerked the pole up, and saw a large mouth bass.
He reeled it in, “Oh boy, no dishwash’n for a week.” As he started to take the hook off he got an “inspiration.”
He quickly reached into his pocket and pulled out a fifty-cent piece, put it in the bass’s mouth and threw it back in the water. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his brother coming back. He closed his eyes.
“Wheren’t no rabbit anywhere- Hey, what’s wrong? You got that crazy look agin.”
Benny cocked his head, “Yes Lord, I hear ya.” His neck stretched farther out. “What? I’mma gonna catch a fish. A largemouth bass? And do what? Look in it’s mouth? What for? Ah what? Ah coin? Okay, what ever you say God.”
Hucklebenny shook his head, looked at the pole in his hand then over at Sammy. He tried to take a step, staggering as he did. Reaching for his brother, “Sammy, what happ’n?”
“I don’t know, but it sounded like you’s talking to God agin.”
“Bless my soul,” Hucklebenny made his eyes get wide, “What’d he say this time?”
“Some’n bout a fish, an yourn to look in its mouth.”
The bass splashed in the water as it jumped.
“Looky that,” Sammy pointed, “and it’s a bass too!” He looked over at Hucklebenny, his eyes bigger than basketballs.
Hucklebenny acted like the fish was putting up a fight, he shook his body like every muscle was working overtime.
“Quick, bring it in,” Sammy yelled.
Hucklebenny was enjoying the moment watching his brother and he remembered fishing with his other brother. Willie caught a brim. Well, almost caught it, the line broke before he could reel it in. Worried the same thing could happen to him and he’d be out fifty cents, he swung the fish over towards land.
As it got within reach, Sammy grabbed at it but missed. It was jerking, first one way, then the other. “He’s slippier than a wet noodle.”
“Come on Sammie, grab ‘im by the bottom lip! There. Now take the hook out. Hold em tight.”
The fish took a leap of faith.
“DON’T LET HIM GET AWAY!” Hucklebenny screamed as the fish flipped, flopped and executed perfect somersaults, inching it’s way towards the water. It was a matter of life for the fish, and a matter of death for Hucklebenny.
Both boys took turns grasping at the fish. Neither was successful.
Desperate, Hucklebenny stomped a foot at it, but each time his foot got closer, the fish jerked out of the way, and closer to the shoreline.
Suddenly, it stopped. His mouth opened and closed, then was still.
“Ya think it’s dead?” Sammy asked.
“Don’t know, hope so,” Hucklebenny wiped at his brow.
Sammy stuck his finger at it, and the bass started the convulsions all over again.
Ten minutes seemed like three hours to the boys, more so to Hucklebenny. Even more so for the fish for another five minutes.
Then he decided to die.
Hucklebenny reached into its mouth, and felt the coin. He looked over at Sammy and stalled for time, roaming around the insides. His brother’s face watched eagerly.
Hucklebenny lit his face up, “I feel something! It’s hard.” Sammy got closer. “It’s round too!”
“WELL PULL IT OUT! LETS SEE!” the anticipation and excitement was more then Sammy could stand.
“It feels like…like…a-”
“A COIN?” Sammy burst out.
Hucklebenny smiled as he retrieved his money, and put it in front of Sammy’s face.
“IT’S TRUE, YOU HEARD RIGHT, GOD TOLD YOU IT WAS GONNA HAPPEN AND IT DID! IT’S A MIRACLE HUCK, A REAL LIVE HONEST TO GOD MIRACLE! IF’A I WEREN’T HERE, I’D A NEVER BELIEVED IT. BUT I SAW IT HAPPEN. WAIT’LL MA AND PA SEE THIS!”
His face dropped, “Wait a minute. How we gonna explain that fish and the money when we’s suppose to be at school?”
“Don’t you worry none,” Hucklebenny smiled. “God’ll tell me something.”

Al’s home page

Tagged: 2003, al speegle, Al Speegle Jr, author, benny hinn, Bible, christian, christian satire, Christianity, columnist, cruise, Holy Observer, humor, Jim Watkins, Kenneth Copeland, Lark News, Life Stories, ocean, religion, Ronnie Kendig, saralee perel, satire, sea, sermon notes, smoking, spiel, TBN, The Door, The Door Magazine, The Wittenburg Door, The X Files, Travel, Trinity Broadcasting Network, War, wordpress, writers, writing ]]> http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/21/the-adventures-of-hunklebenny-hinn/feed/ 0 alspeegle http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/21/the-chi-files/ http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/21/the-chi-files/#comments Sun, 21 Jun 2009 01:46:20 +0000 Al Speegle http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/?p=155 ]]>

Special Agent Diana Scuallia pulled back the curtain and entered the office. She ignored Mull-dar’s drawing of the wheels within wheels, its caption, “I 1 2 B leev”
She considered herself the more rational of the two, always the skeptic. It took a month of searching thru the Bureau’s achieves until she found the file of his encounter. It wasn’t a surprise his description matched exactly the same as the ‘wheels’ witnessed by the prophet Ezekiel.

He was late as usual. She picked up a scroll on his desk and read his latest report:

- Chi File Investigation -
-Suspicious Activity -
Special Agent Mull-dar,
Yehudah Bureau of Investigation
Informant reports a strange occurrence at the river Yarden.
People enter the river and have encounter with subject known as Youchanan aka John the Baptist (self described as ‘Voice crying the wilderness,” see file #34-BD6) who tells them to t’shuvah or repent of their sins. He dunks them in the water as mikveh, only long enough to get their hair wet. When they come out, they aren’t the same people.
When questioned further, informant stated “they look the same, but they don’t act the same, as if someone, or something, has taken control of their body and mind.” He couldn’t clarify further other than he “knew some of them before the immersion.”
‘After Action Report’ to follow.

She put the scroll aside. A skin under the report was addressed to her.

