Journey to the center of stupidity
Chapter 10
Journey to the center of stupidity
As Nom approached the monument to human stupidity known as Lake Church of Houston, Texas, he could not help but be awed. Humanity had built countless edifices to religion throughout history. Often they were some of the most prominent buildings a city possessed from the cathedrals of Europe to the pyramids of Egypt. Such efforts were not so common in America.
America had a strong puritanical flavor to her religion, and as a result, churches tended to be large but plain. Lake Church was different. It could easily have doubled as the pantheon arena of a professional sports team. The facade matched that of a metropolitan arts center, and the interior was just as overawing.
Lake Church was a classic televangelist mega church—one massive central church with satellite churches spread throughout the region and occasionally throughout the country. The services were telecast both online and on basic cable for your brainwashing convenience.
Nom requested that he be permitted to take an upper tier seat in the nose bleeds' section. Given how most requested to be on the main floor nearer to Reverend Ater, Nom's request was granted. He was pointed in the direction of a nearby escalator complex that would, after a few changes, see him to the top. Nom's research had shown him that he would be forced to endure half an hour of praise and worship before he would get to see Ater.
In his youth, Nom had been a great fan of the praise and worship sessions his church held. When he was very young, it was just coming into fashion. The evangelical crowd had been slow to adapt.
For the first ten years of his life the old hymns had been the main musical fare of the churches. Solemn and precise, though occasionally boisterous, they provided the tune for the evangelical dance. Starting in the nineties the new fashions became overwhelming. Small churches that insisted on the old ways began to die. Their membership began to rapidly age, and the younger life blood the churches fed on drifted away to larger, modern churches. Those new churches started off small, but, thanks to their worship bands and charismatic leaders, they rapidly grew into powerhouses. Ten members grew to a hundred, then a thousand, then ten thousand. Most major US cities rapidly sprouted new mega churches, feeding on the trend. Old malls were converted into "worship centers." The largest and wealthiest mega churches built themselves arenas whose costs were in the hundreds of millions of dollars.
Surprisingly, unlike the practice at most sports arenas, there were no metal detectors at Lake Church. Walking through an atrium, a staff of hundreds of handlers guided the flock into the arena for their weekly shearing. Upon entry, Nom approached a rather helpful looking Asian man in a three-piece suit.
Nom had been raised as a Southern Baptist. Despite the denominational differences, the manners of his youth were still useful. Reverting into that old role, Nom simply pretended to be an out of town visitor.
Nom's family had never attended a true mega church with tens of thousands of weekly worshipers. His parents preferred the old ways and small churches, so they hopped from sinking ship to sinking ship. Finding an old-fashioned small church they liked, they would settle in, only to find that within five or so years, the church was adopting praise and worship, followed by a rapid expansion in the membership.
The church that he attended in junior high, and again in his early college years, went from eighty members to a thousand in only ten years. Without a doubt in his mind Nom knew that praise and worship was the reason why. It simply felt good.
Later, as an adult, he would find that nicotine, alcohol, sex, and gambling all gave him the same effect. One of his undergrad psychology professors would insists that religion had the same effect on the human brain of inducing endorphin rushes. It turned out that this was the key to psychological addiction. Once a human found a convenient and readily available endorphin rush trigger, they would become dependent on it. Their bodies simply craved the feeling of satisfaction and reward. Take away their fix, and they went into withdraw, and soon found that they needed another.
Nom's professor said that music was often the key to achieving this high in religious addictions. In Nom's experience, praise and worship was particularly effective. The repetitive simple lyrics could be memorized in only a few tries by even a preschool aged child. Starting soft and slow building to an orgasmic crescendo, the music would offer even male participants a chance to experience a form of multiple orgasm. The simplicity, repetition, and full emotional engagement of the lyrics sealed the deal.
Filthy, rotten, evil, and unworthy, the worshiper approached the throne of their god, like a virgin nerd being invited into the prom queen's bedroom. They were scum, god was perfect, and he was all they ever desired. Through the song, they convinced themselves that they were making contact, and boom they had their rush. In reality, like the nerd, they simply had jizz on their hands and were alone in their own bedroom fantasizing.
