“That was the worst day of my life,” says Walter Lincoln, a long time fan and a saintly Christian. “It was almost as if Amy [Grant] had died for real. I wept for a while, and then I just crushed my [Amy Grant] CDs with my Bible. It just weighed so heavily on my heart.” It was a dark day, indeed. Our sources tell us that on that day alone in 1999, 14 billion Amy Grant CDs and tapes were destroyed, most of them by ritualistic fire.* According to the RIAA, the demographic that most commonly purchased Amy Grant records changed after March 4th, 1999 from almost entirely Christian to mostly Satan worshippers.**

A ripe target for your holy hand grenade.

We surveyed a group of 1 million Christians on their opinions of Grant’s divorce and the results were significant, but not surprising. 78% said that Grant was “Likely never saved,” 91% said “Vince Gill is the devil incarnate,” and 135% said “’Baby, Baby’ is such a good song.” ***

Fred Phelps, the pastor of Westboro Baptist Church – commonly known for its God Hates Fags, God Hates America, and I’m Completely Insane organizations – had some wise insight regarding D-Day. “It shouldn’t be a day of mourning. It should be a day of celebration. That day, a sinner left the Church. That’s a good thing, y’all! Sinners don’t belong in our Churches, they belong in hell!”

Grant would not return our calls for an interview, likely busy with her new life of sin, but we used our patented Interview Simulator™ to suggest responses that Grant would probably have provided.

Us: Why did you divorce your husband?

Simulated Amy Grant:  Because I hate God. I am pro-choice.

Us: Isn’t divorce a sin?

Simulated Amy Grant: I love to sin. It is my favorite.

Us: Will you ever return to Christianity?

Simulated Amy Grant: Rachel Maddow is fun. I love Satan.

*Source not confirmed, but the odds are it’s true.

**Not actual data from RIAA. They know a lot about Satan though, right?

***We didn’t actually survey anyone.

What you’ll definitely witness and likely take part in, however, is the time-honored practice of the Christian Knock-Off. You see, we Christians don’t like to be original. We’re rip-off Jews, what are we supposed to do?

We take what the “secular” world produces, and we say “Hey, that’s super rad! But since it’s secular it’s probably going to hell along with everyone at MSNBC and Stephanie Meyer. We should make our own version of it so that we can make sure it goes to heaven too!” From music to movies to t-shirts, if you make it, we’ll take it, throw it in the washer a bunch of times so it shrinks and fades, draw a cross on it with a Sharpie, and sell it at LifeWay.

Remember back in the day when YouTube exploded like Octomom’s v…oracious appetite for childbearing (and life-ruining)? Music videos became relevant for the first time since MTV decided to change its programming strategy from “Music” to “whatever sucks and will destroy happiness and souls,” talentless pubescent zit-bags with webcams all over the world found a way to express their talentless pubescence with ease, and the Motion Picture Association of America and the Recording Industry Association of America found a whole new way to satisfy their hunger for all things related to lawsuits and making everyone hate them. It was a beautiful thing.

Fresh off of the loss of Jessica Simpson to 98 Degrees, Evangelicals needed us some beauty. Rather than, you know, participating in the normal trend with the rest of the world, we made “GodTube.” It’s like YouTube, but it’s for God. So only God can use it. Or something. Anyway it’s Christian, so tell your pastor.

Go back a few years before that. Remember when boy bands started tearing up our hearts? Anyway, we Christians lamentably had a boy band all of our own. The sonic equivalent of religiously motivated castration, plusOne – whose name signifies absolutely nothing except a possible reference to a wedding invitation – hit the scene in 2000. Their line-up consisted of 5 moderately-attractive-but-fantastically-moral Christian dudes singing songs about Jesus. Which makes a lot of sense, you know, to sing songs about Jesus using a genre that is known for its romantic songs marketed to pre-pubescent girls. Somehow I feel dirty, having just thought about the whole thing.

What about reality TV? You just cringed, didn’t you? You know what’s coming, just like my toilet knows what’s coming after a meal at Chipotle. Get it?! Crap. The joke is that it’s crap. One Christian reality TV show is called “The Uprising.” I said “one” on purpose. There’s more than one, but because I love you and this hurts me more than it hurts you (seriously) I’m only going to talk about this one. The central conflict of this particular show centers around whether or not a few pro skateboarders will decide to be “born again.” I’m fairly sure that will give people more delusions about God than anything Richard Dawkins could write.

Ever heard of the blog “Stuff White People Like”? It’s pretty funny. An original idea. Wasn’t long before the Christian “me too!” version popped up as “Things Christians Like.” It’s pretty funny, but can we really be proud of a good imitation? Thank God everyone else keeps having original ideas, otherwise we’d be stuck with Carmen and the PowerTeam.

I’m not going to even mention every single ridiculous Christian t-shirts you can still purchase at your local Christian bookstore. Those go without saying. I’ll mention an all-star though:

The product of Christianity's finest minds

How are people supposed to trust that our faith is relevant when our art and culture is not? Can we be “not of this world” and the “salt of the earth” without having what amounts to the store-brand version of secular culture? Only Kirk Cameron really knows. Speaking of which, if you’ll please excuse me, I’m going to finish writing a letter to Kirk Cameron about my script for a Christian vampire flick called “Sondown.”

He didn't know Jesus was such a stickler.

recently read the Gospels for the first time during a segment of the MTV Special True Life: I’m Joel Osteen. “Ya know, I decided it was about time I toughed it through all four Gospels. They’re super long but I mean, I am a pastor, right?” Osteen said laughingly in his charming Texan accent. The author of Your Best Life Now, a theological dissertation concerning the Biblical hermeneutic of success, was shocked at the lack of material prosperity present in the words of Jesus. “I tell you what, I don’t get it. Where’s the prosperity in the Gospels? Jesus didn’t own anything really. Not a yacht, not a Merc[edes], or, well, whatever their equivalents were back in the 1600′s when He was alive. What would that be, a carriage? I don’t know. You get my point.” Osteen went on in shock as he described how Jesus told his followers to give up everything and follow Him, rather than telling them to “invest everything wisely in solid mutual funds” or how “being a good steward means being successful in the stock market.” The story of the rich young man was apparently the straw that broke the pastor’s back. “And then, and then, Jesus goes and tells the rich guy to sell everything and give it to the poor? Everything Jesus? Everything? You can’t be serious.”

The experience has completely derailed work on Osteen’s next book Your Bestest Life Now. “What am I supposed to tell people? When God came to Earth, He was poor? Come on. No one is going to buy that,” Osteen said as he dismissively sipped on a Perrier. “If people are going to do this whole ‘Christian’ thing, there’s gotta be something in it for them. And what’s the Gospel offering them? Spiritual wealth? Treasures in Heaven? What does that even mean?” Osteen is also unsure of how to incorporate Jesus’ words regarding the ease with which the wealthy enter heaven: “A camel through the head of a needle? Give me a break. That’d take a miracle.”

In order to avoid any confusion between his writings and the “poverty” of the Gospels, Osteen has decided to have bookstores categorize his books as Christianish rather than just Christian. “See that? See what we did there? We’ve got Christian in there because that’s P.C., but we threw the ‘ish’ on the end so that people know it’s not so Christian that it’s not about money. We dodged a big one here, we really did,” said Osteen.

This article is satirical and is thus completely fictional. None of the quotes are real and are not intended to be used as such. Joel Osteen was not involved in the writing of this article and is not associated with us. He also has a lot of money and could probably sue us into the Revolutionary War, which is why I’m writing this right now. Just as a side note – this article was originally going to run in the Whittenberg Door, but they apparently have lost their funding or something so I’m running it here, assuming we’re not competing with their readership.

HOUSTON (AP) – Popular “Christian” author and “pastor” Joel Osteen realized last week, to his deepest chagrin, that it actually takes eight steps to become a better person, contrary to the seven step plan outlined in his bestselling book Become a Better You: 7 Keys to Improving Your Life Every Day.

During his “devotional time” yesterday, Mr. Osteen realized that he had inadvertently omitted the supremely-important final step, “Makeover your smile with Crest Whitestrips®!  Available for as low as $7.99 at a retailer near you!”

“I can’t believe I forgot to put that in there,” said a distraught Osteen.  “The final key is absolutely integral to becoming a better person.  The other seven all hinge on the successful completion of step eight.”

The news that the first printing was incomplete did not surprise early readers.  Most report feeling completely unchanged by the book, unless one counts the $14.95 that was taken out of their wallet to purchase it.

Osteen has recalled all copies of the book and hopes to have the new edition out by early June.

Area man takes acquaintance’s advice to “have a good night.”

WHEATON (AP) – Area man Terry McRenner had his world rocked Tuesday night when Aaron Thompson – a random acquaintance – suggested he “have a good night” during an unexpected encounter in the frozen foods section of Jewel Osco.

“I hadn’t even considered it, really,” said McRenner of the words received from Thompson.  “‘Have a good night?’  Yeah, I guess that sounds feasible.”

The two men – who know each other from a mutual friend – took a break from shopping for frozen dinners to politely chat about the weather, work, and women.  “We were just talking about the three W’s, and then, out of nowhere, he drops this chocolaty nougat of truth on me, and it was…delicious.  What’s his name?  Adam?  Oh right, Aaron.  Aaron really challenged me that night.”

McRenner left that conversation and went to his apartment, where he proceeded to play Halo 2 and listen to his favorite album – “Supa Dupa Fly” by Missy “Misdemeanor” Elliott.

“All day long I had planned on having a bad night – doing some laundry and listening to my roommate cry about getting dumped last week.  But Alex… er, Aaron is a wise acquaintance.  Because of him, I had a good night.”

In a related story, area woman Breanne Berros had a miraculous turnaround in her health after distant Uncle Shawn sent her a “Get Better Soon” card.

God now taking suggestions on how to perfect His will

HEAVAN (AP) – Due to a recent rise in complaints about God’s plans for our lives, representatives from heaven have announced that God will now be taking suggestions on how to enhance the quality of life for His creation.

Sources say that people have been praying for centuries about their personal suffering, offering incredibly helpful insights and possible solutions to increase happiness.  So, on the 453,117,090,443th day, God created the Suggestion Box.  And He saw that it was good.

Staunch happiness activist Joel Osteen is quickly rising as the hero of this new resource.  “This is a good step for God, but I won’t be satisfied until I’m completely happy, all the time,” said Osteen.  “Oh, yeah, and other people too.”  Osteen’s first suggestion for God was that “Your Best Life Now” would sell more copies than the Bible in 2010.

James Dobson, another member of God’s T-Mobile “Fav 5,” is confident that God knows what He’s doing now.  “We’re really taking the whole ‘ask and you shall receive’ thing seriously now.  We mean it this time.”

God has already received trillions of suggestions, ranging from “guiding the surgeon’s hands in Uncle John’s surgery” to “reciprocated feelings from Stacy” to “world domination.”  Other reported suggestions include “an A on the spelling test” and “that this banana wouldn’t be so mushy, plus a Nintendo Wii.”

There have also been reports of a relatively unknown but highly respected satire website requesting that God provide them with a full staff, funding, and a fan base effective immediately.  Updates to come.

Once again, we must offer up our most sincere gratitude to Stephen Joseph Hoey.  Not only is he a damn decent individual, he also contributed the second and third dispatches.

Joe, Kevin, and Nick Jonas.  The names alone are enough to inspire envy, lust, wrath, and most of the remaining deadly sins.  In newspaper columns, entertainment blogs, and multi-colored notes passed during seventh period, this trio of troubadours has been called everything from “pre-pubescent harbingers of the apocalypse” to “OMG!  Sooooo hott!!”

Unfortunately, most of these knee-jerk professions of love and loathing are of little substance as they fail to first provide a context whereby we might understand ourselves in relation to The Jonas Brothers.  Pundits and pre-teens prattle on about peripheral issues like anti-intellectual lyrics, sequined vests, and dimples, while the boys’ influences and interests are entirely ignored.

Do not be fooled.  The Jonas Brothers are far more than just another experimental, avant-progressive noise band bursting onto the post-pop moonscape.  They are heirs to a storied rock and roll tradition with influences ranging from the Dance-Punk scene of late-1970s London to the earthy incantations of pre-colonial Africa.

To focus on their abstention from alcohol, drugs, and fornication, while ignoring the anti-folk undertones of songs like “Burnin Up” and “Lovebug,” is not only an affront to Mssrs. Jonas, it is a disservice to Iggy Pop, The Velvet Underground, and the Brothers’ many other artistic forebears.

How can we even begin to address questions like, “Would I be honored or angry if Nick Jonas impregnated my 16 year-old daughter?” if we don’t appreciate the significance of Nick’s red-stained Gibson SG guitar – an obvious nod to the late Jerry Garcia – or recognize his mid-coital onstage facial contortions as distinctly John Mayerian?

Put simply, we cannot.  It is impossible to discuss The Jonas Brothers’ music or the extent to which said music is destroying Western Civilization without first locating the band within the proper musical milieu; a task made increasingly difficult by the near impossibility of isolating the Brothers within a single genre or musical epoch.

Take Nick, for example.  Lead vocalist.  Lead guitarist.  Lothario.  Yet, before ex-girlfriend Miley Cyrus introduced him to Gogol Bordello and other mainstays of Nashville’s gypsy punk scene in late-2005, young Nicholas was just another faceless scene kid staving off capitalism while wearing girl jeans.

The influence of the gypsy punksters softened the heavy distortion and shouted invective of Nick’s early songs like “Dear God” and “Joy to the World (a Christmas Prayer),” and gave way to the multi-lingual, tambourine-laden ballads which have since become his signature.  Yet reviewers, like The Onion’s A.V. Club, insist on writing him off as another “moribund Mouseketeer.”  This refusal to critically interact with Nick’s work reveals nothing but their own ignorance of musical nuance.

And what of eldest brother Kevin?  Ever wonder why he infuses his work with sitars, harpsichords and other relics of neo-psychedelia?  The answer is right there, for anyone who wants to know, in the October 2007 issue of CosmoGirl.  Had CosmoGirl’s readers not been so hasty to shred the article for its pictures, they might have learned about Kevin’s discovery of psychedelia – specifically tribal electronica – during a summer spent living in a utility shed in San Francisco’s Haight-Ashbury district, and his subsequent collaboration with Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci to write the hit song “Kids of the Future.”  Alas, the magazine’s readers would rather paste the article to their ceilings, lockers, and trapper keeper covers than read about the music behind the man they love.

The same fate has befallen Joe Jonas, middle child and paramour to the stars.  Pigeon-holed from the start as Hollywood’s resident man-about-town, Joe’s high-profile dalliances have been covered ad nauseum by the muckrakers at OK! and TMZ. Meanwhile, the fact that the he is a percussionist of the highest order goes unnoticed.

It is time we moved past these captivating caricatures and smooth-faced straw men.  If we ever hope to have intelligent discourse about the Jonas Brothers we must develop a full-bodied hermeneutic of their work.  This begins with an understanding of the socio-musical universe over which they rule.

Nurtured in the bosom of the iPod era, these young men have suckled at the teat of every artist working in the past fifty years (with the exception of Hanson whom they are contractually forbidden from listening to).  Their panoply of intrigues and influences precludes any mention of them in the same breath as “bubblegum pop” or “laboratory-created performance monkeys.”

On the contrary, Nick, Kevin, and Joe Jonas stand at the crucible of rock and roll’s evolutionary journey and the dawning of the post-MTV age.  They are a new kind of rock group for a new kind of America.  Love them or hate them, fear them or desire them, we must understand them.  Because one thing is certain, these boys and their pre-apocalyptic, neo-glam, anti-Bono, Christo-rock are not going away anytime soon.

“They’re always talking about farts and burps,” said Sandra, “and a couple times I’ve talked to Doug on the phone while he was going to the bathroom, but this is the first time one of the boys has actually farted in front of me.  It’s kind of flattering.”

While Sandra has long answered to traditionally male monikers like “brah,” “broseph,” and “duder,” it wasn’t until she made an off-color joke during a visit to Lincoln Park Zoo’s primate exhibit that the guys realized she was one of them.

“Sure I was revolted at first,” said longtime friend and self-proclaimed “man’s man,” Rick DeHowseur, “but I was too proud of her to let her see my disgust.  It felt good knowing that Sandra can finally relate to us.  The world could always use one more male and we’re happy to accept ‘Randy Sandy’ as one of our own.”

A quick scan of Sandra’s Facebook profile reveals how deeply the male influence has worked itself into her lifestyle.  Her interests include “being hardcore,” “kickin a** and taking names,” and “breaking balls.”  Her favorite movies are Fight Club, Boondock Saints, Superbad, and “anything with Jessica Alba.”  Her favorite quotes are an off-putting assortment of Family Guy, and South Park sound bites.

“This has been a long time coming,” said Miss Williams. “I’ve always been kind of a tomboy, and it seems silly for me to be excluded from things just because I was born without a penis.”

As “one of the guys,” Sandra can now look forward to watching 4-6 hours of ESPN every day, eating Taco Bell at all hours of the night, and ascribing numerical value to the attractiveness of passing females.

While she is pleased with her admittance into the inner sanctum of masculinity, Miss Williams seems unwilling to acknowledge a downside of her new status.  Namely, her permanent removal from the pool of datable co-eds. Sandra brushes off this allegation; claiming instead they are just “having fun and making sure things don’t get weird.”

Her male cohorts, however, stammer and shift awkwardly when similarly questioned.  Some are “focusing on their studies,” others are “too much man for her,” one even likened Sandra to a sister or semi-attractive cousin.

While her romantic options are looking slim, Miss Williams is excited about new doors that could be opened.   “I just want the guys to be completely comfortable around me. There’ll be times when I can tell they want to say something awful but they can’t because I’m there.  I guess it’s thoughtful of them to try to protect me, but I’m really hoping that they won’t feel the need to hold back anymore.  I can handle it.”

That picture on the front page is copyright of TBS (very funny).

Witnesses report that Thompson had just finished regaling the gathered crowd at Fellowship Baptist’s 4^th Annual Singles BBQ with an engaging tale of a dorm prank involving his roommate, some traffic flares, and a bath tub full of grape Jello, when a look of utter helplessness overtook his face.  Friends watched as Thompson shuffled over to the grill and spent the rest of the evening quietly downing jumbo franks and Dr. Thunders.

It was not until days later that Thompson finally broke the news to those close to him.  Apartment mate Jack Wells expressed sadness, but not surprise.  “He’s been slipping lately.  I’ve heard a few repeats over the past several months, and he’s even started telling other people’s stories as his own.  This is a day we’ll all have to face, but it doesn’t make it any easier.  He still has so many years ahead of him.”

In an emailed statement to The Talking Mirror, Thompson expressed regret that he had somehow only managed to compile two years worth of stories during his five undergrad years at The University of West Virginia.  “My kids are going to think I’m a complete lame-o,” said Thompson.  “But, then again, without any charming tales of youthful antics, I’ll probably never be able to convince a woman to join me in holy matrimony.  So maybe the kids won’t be a problem.”

Thompson blames his high school girlfriend, Sudoku, and Japanese anime for his shortage of sufficiently amusing anecdotes.

Thompson (far right) and friends, just moments before the incident.

What up bros and brominas? This post is gonna be a bit on the stubby side because it’s tourney time and my bracket is kickin some serious ace! (Booyah kasha!  Respect!)

I just wanted to say a few words about something that’s been on a lot of people’s minds recently.  No, not the economy, tans, or Obama’s retard joke.  I’m talking about Lent.  Some of you may not believe that The Chadster observes this ancient religious season.  And you would be correct.  Typically, I observe only two seasons: football season and off-season.  But this year I had a change of heart.  Actually, one of my bro-mates bet me fifty bucks  I couldn’t go a whole month without saying the F word.  I told him, “Brodank, make it $75.00 and The Chadmeister will be “F” free until Easter.”  Later, I found out this is called “giving something up for Lent.”

I did a bit of research on the intertron about this whole Lent thing.  I remember going to church with my mom when I was little and the pastor would come by and smear Oreo crumbs or protein powder or something on  our foreheads, and then we would all be sad for awhile, but I figured that was just a Des Moines thang.  Turns out it’s called Ash Wednesday (not Hash Wednesday like I thought) and it signals the beginning of Eastertime.  Also, lots of people give up lots of different stuff for Lent.  Dudes give up beer.  Chicks give up eating. Homeless people give up working (Haha! Just kidding, but not really).  Catholic people even do what I did and quit saying a word for Lent (their word is “hallelujah” which I think is some kind of Christian swear).

Now I’m no expert on religion or Easter or anything, but I think my experience giving up the Ole F-bomb for forty days has given me some words of advice to help anyone out there who is dealing with life without something they love…NO FREAKING WAY!!!!! Sorry, monster dunk in the Oklahoma / Michigan game.  Anyway, like I was saying, here’s some stuff for you people to ponder while you’re starving yourselves:

1) Give up something manageable: Dudes that give up alcohol, or ESPN, or making out with their girlfriends are setting themselves up for failure.  That’s like if I would have tried to give up all swear words.  Give up talking for a month?  Impossible.  I’m not Superman, you know?  Pick something small that will impress your friends and help you feel better about yourself without making your life suck for the whole Spring.

2) Have someone there to keep you on track: You’ve gotta have a bro there to keep you focused when you feel like quitting.  Like me. I told my boys every time I say the F word, I’ll stand against the wall for 30 seconds and let them huck frisbees and racket balls at me.  Couple shots to the head and I never want to say the F word ever again.  (By “never” I mean till April 13th.)

3) Remember why you’re giving it up: I’m going to buy some DMB tickets with my $75.00.  I’m not sure how much you’re getting paid to give up whatever you gave up, but think about all the sweet stuff you’re gonna buy.  It helps.

4) Find a good substitute to fill the hole: I’ve been saying things like friggin, mother trucker, and just the letter “F” to help me communicate during my time of sacrifice.  If you’re trying to go cold turkey, you’re gonna go down quicker than a Keystone keg in Panama Beach.  Gave up Facebook?  Get yourself a mySpace account.  Gave up chocolate?  Gorge on Nutella.  Whatever.  There’s a Nicotine Patch out there for every addiction and you gotta hit that thing morning, noon, and night if you want to survive.

5) Keep your eyes on the prize: All good things come to an end.  Fortunately, so do all horrible things.  Remember that one day soon, you’ll have all the Dr. Pepper, Starbucks, reality television, or – in my case – bad-A swear words, that you could ever want.  Start thinking today about how you’re going to binge on April 13th to celebrate the end of your self-inflicted torture.  Some days that’s the only thing that keeps me going.  I’ll tell you one thing, this whole gawd-awful ordeal has definitely made me appreciate Easter more.  I used to think it was all bunnies, boiled eggs, and jelly beans.  Now I realize it’s about saying “no” to the things you love for a little while, so that they’ll be that much sweeter when you can say “hell yes!” to them again.

I know that first F-bomb on April 13th is gonna be sweet. Like seeing a bro for the first time after he’s been on vacation or in the hospital or something.  I’m gonna scream it at the top of my lungs.  Think of your own special Easter moment like that and you’ll be fine.

Until then, keep fighting the good fight.  And go Tar Heels.

U.H.C. has spawned a whole new line of merchandise for Christian bookstores across the nation.

His new book, simply titled U.H.C.: Ultimate Heart Championship, approaches the problem of androgyny in the Evangelical Church from a different angle. The subtitle, Discovering the Secret of a Man’s Soul through Biblical Violence, says it all, said Eldredge as he flexed his hand into a fingerless leather weight-lifting glove. “Men need a safe place to be vulnerable with each other, and the best place for that to happen is in the cage,” he said, motioning to a large octagonal fighting ring surrounded by a chain-link cage. When asked about what his basis for “Biblical Violence” was, Eldredge defensively responded “You know, Christian men need to stop being afraid. There’s a spirit of fear crippling the men in our Churches, and they need to just be like Samson and kick some butt sometimes.” In addition to kicking butt, U.H.C. also suggests that a great way for Christian men to fellowship is to “sit around with the guys and watch a good U.F.C. match and just drink some beers. Beer, violence, and theology are all crucial parts of the Christian man’s life, without which he becomes just another emasculated sissy girl that can’t take a punch” (U.H.C. pg 112).

Like his other book, U.H.C. also comments on how womens’ roles play out in relation to mens’ need for unadulterated violence: “Women have a deep void inside of their souls that is put there by God at birth. This emptiness can only be fulfilled by watching sweaty men wrestle and punch each other within some kind of eight-sided perimeter, preferably surrounded by chain links.” Eldredge refers to this need as “spectation,” and says that his relationship with his wife has benefited “in numerous, manly ways” from his matches in “the cage.” Eldredge’s wife Stasi is currently writing a book to complement U.H.C. called Spectating.

“Did Jesus just go up to sin and say ‘Hey there sin, I’d like you to stop afflicting my people and damning them to hell’? No He didn’t. Jesus took sin into the proverbial octagon and he put the spank down on sin! Heck yes He did! Sin tapped out after three days. This is the model that we use in U.H.C., except we don’t fight sin itself, we just fight the sin of being effeminate,” said Eldredge as he prepared a chocolate protein shake. According to U.H.C., the way for a man to tap into his “true Christian manhood” is to “repeatedly pummel the face of another Christian brother in love and gentleness.” Eldredge refers to this process as “violent edification” and he says that without it, “men begin to lose sight of the nature of their inner man-strength, eventually slipping into a state of weakness, pacifism, and hairlessness.”

A few of Eldredge’s “disciples” were also at the training facility and had this to say about U.H.C.: “Man, last week me and my accountability partner sparred here in the cage. I’ve never felt a stronger connection with my masculinity than when he dislocated my shoulder and broke my nose with his forehead. Before I wanted to be wild at heart, but now I want to be an ultimate heart champion!” U.H.C’s principles are quickly gaining popularity in many Christian circles as men gather around televisions to watch men beat each other into submission for the glory of the Lord.

Eldredge’s next project is a film based on Wild at Heart called Wildheart. The story is about a group Scottish of people in Colorado Springs who are oppressed by an evil English monarchy. Eldredge will play the main character, Bill Wallace, whom Eldredge describes as a “heroic horse whisperer who is the symbol of power and large nuttedness. He paints his face in scary blue and white, carries a claymore, and will be tamed by no woman.” The film is set to go into production in 2010.

Photo c/o some dude on Flickr. Tapout logo is copyright… the tapout company? Please don’t sue us.