B.A.P.T.O.W.
The Baptist Ascensionary Plot
to Take Over the World

Mme. Anna-Magdalena Petrofina-Blavatsky,
Staff Psychic

Ed Note: Anna-Magdalena Petrofina-Blavatsky (no relation to the Mexican Petrofina's, she says), is one of Magellan's Log's two consulting psychics. She has made something of a name for herself on the New Age, alternative reality circuit. Her claim to fame in the world of the weird is that, whereas most psychics feel themselves either lucky or overburdened to have ONE spirit guide, Mme P-B has no fewer than 238 different discarnates aiding her quest for Larger Truth.
Normally, we approach either of our two media mediums when we have questions of such import that traditional modes of query leave us feeling short-changed. Recently, however, Mme Petrofina-Blavatsky contacted us.  One of her guides (No. 149, she says) had imparted to her startling statements about the root causes of the current sexual molestation brouhaha in the Catholic Church.
Aware of the level of hip, cool with-it-ness that this publication strives for, P-B felt strongly behooved to get this new, not-a-little shocking slant on things to a wider audience.
The question that spawned the remarkable revelation came from one of P-B's walk-in's ("A girl has to make a living") at her modest, heavily draped, incense-befogged studio in East L.A.

CLIENT'S QUESTION

Mme Petrofina-Blavatsky,
As a Los Angeles person, when I say to you that we live on the beach side of the highway in Malibu, you immediately understand what that means. You would be neither surprised nor impressed if I tell you that I frequently run into Blake and Julie when I go for a stroll on the beach. Malibu, Palm Springs, New York, London, Nice: that's my world, a world of light and fashion and an endless stream of new people, some boring but often enough bright and witty.
In the last few months I have gradually fallen victim to a terrible, debilitating addiction, one that I can reveal neither to my husband nor to the people closest to me. If this addiction were to become known, the shame and loss of social standing that I would suffer would be nothing compared to the loss of income my husband would experience as his essential business contacts desert him in droves. He could, I think, survive the loss of his Humvee. I'm not sure I could survive the loss of my mauve Corniche.
I know, you are thinking, "Poor thing, she's gotten hooked on coke, or heroin, or has perhaps even become a Tylenol Extra Strength Allergy Relief junkie." Would that it were so simple.
The truth, Mme Petrofina-Blavatsky, is that I have become a TBN junkie. You have no idea how difficult it is to write those words, to see the awful truth glowing on the screen of my aquamarine iMac.
It started innocently enough. One morning our Hispanic maid forgot and left the TV on that she had been watching while cleaning my 70s retro bedroom. I walked in and there was this red-faced overweight good old boy screaming at this huge audience of extremely docile sheep, some of whom had tears streaming down their jowls, waving their arms about like a possessed kelp bed.
I was about to flick it off when something, something stayed my hand. What was it? I still don't know. I sat on my barely-beige sisal carpet and watched. And watched.
Now, I am totally hooked on the Trinity Broadcasting Network. I make elaborate excuses to my husband to avoid social events so that I can stay home and get the latest on scoop on intelligent creation and Christian evolution, while joining in the endless praise for St. John (Ashcroft, that is). I even took a digital photo of the TV screen showing the ethereal TBN cruciform logo, printed it, and carry copies with me at all times, which I then leave anonymously in restrooms, under my plate in restaurants, and in people's mailboxes when I happen to take a 3 a.m. stroll.
What am I to do, Mme P-B? If my friends from Ashley Hall and Sophie Newcombe every found out, I could never be seen in public again. Please consult one of your most trusted guides. I need help. Now.
                                        --Eschatologically Marooned in Malibu

MME. PETROFINA-BLAVATSKY'S ANSWER

Your query wrenched this old medium's heart. I thought I'd heard everything, but never anything quite so troubling as the life-bind you find yourself in.
I immediately tranced and asked for assistance. One of my most trusted guides (in his last life he was either Theodore Roosevelt or Lo Ping the last emperor of China--he's not entirely consistent about this) quickly appeared. I read your letter aloud to him. After a moment's pause, with distant sounds of several ethereal and empyrean sighs, he responded.
My amanuensis was as usual present and recorded the response, which follows. I must say it was not at all what I was expecting. Frankly, I don't see how it will help you, but my guide insisted that this information be passed on to you and to the ignorant waiting world.

B.A.P.T.O.W.
The Response of Guide No. 149
to EMM's urgent query re TBN

My dear girl, fear not. Be not ashamed. Thou hast fallen victim to one of the cleverest, best-thought-out confidence schemes perpetrated in your world since, verily, that ill-fated series of undertakings known as the "Crusades." This scheme, however, is so far, as your very addiction testifies, going great guns.

What we are basically talking about here--and what I am about to reveal for the first time--is the massive Baptist Ascensionary Plot to Take Over the World (B.A.P.T.O.W.).

You're laughing already, which only shows how successful the B.A.P.T.O.W. has been. Intelligent, educated humans turn on TBN and similar channels and guffaw, not realizing the subliminal messages being planted even as they scoff at the god-awful music and the cliché-filled homilies.

Be assured, my dear, you are not alone in your addiction. Others, by the million, are also secretly hooked. Verily, you pass each other on the streets--of Beverly Hills, of the Upper West Side, of Palm Beach--and you know not whom you pass.