Scuallia,
The hookah smoking man told me a body will be found tonight behind the Kings palace. He says it’ll be Youchanan. Be prepared to do an autopsy to confirm identity. – M.-

Oh Mull-dar … If it’s not a mysterious hookah smoker, it’s the lone spear throwers. Next, it’d be little green men fathered by Zeus and Leda.
What would she say in her next report to Director Ckin’nar about the current Chi file investigations? Granted, he already knew how bizarre from reality her first reports were. Unless there was a deeper reason… would he’ve assigned her to Mull-dar for his own reason? An internal investigation? Maybe Ckin’nar was using her to keep a watch on him?
Diana, you’ve been around Mull-dar too long, you’re starting to think like him. But what if … what if the truth was out there as Mull-dar claimed? He really believed there was a consortium of government and religious syndicates involving cover-ups. If it existed, how high up did it go, Tiberius Caesar? Governor Pontius Pilate? The current tetrarch of Galil, Antipas? Some, or maybe all the members of the Tzaddikim Sadducees? And were the P’rushim Pharisees involved too? Surely not the Y.B.I! It was impossible to comprehend so many theories; all of them implicated everyone somehow. It was no wonder Mull-dar was dancing on the edge of insanity… and she was following along.
Admittedly, there was some evidence of the mass murder of the all Yehudah children under two years old at Beit-Lechem by the Roman soldiers. It was questionable they did it under direct orders of King Herod. That investigation was officially closed by orders of the new King, King Herod Antipas, his son. Was his fathers death a co-incidence, or part of a some hidden agenda?

She looked at the stack of scrolls, the Chi files grew thicker by the week especially since that new Rabbi came to town.
He was the son of Yosef and Miryam, Yeshua. To some Yehudim Jewish people, he was a prophet, to others the awaited Mashiach. He was a fascinating story-teller according to most, a demon or Beelzebub himself by the P’rushim Pharisees. Mull-dar had files and files of him as a healer, a philosopher, a miracle worker, and a troublemaker. Who was he really? Supposedly born of a virgin (she’d read the accompanying files “Interview with shepherds at birth of the Christ,” “Interview with Star Gazing Mystics of the East who worship the King of Yehudim at Beit-Lechem), and raised in Natzeret. She was the investigating official that took the missing person report filed by his parents at Yerushalayim. It was during the feast of Pesach when he was twelve years old. He was found three days later at the Mikdash Temple teaching the Torah.
Yeshua had a habit of offending the religious establishment according to Mull-dar’s observations.
For example, animal sacrifices are common, regulated, and strictly enforced by the Tzaddikim Sadducees. Yeshua had been warned by Temple authorities about a disturbance involving the financial trade exchangers.
Was Mull-dar’s claim about his raising the dead extreme? There were multiple cases. One particular one, a man, Lazarus, had been dead four days, his body was beginning to stink. He was revived. The P’rushims were upset because of the reported resurrection’s timing wasn’t according to the Talmud, the Sadducees because of it.
Exorcisms? Numerous. She remembered when she first met Mull-dar she had questions about his state of mind. As a trained medical doctor and special agent of the Y.B.I, Scullia’s observations were important. In this line of work, her life depended on them. She tried not to let her emotions show as Mull-dar told her about his personal experience seeing the Rabbi Yeshua calling evil spirits out of a mad man. Later, she read his report about the “Legion Incident at Gerasenes,” where Mull-dar documented the two-thousand swine committing suicide by throwing themselves over a cliff. She remembered he was so casual talking about it, so normal … like it was something that happened everyday. She’d performed hundreds of autopsies, “Final Exams” Mull-dar called them, on murder victims, people killed in accidents, drowned fishermen, lepers, and seen more than her share of death by crucifixion which in her opinion was the most horrific cause of death. Seeing thousands of swine killing themselves all at once was a bit much to imagine, except by Mull-dar, if it happened …
This Yeshua claimed, not once but several times he was the Son of YHVH. It was during an incident when he declared physical healing by the forgiveness of sin just by saying so.
The P’rushims had a fit on that one.
The Sadducees hated Yeshua because he posed a threat to their position. And lifestyle.
How was he a threat to the Roman government? It practiced syncretism respecting all religious beliefs and the Sanhedrin Jewish court system was still subject to Roman law. The death penalty! “If this Yeshua was guilty of insurrection as the religious leaders claimed—” She caught herself, her fingers white from gripping the tablet. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.
Facts piled up into conclusions, but which were facts? Which were hearsay?
Was all this within Mull-dars overactive imagination, “I want to believe” … or maybe I’m coming around to his delusional way of thinking. One thing I did agree with him, “Trust no one.”
She closed the folder, swept her fingers through her hair. If the truth is out there, I’d like to know it. Her eyes rested on Mull-dars drawing.

***
- Autopsy of body found –
SA Diana Scullia, MD, Y.B.I. -
Subject: Approximately thirty year old male. Wearing sandals, coat of camel hair with leather belt. Hand and feet bound with webbed rope.
Cause of death: Decapitated. Straight sever across neck, back to front. Head still missing.
Stomach contents: Berries, honey, and locust. Liver appears to be healthy, no evidence of alcohol abuse.
Followers of Youchanan identified body and claimed it for burial.
(signed)SA Diana Scullia, MD, Y.B.I.

– After Action Report -
Continuing Investigation of killing of Youchanan
SA Mull-dar, Y.B.I. -
Body positively identified as Youchanan AKA John the Baptist. Last seen at birthday party of King Herod Antipas. Informant says King Herod Antipas and Youchana had angry exchange over Queen Herodias (his brother Philip’s ex-wife). King Antipas says he respected John, knew he was a just and holy man, liked listening to him.
Witnesses at party included Queen Herodias and her daughter, various lords, high captains, and chiefs of Galil. All can vouch for King and his whereabouts that evening.
(signed)SA Mull-dar, Y.B.I.

-After Action Report –
Investigation of Shimon the Zealot in murder of Youchana-
SA Diana Scullia, MD, Y.B.I. -
Assisting the case with SA Mull-dar, I’ve discovered an associate and disciple of Yeshua, who goes by the name of Shimon the Zealot. After questioning, he admits he is a radical member of a group that is anti-Roman government.
He claims he didn’t know anything about the killing.

Shimon had ‘probably cause’ killing Youchana with hope to put blame on the Romans to stir a rebellion by Yehudim people against the government.
(signed) SA Diana Scullia, MD, Y.B.I.

Return to Al’s home

Tagged: al speegle, Al Speegle Jr, author, Bible, christian, christian satire, columnist, cruise, Daystar, Holy Observer, humor, Jim Watkins, Kenneth Copeland, Lark News, Life Stories, Mark Twain, North Texas Christian Writers, ocean, religion, Ronnie Kendig, saralee perel, satire, sermon notes, smoking, TBN, The Door, The Door Magazine, The Wittenburg Door, The X Files, Travel, Trinity Broadcasting Network, War, wordpress, writers, writing ]]> http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/21/the-chi-files/feed/ 0 alspeegle http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/21/the-txt-messaging-bible/ http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/21/the-txt-messaging-bible/#comments Sun, 21 Jun 2009 00:37:12 +0000 Al Speegle http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/?p=139 ]]> Appeared in The Wittenburg Door, issue #196 November/December 2004

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16. God so luvd d wrld, he gave Hs onlE Bgotten Son, dat whosoever believeth n him shud not perish, bt hav ever-lastin Lyf. John 3:16

61. He sed un2 dem, “Doth DIS offend U? 62. Wot & f ye shall c d Son of mang ascend ^ whr he wz b4? 63. It iz d spirit dat quickeneth; d flesh profiteth Nuttin; d wrds dat I spk unto U, dey R spirit, & dey R Lyf.” John 6:61-63

19. & f NE mang shall tAk awy d wrds of d book of DIS prophecy, God shall tAk awA Hs pRt out of d book of Lyf, & out of d holy ciT, & frm d tngz which R written n DIS book. Revelation 22:19

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Tagged: al speegle, Al Speegle Jr, America, author, benny hinn, Bible, car repair, christian, christian satire, Christianity, columnist, cruise, Elvis, Freedom, Galveston, Holy Observer, humor, Hunter S. Thompson, Jim Watkins, Kenneth Copeland, Lark News, Life Stories, Mark Twain, ocean, religion, Ronnie Kendig, satire, sea, sermon notes, smoking, spiel, Steve Miller, TBN, The Door, The Door Magazine, The Wittenburg Door, The X Files, Travel, Trinity Broadcasting Network, War, wordpress, writers, writing ]]> http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/21/the-txt-messaging-bible/feed/ 0 alspeegle http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/20/csi-jerusalem/ http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/20/csi-jerusalem/#comments Sat, 20 Jun 2009 23:48:32 +0000 Al Speegle http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/?p=124 ]]>
AlSpeegleWordPress.com

The scribe writes as fast as Dr. Mary Baker Eddy, head of Christian Science Investigators, dictates:
“Jewish male, approximately 33 years old. Cause of the illusion of death:
Crucifixion, usual nail imprints, both wrists, feet.
Contusions in facial area. Under right ribcage, wound inflected,” She measures the opening, “Caused by a spear.”
She leans over the body, turns it over, “Massive lacerations on back, and shoulders. Muscle and bone exposed… blood is congealed. Subject was severely dehydrated. Gives the appearance of death… bout five hours. No rigor mortis, body shows no sign of decomposition. Proves what I believe all along… there’s no such thing as death. ” Dr. Eddy looks at the sign nailed at the top of the cross, ‘King of the Jews’.

“Why are we looking into this?” Dr. Phinease Quimbly, Eddy’s mentor pulled the sheet over the body. “We know who caused this false impression, there’s no question about it. He was sentenced by Pilate, beaten, whipped, and seemingly executed according to the Roman law. Nothing unusual here.”

“It’s not a question of Jesus’s illusion of death. I’m interested in why he wasn’t healed! What do we know about him?”

“We have depositions from several witnesses, they claimed he healed them–”

Eddy interrupted, “He told them what they needed to hear, all they had to have was faith.”

“And…” Dr. Quimbly continued. “He forgave people of their sins, even offered salvation to those who believed in Him. He said he was the way, the truth, and the life.”

“There’s only one holy trinity I pushing,” Eddy’s eyebrow arched, “and I’m convinced it’s divine revelation, reason, and demonstration. I know, I received these revelations when I was in the shadow of the death valley myself. You,” she points to Quimbly, “taught me I could heal myself, if I firmly believe in ‘never doubting’. That’s how I live my life!” Her glance notices someone behind him, “Who’s that woman over there, she looks…distraught.”

Quimbly takes a casual look, turns back, “Her name’s Mary, claims to be Jesus’ mother.”

“No wonder then. She thinks he’s dead.”

A man runs up, and joins them. “Shalom, y’all.”

“Hey Brown, you’re late! Where you been, out gambling again. I need a sketch of this body.”

“I…er… ” he looks down at his feet, then back up at Dr. Eddy, “I over heard some roman solders whiles they’s playing dice… for a purple robe. They said it’s his.” He points towards the body of Jesus. “I thought it might be important to the case, you know… evidence. I almost won,” He shakes his head, then his eyes gets big, “But it wasn’t a total loss, them solders was talking… we got another body. Guy’s name is Judas Iscarariot.”

Quimbly rubs his hands together, “Maybe if he doesn’t give the illusion of death too much, we’ll get him to spill his guts.”

“Wait, there’s mo. The solders say there’s bodies, ’bout four hundred, come alive and popping out their graves all over the bone garden.”

Quimbly looked over at Dr. Eddy. She didn’t look surprised.

Two days later

“O.K. people, what are we looking at?” Eddy asks her team.

“I’ve got reports Jesus isn’t in his tomb.” Quimbly states matter-of-factly.

“Same here,” Brown hands her his sketches, “talk is he rose early this morning.”

Dr. Eddy scratches at her upper lip, “Well, that confirms my belief. You know, there’s one thing you learn about being on this job.” Quimbly and Brown looked at her, wondering.
“Human beings, if they have faith, are capable of anything.”

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish, but have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him. John 3:16,17

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Tagged: al speegle, Al Speegle Jr, author, Bible, christian, christian satire, Christian Science, Christianity, columnist, cruise, Elvis, faith, God's forgiveness, Holy Observer, humor, Jesus, Jim Watkins, John 3:16, Kenneth Copeland, Lark News, Life Stories, Love, Mary Baker Eddy, ocean, religion, Ronnie Kendig, saralee perel, satire, sea, sermon notes, smoking, spiel, TBN, The Door, The Door Magazine, The Wittenburg Door, The X Files, Travel, Trinity Broadcasting Network, War, wordpress, writers, writing ]]> http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/20/csi-jerusalem/feed/ 0 alspeegle http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/17/quiting-smoking/ http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/17/quiting-smoking/#comments Wed, 17 Jun 2009 19:00:59 +0000 Al Speegle http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/?p=3 ]]>

Quiting Smoking, as of 10/25

 11/14
Sept. 25, 2003.

