Other than porn, probably the biggest money-making businesses is religion... and American Family Publishers just might be able to help the head of that business empire become even wealthier. A church in Bushnell, Florida received a sweepstakes notice recently, addressed to "God" and letting said person know that S/He/It is a finalist for the $1 million top prize.
The letter writers knew exactly what the deity would want to hear when they insisted that "God, we've been searching for you." It went on to ask the ultimate question and then urged action: “Could you imagine the looks you’d get from your neighbors? But don’t just sit there, God.” Church pastor Bill Brack's faith was confirmed. “I always thought he lived here, but I didn’t actually know." What does that say for the existence of Santa Claus?

Whoops! There's nothing quite like having the cops slap a sex offender warning on your front door right after you've moved into a new neighborhood. Mike and Jody Lumpkins had just moved their family into a trailer and were settling in when a printout of the sex offender registry was tacked to a nearby mailbox. Children began teasing their daughters and rocks were thrown at the trailer... which, they quickly found out had recently been inhabited by a convicted sex offender who had moved without notifying his parole officer. Their address was removed after it was discovered that the real offender was serving a prison sentence in Nebraska. “All we can do is apologize,” came the amazingly lame reporting agency response. How about a printout making that apology public?

What's a man to do when the state revokes his mortuary license for unprofessional behavior including moving a body to a new grave without permission? Why, go into the bordello business, of course! Eugene, Oregon's Mack Moore moved the fam to Nevada after the legal dust settled (and he was given $850,000 to stay out of the funeral business) and bought himself a nice little whore house, known for the past 27 years as Fran's Star Ranch. According to 68-year-old Moore, the bordello wasn't really the selling point for the 77-acre property. He and the missus just wanted some land to grow tomatoes, potatoes, carrots, beets, radishes and other veggies for nearby small towns which, he says, don't have access to fresh produce. But Fran, the 76-year-old madam, wouldn't sell the land without the bordello being part of the deal. How tragic. Moore, ever the romantic, has renamed the love-emporium "Angel's Ranch," after his wife.

A wild party thrown to celebrate the 50th birthday of San Francisco's most powerful political consultant may have doomed chances for the city's football team to have a new, $525 million stadium complex. Jack Davis, who has been aggressively agitating for the new sports palace, agrees that the party "got out of hand" but insists he'd left by the time the male and female strippers hit the stage and most certainly wasn't there when a female dominatrix used a razor blade to carve a pentagram into the back of a prostrate satanic priest, while engaging in some golden showers. Nobody wants to publicly condemn the awesomely influential consulting giant but, as a city supervisor so aptly put it, "Bloodletting and public urination are lines you just don't cross." Some suggest it was a big mistake to invite a pair of political columnists from The San Francisco Chronicle, who later wrote about the shin dig in detail. Oops. No comment on whether the Church of Satan will file a complaint against Davis... or hire him to represent it.

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