How have the Baptists, a bunch of theological scofflaws if ever there was one, pulled this massively successful act of subversion off?

It all started in November, 1960. Since you, EMM, were not born yet, I will review for you.

At that time there was much hue and cry amongst Baptist brethren and their ilk about how if John F. Kennedy were elected, the de facto capital of the United States would shift 3,000 miles to the east, namely, the Vatican.

When JFK won, the Baptists, in deep shock, went underground. Way, way underground. Secret meetings of prominent Baptists were held frequently in the usual hotbeds (Dallas, Atlanta, Nashville, Richmond). A vast network of activists was developed, modeled (such irony) on the cells used in the earlier 20th century by the Communists. Most all member churches affiliated with the far-flung Southern Baptist Convention had at least one secret B.A.P.T.O.W. cell.

Early activities ranged from the crudely violent resistance to the Civil Rights Movement, to far more effective ploys such as the planting of highly visible, moneyed brethren in the advisory groups of the Republican Party.

As just one example of how smart the B.A.P.T.O.W.'s were--and are: They not only got their Rev. Billy Graham repeatedly into the White House but they managed for decades to completely buffalo the American public and conceal his blatant anti-Semitism, while presenting him as the very model of Christian love. Only the recent release of some of the Nixon tapes showed the world the awful, hypocritical truth that we on the Higher Planes had known all along.

Let me give you one other example of how effective--AND INVISIBLE--the B.A.P.T.O.W. campaign is, and then I will deal directly with your addiction problem.

On a large abandoned black-dirt farm some miles south of Dallas, far from the nearest Interstate highway, certain extremely wealthy Texas Baptist brethren have constructed a training center equal to any used by the FBI, the CIA, and the NSA. At this center, BAPTOW agents for two decades have been schooled in the highest levels of charismatic rhetoric, subliminal conversion, and theological infiltration. The staff includes highly paid experts in all fields of religion, especially disaffected faculty members from Notre Dame, the Perkins School of Theology, and the like.

B.A.P.T.O.W. didn't forget about November, 1960, and the election of a Catholic president. They were just biding their time, and making clever plans to get revenge. What were their plans?
Basically, they decided to undertake a two-pronged attack.

One prong consisted of finding especially cute Baptist boys (easier done that you, look at the Grapes-of-Wrath faces on the TV, might think) and, following in-depth indoctrination in Catholic dogma, placing the boys (and of course their families) in various Catholic parishes around the nation.

The other prong consisted in identifying the most intelligent young Baptist ministers (an undertaking not without its difficulties) and inserting them into Catholic schools of theology for entry as deep-cover agents into the priesthood, where they would over time seduce as many of the afore-mentioned cute altar boys and any other supplicants on whom their lascivious eyes fell as they could.

Obviously this was a project requiring years of planning and more years to pull off. But B.A.P.T.O.W. is nothing if not patient and persistent.

Current headlines speak to the success of the long, carefully planned B.A.P.T.O.W. campaign. They have almost brought the Catholic Church to its knees, morally and financially.

Now, to your problem, EMM, which is directly related to all the above.

If B.A.P.T.O.W. in a mere 40 years is capable of inflicting such damage on a 2,000-year-old institution of vast wealth and power, it should not surprise you that they are also capable of seducing casual TV viewers such as yourself.

You, as you say, one day just happened to innocently glance at a TBN broadcast, and found yourself quickly and overpoweringly sucked in. How does it happen?

My dear EMM, B.A.P.T.O.W., now triumphant over the Catholic Church and with its many minions filling positions in Washington right up to the top, is filled to over-flowing with absolute, inerrant confidence that IT IS RIGHT, that IT HAS THE TRUTH, THE ONE TRUE PATH.

The people you see on TBN are, yes, hucksters, but they are the most dangerous kind of hucksters: THEY TRULY DEEPLY BELIEVE THE FOLDEROL THEY ARE SHOUTING AT YOU.

As history shows, such demagogic confidence is highly infectious. They REALLY REALLY believe, so much so that they make you want to believe just as much. So you switch off your mind--no more worry about THINKING--and just accept their all-encompassing, all-knowing CERTITUDE.

Suddenly you start sleeping better, you eat better, you even have better sex. You go around smiling. You have, as they love to say, been born again.

The only problem, of course, is that you are no long THINKING. Which means you are no longer really a person. You have not been born again; you have, in a sense, died. You have become an automaton, a cog in the omnivorous B.A.P.T.O.W. machine.

As such you are of course HAPPIEST when you are in the presence of other un-thinking cogs, that is to say, watching TBN. (Or gathered by the tens of thousands in their capacious churches. But apparently your addiction has not yet led you to actual attendance.)

Q.E.D.

How to break the addiction?

Many possibilities, not least among them would be the frequent reading of stubbornly skeptical web sites such as this one.

But here's a better way:

One of B.A.P.T.O.W.'s favorite mottoes is "WWJD", "What Would Jesus Do," which it loves to instill in the young. Of course what B.A.P.T.O.W. actually means when it says "WWJD" is "What would Jesus as WE want him to be, do?"

Well. As your Higher-planes contact, I do have connections. I actually went to the Source here, described your addiction problem in some detail, and asked, in all humility, what He would do.

His answer? It was very simple:

"TURN OFF THE TV."

END

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