I’ve smoked my last cigar 15 minutes ago. After 26 years of smoking, I’ve decided to quit. Knowing I was planning to stop has caused me some irritation the past few days. 
Will I be a Dr. Jeckel, the calm, mild mannered, easy going guy transformed to Mr. Hyde, a neurotic / psychotic, raging mad man/killer just because I no longer want to ingest smoke into my lungs? I mean, will it be that bad?

Sandra, my wife, has been losing weight. I’ve seen her struggle with eating habits, but she’s successfully losing. It hasn’t been easy for her, my quitting smoking won’t be for me.
She’s given me good tips to help:
Get more rest and sleep
Exercise
Pray
Keep something in your mouth as a substitute for smoking

Remember too, you might get upset at the least little thing, some people do, not everybody, but I’m warning you, think before blowing up. Understand why you might be getting upset. Is it because you’re going thru the withdrawal, or is it a legitimate concern?
Wean off slowly 

All are good suggestions. The last one I’m not so sure about. I’ve decided to quit cold turkey.

I’ve thrown out all the ashtrays, lighters, and matches in the trash. I don’t need reminders lying around.
Friends that have quit suggest using ‘the patch’. If I need it, I may have to.
It’ll be strange not firing up a cigar every time I start the computer, or read a book. Or wake up.

My wife’s health, as well as my own, is my reason for quitting. The extra $45 a month I spent on smoking will come in handy for other things.

Another thought. Watching our 14 year-old dog die from cancer two weeks ago made an impression too.

Before going to work, I stop at the drug store to pick up a ‘Congratulations’ card for a couple at work getting married.
I remember Sandra’s advice, “Keep something in your mouth.” I get a shopping cart and walk the aisles.
I get cans of salted nuts, bags of hard candy, a couple of bags of chips and dip. I think about weight gain, and decide to put the chips and dip back.
I go to pay and notice behind the clerk, is a shelf of ‘Smoking Aids’. The cheapest is $52.
Gee, I’d save more money buying two boxes of 50 count cigars. It’s cheaper to smoke then it is to quit!
I catch myself, then smile at the thought, the attack is starting already? I expected it to happen, but not this soon. It’s only been 1 ½ hours since I quit. 

Driving to work
I’m approach a yellow light, and stop. I see a homeless guy standing on the street corner. He’s holding a cardboard sign, “Need Help! Thank You, and God bless you!” I see him there everyday. Today I notice he’s got a cigarette in his hand. I’m wondering, has he always smoked and I never noticed before?
Imagine that! He’s homeless, needs food, but he’s got a cigerette. I’ll bet he’d had a home to go to, and have plenty to eat if it wasn’t for his smoking.
I want to remember his face, he’ll not get anymore of my money. No, not to support his habit of smoking. If I can’t smoke, neither can he!
The light turns green. As I pass him, he waves and smiles.
I catch myself again.
Another attack has crept up on me, and I didn’t recognize it. I need to pay more attention. Little did I know, several day later, I’d seriously consider standing on the corner next to him. My sign would read, “Need a smoke! A spare cigar or cigarette will do! Thank you, God bless You!”

 I arrive at work. Brent, our computer system analysis is getting out of his car. He has a cigarette in his mouth. I’ve never seen him with out one. He occasionally borrows a cigar from me to tie him over until he can get to the store around the corner to buy a pack.
Maybe I should tell everyone at work I’m quitting smoking. If I get irritable, or easily upset, or worse, go ballistic, maybe people will remember why I might be on edge. Maybe they’d be more forgiving, more supportive, and understanding.
“Brent, I’ve decided to quit smoking.”

“Yeah? Wish I could,” the cigarette tip bounces on his lips as he talks.
I know Brent works two jobs, he’s always hurting for money. I get an idea and tell him, “I figured I’ll save $45 a month by quiting.”
“45 dollars? Ha, I smoke $8 worth a day.”
I do the math, $8 a day for 30 days, that’s…$240 a month? 240 x 12 months a year…$2,880! Gee, I thought I had it bad. I was spending $540 a year.

We see Diana, our General Manager’s secretary standing in the hallway, smoking. We stop, talk. I tell her I’m quiting. She says, “Good for you! I am too, I’m down to three packs a day now. I’m slowly weaning myself off.”
This is not encouraging me. I leave Diana and Brent to smoke.
I’m near my supervisor’s office. Bryan is in. I can tell by the smell of his cigar’s aroma in the hallway.
Of all people I need to tell, it’s especially him, just in case…
I’ve been in his office before, I know the first thing he’ll do is light up a cigar. It calms his nerves. Some days when we have time, he’ll even offer me one. Realizing this, I want to make this meeting quick. Get in, tell him, get out.
As I enter, I do a quick sweep around his desk, see the ashtray with a half smoked cigar. “Morning Bryan!”
He’s at his desk, typing something on the computer. He stops and replies, “Morning Al, how ya doing?” He reaches for the cigar.
I tell him I’m quitting.
His face is pale, “When?” he asks.
“Today.”
“Why?” He lights up.
“My health.” (cough)
“I see.” He draws on the cigar trying to get fire into it.
“And Sandra’s health, too!” I add. I need to get out of here, the smoke curls around Bryan’s head, it’s blue-gray smoke follows the office jet stream, and it’s making it’s way towards me. I want a smoke! NO, I NEED OUT OF HERE!
“I understand. Would seeing a counselor help… a doctor maybe?”
I’m touched at his offering of help. It’s a side I’ve never seen before, “Thanks Bryan, no. But I’ll keep it in mind.”
“Okay then. I’ve got some paperwork to fill out.”
Taking his hint, I stand. We shake his hands.
I’m out of his office, glad to get away from the smoke. Oh God! The temptation was strong. It would have been so easy to smoke “just one more.” I’m determined I’m going to quit! No more “one more”. Yes, there’s going to be more tempting, I need to remind myself.
I do exactly that for the rest of the day. The five minute break time seemed like an hour. Time dragged all day. I fought the urge to bum a cigarette, a cigar from co-workers several times.
I never did.
It’s late at night as I type this. I want a smoke. Badly! I can still smell the smoke here in my study from the cigar I had ten hours ago.
Writing about smoking makes me want a smoke, but it’s helping me fight back, too.
It reminds me of my goal to quit, as well as the struggle I face, and encourages me.

9/26/03
Woke up this morning. Prayed for strength to met the day’s challenges. Not a desperate craving for a smoke. Not yet, anyway. I haven’t smoked in 16 hours.
Sandra asks “How you doing?” She knows it’s going to be hard for me.
“Fine.” I’m lying. I want a cigar bad.
Scenes from a movie I saw years ago from the French Connection, flash thru my mind.
I remember it had a cop rescuing a young girl, a heroin addict. He locks her up in room. For weeks she’s going thru the painful process of withdrawal. Puking, sleeplessness, not eating … the scenes of what she went thru are still vivid in my mind. The agonizing pain in her stomach, the restlessness of walking the floor day after night, night after day, the twisting and turning in bed, the sheet in her fists for something to hold onto, the cravings, the sweats.
I’m not going thru anything like that. Not yet.
Next day. Went to work. Saw homeless people on the same street corner. I don’t see the smoker. Maybe it’s good I don’t. I’d be tempted to bum a cigarette from him. The irony hits. Me asking something of a homeless person.
I go to work. Brent’s getting out of his car, cigarette in mouth. “What are doing here?” he asks.
“I work here!”
“I thought yesterday was your last day”
“Huh? What are you talking about?”
“Bryan sent me the paperwork to take your name out of the system. He said you quit… for health reasons.” “Where’d he get that idea?” Then I remembered. In the rush to get out of his office, I might have told him I was quitting. Did I mention I was quitting smoking, or did I just say ‘quitting’. I couldn’t exactly remember.

 I find out Bryan’s out of the office this morning, a doctor’s appointment. Talked to Brent about getting me back into the system and on-line. He can’t without Bryan’s okay.
I explain the mix up. He lights a smoke as I begin explaining.
A smile breaks across his face, he starts having fits of laugher.
His face glows crimson, followed by convulsions of intermittent coughing. I notice he’s drawn from the cigarette only twice since he lit it. Another small portion of his $240 a month habit is going up in smoke.
I do some work without the computer.
At 11:30, Bryan’s back in his office. He’s surprised to see me.
I explained the mix up about my quitting smoking, not my job. He took it well, seemed relieved I’m not leaving. He didn’t light up in front of me.
Work was a slow day. Break time was slower. Tomorrow starts the weekend. At work I stay busy. At home I’ll have too much time on my hands. My hands will want a cigar in them. I pray. 

9/27/03
Woke up. Sandra and I work in the yard. I mowed while she pulls weeds.
I imagine I’m mowing tobacco fields. The mowed grass smells wonderful.
We talk about what to do the rest of the day. The state fair started yesterday, why not go?
I drool thinking about Fletcher’s corny dogs, I could eat a dozen of them. The new specialty foods introduced this year is fried Oreo’s cookies, and ice cream hotdogs (ice cream wiener with a bun of cake). I could probably eat a dozen of those too.
Instead of driving, we decide to take the metro system. It’s smoke free so that will help take my mind off my craving. We need to catch the metro train to Dallas, another over to City Place Station. From there, catch a shuttle that’ll take us the rest of the way.
Simple, and it’ll kill some time.
As we stand in line for tickets, people are smoking. Waiting for the trains, people are smoking, even right up to the last second before boarding the bus.
Ten minutes later, we get off the smoke free bus. As people make their exit they light up smoking on the way over to the fair’s admittance gate. They wait in line to get tickets, they light up.
It cost $12 per person to get in. I’m outraged, I have to pay to get in so I can spend more once I get in.
I look over my shoulder to see the skyline of downtown Dallas.
A blue-gray fog covers the buildings. Cigarette smoke, or a bad smog day? A code red ozone alert? Then I realize it’s another attack sneaking upon me, I’m having a condition RED alert. My mind says, Warning residents of Dallas, Al Speegle is giving up smoking! Stay Clear!
The first building we enter is the new cars on exhibit.
Signs everywhere say ‘No Smoking’. I’m thinking ‘Wonderful!’ until I see a booth in the middle of the showroom floor. In bright red colored letters, standing four feet tall is one word, CIGARS.
We hit the midway. The day is beautiful, sunny. The aroma’s of various foods fill the air. We by-pass the fried corn dogs, ice cream hotdogs and settle for turkey legs and corn on the cob.
It’s nice to see people everywhere are having a good time, what I hate seeing is the the people enjoying their smoke.
I can’t get away from them. I can almost taste each EX-HELL. In fact, I wish I could.

I get to thinking, people can tell when someone is losing weight. They hear the compliment, “Oh, you look so nice!”
It’s encouraging to hear, to keep striving for the goal.

On the other hand, what’s encouraging for people that are trying to quit smoking? Does anybody say, “Oh, you smell so nice!” or “You’re teeth aren’t as yellow as they usually are! What are you doing differently? Please tell me your secret!”
What can I do for encouragement, something to make me feel good, to measure my success, like losing a pound.
Do I count each time I say ‘NO’ over the desire for a smoke and give myself a pat on the back.
Complimenting myself at the end of the day doesn’t seem to be as rewarding.
Before I gave up smoking, as a reward for some achievement, I’d smoke. Now…Should I compromise?
Now that I see I can go all day without a smoke, maybe I smoke one cigar a day? Let’s see 365 days/year divided by 50 cigars in a box equals 7.3 boxes…

WHAT AM I DOING?? ANOTHER ATTACK!! I NEVER SAW IT COMING!! The nicotine withdrawal! Okay, I recognized it for what it was. Calm down. Fill my lungs with fresh air, exhale. I’m fine for now. No problems. No attacks or shakes. No internal or external conflicts. I’m at peace. I know I can do this, but I know the next 72 hours are going to be a struggle.

0928/03
I woke at 9. Time to get up and get ready for church. My first thought was about smoking. Or not smoking. I remembered the time Pastor Bill called for a church wide ‘day of fasting’. “Our prayers throughout next Sunday will be for unsaved love ones and co-workers, marriages, brothers and sisters that are sick or needing jobs, for all the missionaries and pastors, their work and needs. Finally, for God’s direction and help in decisions for the church. Remember too, fasting doesn’t mean God has to answer our prayers, but it does make us more acute to the needs of others.”
I remembered it’d been a while since I’d fasted the first time, but I knew what to expect: stomach pangs, headache, weakness. All would remind me of my body and its suffering is nothing compared to the needs, and the reasons for the fast. Oh yes, there can be attacks from the evil ones to tempt us, to break us down and take our minds off those needs, and off God. I was ready.

I remembered my first fast ten years ago.
I was on my third day without food. My stomach had quit growling, the headache subsided. I was feeling euphoric, praying more, and felt closer to God than I ever had before.
Then the fast ‘attack’ started.
Steve, a friend I hadn’t seen in five years came by. Sure, I was glad to see him, but did he have to bring my favorite dessert, a German chocolate cake?
I didn’t want to tell him I was fasting, but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings either, so I told him I’d eat it later. He ate a piece in front of me, then another, telling me all the places he’d traveled since we’d seen each other last.
From across the table I could smell the coconut and chocolate. I prayed for strength to resist.
He mentioned the exotic foods he’d eaten in Italy. As he described the lasagna, I could almost smell the tomato sauce brewing, imagined it bubbling as it slowly simmered.
While Steve talked about the Mexican food at Cozumel, my mouth watered at the thought of the beef fajitas with fried onions and green bell peppers sizzling on the hot plate—
“STOP IT!”
It hadn’t been five minutes since I woke and the smoke attack started. I thanked God for helping me realize what was happening and asked for strength to endure. The thought of food disappeared.
I remembered heading to the bathroom, wondering whatever became of Steve. It’d be just like him to show up of all days while I was fasting. Catching myself with those thoughts I stopped and prayed for him.
At least Steve didn’t smoke, but it’d be just like him to show up now, with a box of my favorite cigars in hand.
I got to thinking about the second time of fasting.
That morning, I started brushing my teeth, savoring the mint flavored toothpaste.
In the bathtub, my toes poked out the water reminding me of cereal floating in milk. Pouring the liquid soap on the washcloth I thought of white rich creamy icing on a cake. I licked my lips.
“Stop it, get a grip!” I had to tell myself, “Remember the hurts and needs of others! You think you’re suffering by not eating, it’s nothing compared to what they’re going thru.”
Once again, I prayed.
I finished in the bathroom, and had to get my clothes out of the closet, and absent mindedly walked to the refrigerator to get my creamy chocolate liquid diet drink.
Opening the door, I saw the slices of ham, with jellied cranberry, and dressing. Realizing my mistake, I slammed the door immediately.

“How could I have been so stupid?” I scolded myself, “Lighten up, it’s a habit.” I prayed while dressing, naming people and their needs.
I prayed while opening two cans of dog food, trying not to think of the aroma and look of the ‘Chunks of Chicken in Savory Sauce.’ The dogs ate heartily. I thanked God for their companionship and health.
I walked pass my study, should I check my email before leaving? Not reading it could be considered a sacrifice ‘unto the Lord’. Then again, because of my being a writer I might have an email notifying me of an article was accepted for publishing, maybe needed revising, or worse, rejected.
Should I, shouldn’t I. Maybe there’d be a prayer request, I reasoned. It’d be unusual to get one on Sunday morning, but with the whole church fasting you never know. Maybe someone was having as hard a time, too.
I checked. No messages. I resisted the urge to read the news, then thought maybe there’s a world event I should know about to include in the day’s prayers.
I read, scrolled, and clicked. There’s lots to pray about. War, bombings in the middle east, flooding in Florida, a new disease outbreak. I’d never thought to pray while reading the news before, now I was. Maybe fasting does make us more aware. My stomach growled it’s displeasure at the revelation.
I left for church, deliberately taking a different route to avoid passing the doughnut shop I usually visited Sunday mornings. I’d forgotten about the other food places open for breakfast. As I passed the smell of pancakes and sausage cooking, the words “Fast foods” hit me. I laughted at the thought, and gave a “Thank you Lord for a sense of humor.”
My mouth watered as I sped up. My stomach said “Amen.” I hoped it’d be the last I’d hear from it, but that would not be the case.
Sitting in Sunday school, our class was discussing John Wycliffe, the early Bible translator, and the persecution he and others underwent for their faith.
Pastor Bill said, “Just for having an English copy of the Lord’s prayer– even the ten commandments, meant death by burning at the stake.”
My mind told me how horrible it must have been for them. My stomach said, “STEAK?”
“I have a picture,” Pastor Bill continued, “of one man tied to a spit, and roasted over a fire.”
“Oh God, that’s terrible!” I thought. My belly spoke up, “MMMM…STEAK ROASTED OVER A FIRE!”
“Death was their ultimate sacrifice and that’s why we have a Bible today.”
I felt ashamed of myself. Had I, or maybe “We,” gotten so callous to what it truly meant to sacrifice?
Time passed slowly. I recalled praying while fighting my thoughts and pains, concentrating on the teaching.
The clock on the wall read, 10:15, “an hour forty-five minutes to dinner” my stomach reminded me.
“No, you’re NOT going to win,” I countered, “I am determined to go without food, like it or not! The reasons are too important, lives are at stea–don’t think it, please don’t think it. Too late, I already had. But it was okay. The rest of the day was like that, ‘the attacks’ hitting me when I least expected them. With each one, I prayed. And prayed like never before.

The church saw some answers to their prayers. Marriages were restored, some of the sick got well, people got jobs. Some results we may never know what happened, at least not in this life time. Only God knows.

In the next days mail, I get the advanced issue of
THE DOOR MAGAZINE. In it are four articles I wrote. “Praise God!” My previous record was two in one issue. I wasn’t fasting for it to happen, God was blessing a commitment that honored Him.

Quitting smoking and fasting have alot in common. Both require discipline, maintaining a proper attitude and reason for doing it, and much prayer.

