May 2001

Last Friday, with the Lord's blessing and under stealth of night, several members of the Ladies of Landover, accompanied by six certified cosmetologists from the Landover Baptism & Beauty Spa, kicked the door in on Freehold’s notorious Pentecostal Holiness Church, surprising 12 dowdy housewives busy in prayer. The Godly group from Landover immediately wrestled the startled Pentecostal women to the floor and proceeded to give each of them a vigorous comb-out and a depilatory beauty treatment in a last-ditch effort to make the women more pleasing to the Lord.

"These Pentecostal nuts have it in their heads that the Bible tells them not to shave any hair on their body," said Judy O'Christian, who was placed in charge of the critical "Mustache-Bleaching" operation. "One of those gals looked like a Yellowstone grizzly bear in a caftan. We could have made a pile of Rubles selling her to the Moscow circus. Now, I have as much respect for other folks' religious beliefs as anyone. That is, unless they conflict with my Baptist beliefs. Then, they are just thumbing their hairy noses at the Lord."

Mrs. Betty Bowers, who was in Ravello, Italy, had suggested that the ladies of her church get together and forcibly groom the town's Pentecostal women. "It's like I always say," remarked the chic Mrs. Bowers, "since we are created in God's image, if we don't look good, He doesn't look good. Only Jesus can save those tounge-talking frumps from Hell, but we can at least save them from looking like Hell in the meantime. True, the Lord said that long hair is a glory for women. But, I ask you, since when would any sane women take hairstyling tips from someone who wasn't a practicing homosexual?"

“I brought an Epilady, a dozen rolls of duct tape and a diesel Toro Weedwacker I borrowed from the yard help,” noted Mrs. Heather Hardwick. “To be honest, we should have brought a dog groomer and a machete because I ruined 18 Lady Bics trying to hack through legs that looked like shag rugs.” At approximately 7 p.m., after the Baptist ladies burst into the meeting hall wearing pink gas-masks, the Pentecostals were enveloped in a cloud of animal tranquilizer gas. “My job was to sit right on the chest area of any Amazon woman who came to while Taffy and the folks from the spa did their magic,” noted Mrs. Hardwick. “One of the girls I pinned down fought me so fiercely to get free that I think I still have rope burn on my derriere from her hairy arms.”

“I was in charge of the upper regions," noted Sister Taffy, "whereas Ima Jean and the other girls handled the southern, more icky, sections of the women. Not that their upper regions were a picnic, mind you! Styling the matted hair on their heads was like trying to comb a wild, wet English sheepdog. Fortunately, I brought my sterling cake-knife. And I severely burned several foreheads poking about with hot curlers just trying to find where the hairline was going to end up! Honestly, the dividing line between hair and face was so blurred, one of them looked exactly like Eddy Munster!”

Ima Jean Hasgrove’s job was even less pleasant. “When we removed their inexpensive undergarments, I was shocked to see that this 'no shaving hair' nonsense included their most private of areas. Several of them looked like they had black macramé plant holders dangling between their legs! What was under the first dress we pulled up reminded me of those pictures of that Jewish woman, Dr. Laura,” she observed, recoiling somewhat. “Without sending in search parties, the only way you'd be able to tell where the opening was was if a baby stuck its head out of that mess and started screaming! I used three 32-ounce bottles of Nair on the first gal’s left inner thigh. And her kneecaps still looked like they were covered with brown flocked wallpaper.”

Mrs.O’Christian went from lady to lady with tape and hot wax, tearing off sideburns, mustaches and unsightly unibrows. “I used enough wax on one of those Big Foots to keep a Catholic cathedral in candles for a year!" laughed Mrs. O'Christian, sharpening her sheers. "She kept screaming, 'I'm charismatic, I'm charismatic!’ I said, ‘Honey, maybe you will be when we get through with you, but right now you're enough to make Bill Clinton celibate.’”

Eventually, when the job was done, the ladies gathered up the excess hair from the parking lot. “We’ll put it in large bags and label it ‘Italian,’” noted Sister Taffy. “It’ll bring two or three thousand dollars at the Hair Club for Men, which we can use for some Bible tracts attacking some of these girls' other beliefs.” As the ladies left, Betty Jean Searcy opened the cage she had kept hidden under a towel and called back her two trained mongooses. “This was just a precaution,” she noted, “in case they’d been having one of those reptile charming sessions during services that evening. After going to all this trouble to voluntarily help them, a snake bite would have been a fine 'thank you!'”



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