Nom found it intriguing to be back in a church and seeing others hunting the high for the first time as an outsider. Ten years before, he had been just as much of a smack head as any other religious user. Now he was standing in the top row, with his back against the guard rail, watching, waiting for the right moment to strike. Church goers raised their hands, crying out to their imaginary girlfriend for relief from their own imagined inadequate shriveled blue balls.
Voices raised the anthems louder, higher, each song picked by a skillful worship leader to insure that the congregation reached climax. Nom realized that they were scheduled in an arch. Milder songs that focused the crowd giving them only a taste of their fix came first. Then came stronger songs in a rhythmic fashion, building to a long lasting mental coital orgasm. As with sex, one gave and the other took.
"Offering" baskets were circulated to collect the money of the fleeced. Then, like lovers, they were slowly brought down, their combined rhythm slowing until, sated, they were ready for their weekly brainwashing. After all, this was the real fix, it made them feel as if they had engaged in group masturbation for a reason. They were like a husband, ready to do the will of his wife after his weekly sex night.
The congregation was told to sit. They had worshiped, been robbed, and now they were ready for mental reinforcement. Nom leaned forward in his seat as the high and mighty Reverend Joel Ater took center stage. Finally, Nom had his mark in his sights. Despite the megatron showing a close-in view of his bucktooth oiled grin, Nom wanted to see him directly. The man was only a speck in the distance, so Nom took out a set of opera glasses, and Ater came into Nom's view.
Thus far, Nom had established that he needed to be within a few hundred yards of his subject to simply wish them dead. But, in most of those cases, he had not been looking at his target. Would the same apply if he was within direct line of sight? Would he have a greater range? The family from the restaurant in Dallas had fallen prey to him, true, but their hotel room had at most been twenty yards from his. Tripp and the truck drivers had all been within one hundred yards.
On the Friday before, his efforts to end the vile morning happiness of the Good Morning American crew had been uneventful. As with most sane people, Nom had a natural disgust for those who seemed happy at the termination of sleep. Despite that setback for the moment, it did show a clear cap to his range. His power might grow with time, but for now, he needed to see if he could touch the life fires of all he could see.
Nom reached out mentally and felt the charismatic con man that was Joel Ater. He thought that he could see in his head a faint glowing dot. Surrounding that spark were thousands of lesser sparks glowing as if a log had fallen in a fire and released them. It was just up to Nom to add into those sparks something that would quench them.
Nom came back to the moment and realized that his newly found gift was revealing a new aspect of itself. The lives of those around him could be seen, felt, touched, and changed. The means of that change was his will. In that moment Nom abandoned the logic of his skepticism and atheism, and simply embraced this new gift and reality. He knew that he had the ability to cull from humanity whatever and whomever he wished. So long as he could feel their spark of life, that person belonged to him. All he had to do was add or take away.
Nom reached into Ater. He felt the pieces that made up his body and life functions. He realized he had unconsciously done the same to everyone else that he had ever killed. His grandfather had been silenced, so that he could not demand medical treatment. His grandmother had lost the ability to swallow. He had crushed the blood vessels in one truck drivers neck, and exploded them in the bowels of another. Tripp had surrendered all of the water the living cells in his head possessed, his father had occluded the arteries of his heart. Now it was Ater's turn.
What would be the most just expression of Nom's contempt for brainwashing con men like Ater and his wife co-pastor? These cockroaches used their silver tongues to wash away the free will and intelligence of their victims. So, that is what should be done to them.
Pastor Ater raised his Bible into the air and said: "Hold up your Bible! Say it like you mean it!"
Almost as one the entire flock obeyed his command. They too stood and raised their Bibles into the air. Then, with the speed of people reciting a well-rehearsed line, they chanted: "This is the word of the one true God! Its truth is my truth. It defines me, provides for me, and fulfils me. Through it I will be taught the will of God. I am willing, I am open, God speak your truth to me this day. In Jesus name, Amen!"
Ater, walked behind his pulpit, which was really more of a lectern, lacking the monolithic base. He set down his Bible and said: "God bless you. I want to talk to you today about…"
Nom tuned out the noise of Ater's brainwashing babble. Mentally, he felt the spark of Ater's life and made his first change. A blood vessel smaller than the head of a pin in Ater's brain ripped and began to leak. Hemorrhagic strokes are particularly nasty. They not only deny needed blood pressure to parts of the brain, but they let blood directly into the brain. The human brain does not react well to direct blood contact, reacting as it would to a toxin. Normally, blood is kept securely behind the blood brain barrier. Oxygen, glucose, and electrolytes pass in, carbon dioxide and waste pass out. No red cell is supposed to see the inner workings of the mind. Unfortunately for Ater, his red cells were now exploring his prefrontal cortex.
