By Stephen Young
By Stephen Young
By Stephen Young
By Jim Schutze
By Rachel Watts
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
Even Buzz isn't averse to a little prayer when our back is against the wall. This usually happens on Tuesday, long after deadline, when our editor asks us whether this column is ready yet. "Just a minute," we lie, then dash off a quick prayer, hoping for something -- anything -- to fill this space. Give us a target, God, we say, and we'll provide the snide commentary.
Well, it seems God is ready to deliver in spades. He's sending televangelist Benny Hinn to town. Our cup runneth over.
The 46-year-old faith healer announced earlier this month he is moving his ministry to Dallas from Florida because God told him to -- that, plus Hinn needs room to expand and figures he can save a bundle in travel expenses by being close to D-FW International Airport.
Hinn likes to wear white suits. The sick line up at his services and fall "like dominoes after feeling his healing touch," according to The Orlando Sentinel. Hinn even claims to have witnessed a resurrection.
And, of course, he asks for money.
If anyone can fill the big floppy shoes left vacant when the Rev. Bob Tilton scooted out of town years ago, it's Hinn. And if Hinn's arrival has Buzz counting our blessings, then Ole Anthony is positively drooling.
"He's a total, complete kook," the president of the Dallas-based Trinity Foundation told Buzz. The foundation "monitors" televangelists, much the same way the FBI "monitors" the Mafia.
It was Trinity Foundation investigators who picked through Tilton's trash, finding the discarded prayer letters that helped drive Tilton off the air. They've been monitoring Hinn since 1993. "I've used the analogy of a moth coming to a flame...We'll have fun," Anthony says. "He has no idea what's about to hit him."
Great, Ole, but before you dirty the man's nice, white suit and mount him on a rail for a quick ride out of town, let ol' Buzz have a little fun first. We need it.
At last, Buzz has found a reason that Gov. George W. Bush should be elected president. The man likes video games.
In the endless profile of Bush published in the June edition of Texas Monthly, political writer Paul Burka reported that Bush runs five miles every day at 1:30 p.m. at a pace of seven and a half minutes a mile. Afterward, he "might play a little video golf or computer solitaire until three."
That's a little less than one hour the governor devotes to computerized recreation each day.
Seems excessive for the chief executive of Texas, you say? Might the would-be leader of the free world have something better to do with his time? Bush apparently didn't like the thought of anyone asking those questions. A source tells Buzz that one of the few complaints he had about Texas Monthly's 33-page spread was its estimates of the time he devoted to video golf.
To which we say, be proud to be a geek, George. Buzz's spouse calculates we spend on average six hours a day playing computer games. She's been known to exaggerate. It's more like four, though we prefer games where you get to shoot things. In that vein, might we suggest the perfect game for you, George, if you ever tire of video golf. It's called Redneck Rampage.