09/29/03
Woke this morning. Never once thought of reaching for a smoke. I can boot the computer without looking around for a cigar, ashtray and lighter. Maybe the hardest part is over. 

9/30/03 to the present
The thrill is gone! No more measurement of time by smoking.

12/29/03
Okay, I have to confess. I did quit smoking. For a month. I got too over confident. My guard came down, I thought the battle was over.
In reality temptation and lies of self-deceit retreated then advanced at me when I least expected it.
I thought the battle was over. It wasn’t. The real battle has begun. Christmas day. My last cigar. This time for real. I’m now more determined then before.
I’ve learned from my mistakes. And my excuses.

No more, “It’s only one! One ain’t going to hurt. Look how well you’ve hung in there, no cigar for four weeks! You’ve got control now, smoking isn’t your master anymore. I bet you could smoke one every two weeks, just to prove you got a handle on it, you know, just to test yourself.” or “Al, you’re gaining weight since you quit smoking, you need to curb your appetite. Maybe if you smoke a cigar tonight it’ll help not to eat.”
”The most recent attack is, “New years is coming up. Why not smoke until then, and call it quits next year. Make quitting smoking a new years resolution?”
My answer back is, “I want to end the year right and quit.”Remember, it’s the little foxes that spoil the haircut.

Feb 24, 2004 – Still not smoking! For Christmas, Sandra gave me a gift certificate to have my teeth whitened. I didn’t want to use it until I knew I’ve stopped smoking. They’re starting to looking pearly again! 

Dec. 20, 2004. Update: I’m still not smoking. I’ve been tempted several times this year, but didn’t give in. My teeth are the whitest I seen them in years!
Plus, I’ve saved a ton of money, too!

Dec. 27, 2005 Update: Still not smoking! I still get the urge once in a while, but it isn’t as bad as when I first began.

Click here to go to a smoke free environment

 

Tagged: al speegle, al speegle word.press.com, cigarette, cigars, computer system, exercise, fasting, hell, homeless, humor, insomnia, Life Stories, losing weight, lungs, money, pray, psychotic, quite smoking, religion, satire, sermon notes, sex, sleep, smoke, smoking, state fair, TBN, The Door, Travel, War, wedding, word press, work, writing ]]> http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/17/quiting-smoking/feed/ 0 alspeegle blacker http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/17/alspublishedlist/ http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/17/alspublishedlist/#comments Wed, 17 Jun 2009 18:48:45 +0000 Al Speegle http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/?p=70 ]]>
***** Book inclusions *****
One Year Devotional of Laughter and Joy by
Mary Hollingsworth is scheduled for release the Fall of 2011 by Tyndale House Publishers featuring my stories:
Credit Where Credit Is Due
Feeding Sheep from a Piñata
My Turkey’s Cooked . . . or Not
My Weekend Bar-B-Q

My Stress Test was published in the
One Year Life Verse Devotional by Jay K. Payleitner, Tyndale House Publishers, October 2007

Aliens in the Church (Co-authored with
Steve Miller) appears in Aug. 2007 Issue 47 of Mindflights (formerly Dragons, Knights, and Angels) and voted to be included in the anthology, “Distant Passages – Volume 3: Short Stories and Poetry” by Double-Edged Publishing in trade paper, hard-back, and Amazon’s ‘Kindle’ format.

Articles appearing in Vista, Journal for Holy Living, the Wesleyn Sunday School magazine
Now Alive April 5, 2009
McChurch July 18, 2010 & July 24, 2011
A Winner in Every Pew April 25, 2010
Take Me Up a Tier January 3, 2010
Jesus Give Me Wheels Spring 2011

My Wittenburg Door interview with author/speaker/threat to society James Watkins was included in his book, Writing With Banana Peels, Principles, Practises, and Pratfalls of Writing Humor published by XarisCom, 2009.

My interview with award-winning columnist with the Cape Cod Times and author of Raw Nerves Saralee Perel appeared in the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop site.

***** Articles published *****
THE WITTENBURG DOOR MAGAZINE, The World’s Pretty Much only Religion Satire Magazine

The Chi Files (#168 Jan/Feb 2000)

The Forgive or Forget Not Show (#173 Nov/Dec 2000)

Gold Cross, an HMMO (#176 July/Aug 2001)

Rent-A-Congregation Ad (#178 Nov/Dec 2001)

Jerry Falwells Buy-A-Bomb Fundraiser (#180 Mar/Apr 2002)

The Mistress Jan Show (#181 May/June 2002)

Crockavangelist Hunter
(co-author with Skippy, #183 Sept/Oct. 2002)

Torched By An Angel (#184 Nov/Dec 2002)

Two articles in one issue (#185 Jan/Feb. 2003)
Death of A TV Salesman
Feast of Fools: A Letter to Paul Crouch

The Adventures of Hucklebenny Hinn (#186 March/Apr. 2003)

Rev. Copeland and My Dad: Two Great Teachers of Faith (#187 May/June 2003)

Four articles published in one issue (#188 July/Aug 2003)
When God Whispers Your Name, Part II: How To Write Like Me, Max Lucado!
Health Disclosure of TBN
Wordgame
The Screwtape E-mail

Three articles published in one issue (#190 Nov/Dec. 2003):
Job Opportunity with Marilyn Hickey Ministries
The Pan Outbreak
Machiavelli and Associates

Two articles in one issue (#191 Jan/Feb 2004):
Paige Patterson: Big Lame Hunter (co-authored with Skippy)
Rev. Gene Ewing’s Make-A-Million Religious Writing Correspondence Course.

Two more in issue #192 (March/April 2004):
New Seminary Feasibility Study
Word of Faith Bumper Stickers We’d Like to See

Another three (#193 May/June 2004)
A Clear and Present Darkness
(My first cover story)

cover art by Jason Seiler

Grandma Smithers’ Rod Parsley Diary
Pastor Bob Tilton’s Seed Faith Lottery Tickets

Three more (#196 Nov/Dec 2004):
Day Spring Hills Church and Country Club
Introducing The TXT Messaging Bible
More Insight from The Bible Code

Issue #197 (Jan/Feb 2005)
McChurch

Issue #197 (Jan/Feb 2006)
More stories for Chicken Soup

Two published in issue #200 July/August 2005
Faith Factor
Hal Lindsey’s, There’s a New Wife Coming!