Nom had selected this region because he wanted to give Ater a taste of what he turned his victims into. With his own living blood acting as a poison, Nom would slowly lobotomize him. A clot formed in another vessel. In a matter of seconds, the dorsal posterior insula of Ater's brain was starved of oxygen and glucose. The brain keeps little in the way of reserves. There were a number of so called pain centers in his brain, but this piece was the volume nob. Without it he had no idea how much or how little he hurt. Pain just became background noise. Normally it would have told him that the burst vessel in his prefrontal cortex was extremely painful. The brain might lack nerve endings, but blood vessels had plenty of them. With the volume control disabled, Ater's brain was incapable of knowing that it was suffering. How similar to his flock.
With his higher reasoning functions and social inhibitions shutdown thanks to his lobotomy, Ater continued his sermon. Fortunately for Ater, he was essentially acting out a play that he had memorized ages ago. The teleprompter and his well-rehearsed lines carried him on through his charlatan performance.
The problem was that, despite being a probable sociopath, Ater was a highly regimented man. Every aspect of his life was carefully tailored to meet his desire for structure and order. Without his prefrontal cortex feeding that need, he no longer had the more evolved aspects of his brain telling him not to give into his baser instincts. The bleed into his prefrontal cortex was causing swelling and blocking more and more of the blood flow the brain needed to function. Slowly, but inevitably, its functions slowed.
Ater had been feeling rather sluggish that morning. He knew that to put on his usual show he would need to be full of energy. A large cup of coffee, had seen to it that he was up to par. It also flooded his veins with caffeine, a potent diuretic. His veins constricted, his heart rate increased, and his blood pressure rose. His adrenals stimulated his kidneys to work faster, complying, they sent a steady trickle of urine to his bladder.
A normally functioning adult would ignore the growing pressure in their bladder if they could or make an excuse to go to the bathroom. A lobotomized individual without the inhibitions of their prefrontal cortex cannot think that way. They simply feel the need to relieve themselves, and, like a baby, who likewise lacks a working pre frontal, they simply relieve themselves.
Ater, had unfortunately chosen to wear a pencil grey suit. The rapidly expanding wet mark on its front was all too apparent to the entire audience on the megatron. They seemed to not believe what they were seeing at first. A few scattered gasps came, but, collectively, it took four or five minutes before they seemed to recognize that something was wrong.
Ater's behavior outwardly did not seem to change excessively at first. As time went on and his frontal lobe lost more and more of its abilities, he became less and less restrained. Lake Church was a large and, like most, thoroughly air conditioned. After all, good Christian women dressed modestly, and Christian men wore heavy suits. Ater even had a special blower installed to blow cool air onto the stage. The lights seemed to be a furnace. It just would not do for the polished, lily white man, to dampen his collar with sweat. It might look as if he actually worked for a living.
That usually pleasant chilling breeze was now refrigerating his legs. They were drenched in urine. As the dry, air-conditioned air greedily took away some of the water in the fabric, the water took heat with it. No longer able to control himself in any meaningful way, Ater continued his sermon. All the while he began to undo his belt buckle.
In a matter of seconds, he had loosed the clasp, and drawn out his belt. He undid the button and zipper of his fly, and dropped his trousers. This was far more than the extremely conservative audience could bear.
Pastor Ater it seemed was a fan of going commando. Perhaps it was the distance, or the gargantuan size of the auditorium, but, through his field glasses, Nom was sure that the only reason Mrs. Ater was still with her husband, was the fact that they were a couples act. As his co-pastor, she too exorcised god like power over this flock. That and he had made her richer than Croesus. His so called manhood could not possibly have kept her at his side.
Ater's wife did not seem to be present. She did not come to his aid. Several men in suits did rush the stage to shield their leader with their bodies. Ater, did not seem to comprehend why they were in his way, after all he had a sermon to deliver. Just before his microphone was cut, he issued an imperative to them to not interfere with: "The Lord's work!"
