A friend of mine texted me Tuesday morning to say that megachurch megapastor Joel Osteen's lack of a response to the victims of Hurricane Harvey was further proof that he is, in fact, The Prince of Lies.
I replied, "Hold on there, cowgirl. Satan actually sent 10,000 bottles of water, thereby making Joel Osteen worse than the devil."
OK, I didn't call her cowgirl. She'd cut me. She's from Arkansas. Those are mean people.
But I digress. It appears that the good Rev. Osteen was shamed into opening his 18,000-seat church all while denying that it was ever closed, which is, of course the tack taken by scoundrels the world over. (See President Donald Trump leaving out "on all sides, on all sides" when claiming he denounced Nazis at his Phoenix Nazi rally last week.)
The name Osteen stuck in my mind much of the last two days. I recall his creepy smile, devoid of soul. That smile is one of the reasons I stopped watching broadcast television. It was terrifying never knowing when those blinding pearly whites might flash across the screen. That and they quit showing "Seinfeld" reruns.
Years ago, I reviewed his book "Every Day a Friday: How to Be Happier 7 Days a Week." I remarked that Osteen seemed at first glance like a nice guy. That will now haunt me forever, like that time I said Lena Dunham was funny or "Forrest Gump" was a great movie. (Sue me. I was 15.)
Of course, I did refer to Osteen in the next sentence as a jive-ass preacher/malignant narcissist peddling a cock and bull story. But the damage had already been done.
None of that matters, however, as I can't be bothered with a megachurch megapreacher's lack of Christian charity as I've been too busy enjoying the saga of Harvey the hurricane hawk. Harvey is, as his name suggests, a hawk who jumped into a taxicab to escape the hurricane last week. Smart hawk. The cabbie tried shooing the bird out of the cab, but Harvey declined.
The cabbie who took Harvey home was so delightfully Texas shitkicker — balding but still rocking a pony tail and downing whiskey shots with Harvey perched on the liquor cabinet — that I was willing to momentarily overlook the Confederate flag hanging on his wall.
An animal rescue group came for Harvey, who had a broken wing and would have died had he not had the street smarts to jump in the cab. No one knows what happened to the cabbie, but I wish him the best and hope he develops better taste in flags.
As for Harvey. Let's wish him a speedy recovery. He's a lucky hawk. I like to imagine that after he realized he wasn't going to die, he danced like the gopher in "Caddyshack." I'm all right. Don't nobody worry about me.