Issue #201 (Sept/Oct 2005)
The Hitchhikers Guide to the Abyss

Issue #204 (March/April 2006)
Victoria’s ‘Ruby Red Osteen’

Issue #205 (May/June 2006)
My Daily Devotional by Victoria Osteen

Issue #207 (Sept/Oct 2006)
Bob Larson’s Game On!

Issue #208 (Nov/Dec. 2006)
The Veggies of Veggie Tales: One Bad Apple

Issue #212 (July/Aug 2007)
Letter from Kubal
(my second cover story)

cover art by George Jartos

Issue #214 (Nov/Dec 2007)
Reading ‘Lolita’ at Liberty U.

The Holy Land Theme Park is scheduled for the future issue #215 and Paraclete Island in #216.

** Articles published On-line ***
THE WITTENBURG DOOR‘s website, ON LINE EXTRA!:

Mo Willems Christian Books

I’ve Seen the Future, Benny, and It’s Phrygia

McChurch

My interview with author, speaker, and threat to society, James Watkins

Capt. Copeland’s ‘Overcomers Fear of Flying During the Rapture’ Course

Dream Interpreters, Inc.

George Orwell’s 1st Draft of 1984 It’s a warning, not a prophecy!

The TBN Code

Draft of Thomas Weeks Sermon Notes

Bark Like a Scab, an excerpt from Donald Miller’s latest book

Back to HOME

 

Tagged: al speegle, Al Speegle Jr, author, Bible, christian, christian satire, Christianity, columnist, cruise, Holy Observer, humor, James Watkins, Jim Watkins, Kenneth Copeland, Lark News, Life Stories, Love, North Texas Christian Writers, ocean, religion, Ronnie Kendig, saralee perel, satire, sea, sermon notes, smoking, spiel, Steve Miller, TBN, The Door, The Door Magazine, The Wittenburg Door, The X Files, Travel, Trinity Broadcasting Network, War, wordpress, writers, writing ]]> http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/17/alspublishedlist/feed/ 0 alspeegle 193t.jpg 212.JPG http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/17/home/ http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/2009/06/17/home/#comments Wed, 17 Jun 2009 16:26:07 +0000 Al Speegle http://alspeegle.wordpress.com/?p=15 ]]>  

spiel (speel) n. voluble line of talk, glib, or extravagant talk often intended to impress, persuade, or deceive. 

Satire (n. humorous literary ridicule often used to convey rebuke or criticism or to expose folly or vice. Exaggerating the real in order to show its absurdities.).

“If you describe things as better than they are, you are considered to be romantic; if you describe things as worse than they are, you will be called a realist; and if you describe things exactly as they are, you will be thought of as a satirist.” Quentin Crisp

Thanks for stopping by! Al “Spiel” Speegle

E-mail Al

 

A list of my published articles and book inclusions

From Chaos to Cozumel

I Quit Smoking as of 9/25/03, 10/25, 11/14, 12/25

CSI: Jerusalem

Mo Willems Christian books

Bark Like a Scab, an excerpt from Donald Miller’s latest book

The Screwtape E-mail

I’ve Seen the Future, Benny, and It’s Phrygia

Letter from Kabul 

The Forgive or Forget Not Show

Thomas Weeks Sermon Notes

Aliens in the Church (co-authored with Steve Miller)

My Daily Devotional by Victoria Osteen

A Clear and Present Darkness

‘Over Comers Fear of Flying During the Rapture’ Course

Hal Lindsey’s new book, There’s a New Wife Coming!

The TBN Code

Introducing The TXT Messaging Bible

The Chi Files

My Turkeys Cooked … or-not

TBN PsyOps Manual

Interviews:
My interview with author and threat to society James Watkins
Visit James’s website, Live, Laugh, and Love.

My interview with award-winning newspaper columnist for the Cape Cod Times and author of the psycho thriller Raw Nerves, Saralee Perel or at the Erma Bombeck Writers Workshop.

– coming soon or later –

True Stories

Jesus Give Me Wheels

Hemingway’s Revelation

Ask Laszlo

The Secret Lives of Benny Hinn

The Case for Lee Strobel

Don’t Reign on My Children’s Christmas Parade

I Love Suzy

Songs of Saddam

Vacation Jan. 15 – 23

The Road Less Traveled

Flannery O’Connor in Heaven

Betting on William Bennet

Eating Lobster, How NOT to Write a Devotional

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% Stories from members of THE SEED SOWERS writers group %
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Thanks to people I’ve been blessed with in life: 

Sandra, my wife and HERS 2+ cancer survivor, who has put up with me for thirty-five years, especially since my becoming a writer.

Project founder of the Black Gospel Music Restoration Project, Prof. Robert Darden and author of forty-something books and Senior Editor of The Wittenburg Door, The World’s Pretty Much Only Religious Satire Magazine, for publishing my first and many subsequent articles.

 
James Watkins, author, syndicated newspaper columnist, writer’s conference speaker, humorist, minister, web designer, and threat-to-society.

Frank Ball, head scribe and my fellow siblings of the Christian writer’s group, the Seed Sowers, for their prayers, encouragement, corrections, and suggestions.

“I hope you will put up with a little of my foolishness; but you are already doing that”
(2 Corinthians 11:1, NIV).

© Alvin Speegle. All text and graphics on my sites, unless otherwise noted, are copy-righted © in my name, Alvin Speegle and are protected by United States copyright law and international copyright law under the Berne Convention.

Favorite sites
List of World Wide Disaster Relief Agencies

The Wittenburg Door The World’s Pretty Much Only Religious Satire Magazine

Trinity Foundation

North Texas Chrisitan Writers Conference

Mindflights

Any Soldier (support our troops)

The Holy Observer

LarkNews

Religious truth is captive in a small number of little manuscripts which guard the common treasures, instead of expanding them.
Let us break the seal which binds these holy things; let us give wings to truth that it may fly with the Word, no longer prepared at vast expense, but mulititudes everlastingly by a machine which never wearies to every soul which enters life.
– Johann Gutenberg

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