Flailing, but inaudible from the great distance, Nom gleefully watched Ater being removed from the stage through his glasses.
A new face took the stage, and called for calm. Nom guessed that he must be one of the assistant pastors.
"People! Please be calm! Come on now all y'all! Settle down. Now, I have no idea what is wrong with Reverend Ater. We called an ambulance and are trying to send word to Mrs. Ater. She is visiting one of our satellite churches in California. Reverend Ater will be getting the very best medical care. In the mean time I would ask that you all join me in prayer for our pastor. Heavenly father…"
Nom could no longer contain his mirth. Ater had made a name for himself in his early years by practicing faith healing. His weekly TV programs called on scores of shut-in elderly viewers to: "Put your money where your faith is!" Naturally, a constant flow of checks and called in credit card gifts flowed into the church coffers.
The church hosted a phone line where callers could ask for healing prayers and the blessing of those bestowed with the gift of tongues. Little did the callers know that the volunteers manning those lines took week long seminars from the Aters teaching them to always remind callers to return God's blessing to the church. That way, through the prosperity gospel, they would see a "heavenly dividend" for their investment here on Earth. In other words, donate large sums of money, and "God" will make them even richer.
Here was a church led by a married couple of charlatans. Soulless schmucks who preached the abilities of believers to accomplish the miraculous. Yet, they never delivered.
From his youth Nom recalled a verse "If you have but the faith of a mustard seed, the smallest of seeds, and you say to a mountain move, the mountain will move." Surprisingly, in all of recorded history there were no examples of mountains packing up and moving to a new home because a Christian had faith and commanded them to do so.
This church of would-be faith healers was willing to send Ater to a hospital but would gladly bilk senior citizens and the desperate poor out of their life savings for a prayer. The hypocrisy and irony were simply too delicious. Nom guffawed and practically fell out of his seat laughing at the irony of it all. The congregation sat praying to a sky fairy they claimed controlled anything and everything. A being that was so powerful that doctors must be guided by it. Why did they not simply ask for healing outright for the infirmed Ater?
The people around Nom glared at him and made shushing gestures. How dare he interrupt such a sad and sacred moment? One of the ushers came over with the clear intent of asking Nom to leave. Not wanting to lose his opportunity to truly experiment with his new gift, Nom knew that this was the time to act.
Nom shouted at the congregation in his mind. Alright you self-righteous pricks! You steal the bread from the desperate to build your church, let's see how you like being hungry! In his mind, he felt the thousands of sparks that were the lives of those in the auditorium. He knew that if he wanted to, he could quench them in an instant. It would be like throwing water on a fire, but that would be far too fast and easy for the likes of these.
Nom felt a tap on his shoulder, but he ignored it. Be hungry! He commanded the sparks. Feed all you wish, but never feel satisfied. From this moment forward, I give you the ability to quench your thirst, but I take away your ability to satisfy your hunger. No matter how much you eat you will never have eaten enough to meet the needs of your bodies. No matter how much IV nutrition a doctor gives you, you will not be satisfied.
Your bellies will constantly gnaw with the pain of need. For every one calorie of food you put into your bodies, you will burn two. Burn I say, until you have burned every last reserve you possess. Then you will die. But that death will not come today, or tomorrow. For some it will be days, for some weeks, for a few months. Each of you will live so long as you have fat to burn. I take from your vile hands the fat of the land and give you only what you have already stolen.
Opening his eyes, Nom nodded to the now insistent usher and stood. He saw that there were three of them, almost as if they expected a fight. Nom, quietly made his way down the aisle towards the vomitorium. As his mind went over that word he mentally caressed it. The Romans had thus called the exits from their amphitheaters. It literally translated as "to spew forth," a perfect description of its function in spewing forth the crowds. For some unknown reason, the word had been labeled in the US as the name for a mythical room. One where Romans would vomit after each course in a feast to make room for the next. How funny that these religious morons would never need to do the same, and as they would never gain an ounce ever again.
Silently chuckling, Nom was led to a door on the main level and asked to not return. He had no intention of ever troubling them again; he had gained from them far more than he wanted. Now all he had to do was sit back, wait, and see. The media would tell him if he had been successful.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone