$175 Sermon by Brother Harry Hardwick
Wednesday, March 21, 2007, Main Chapel

Hark! Friends, do you hear the squeals of delight from the godless and the depraved as they gather by the millions across this once-Christian nation to engage in an evening of idol worship? Well, don't go looking for them dancing around a golden calf. Dancing involves far too much cardio for modern American idol worshippers. No, you'll find them plopped down in front of televisions with big bowls of Sealtest Neapolitan, transfixed by the off-key yelps and screams of a pack of attention-seeking demons lusting for fame. 

Yes, this entire nation has been overtaken by idol worship. And the most shocking thing: it isn't those damned Catholics this time! No, you won't find these particular idols in the Vatican. They are in a place only slightly less depraved and homosexual -- Hollywood. These idols are a dozen or so delinquent youngsters, each of whom represents sex, sin, depravity and a brazen disregard for a melody -- all that is wrong with this Negro rap world we are tormented with until the return of a hymn-humming Christ. They are the contestants of “American Idol,” a wicked television show filmed in a demon-infested country called “California.” As you will recall, California involuntarily seceded from the USA during the summer of 1967 right after Rev. Horace Wilkins found his daughter Cindy dropping acid -- and her lady-drawers -- while listening to some acid rock hippie freak Joni Mitchell. If you check the church by-laws, you’ll see that country on the list of banned vacation locales for all Landover members who aren't me. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t even trouble you, good folks, with news about a secular TV show, since church policy has historically prohibited the viewing of anything that causes you to pick up the phone for any reason other than to tithe. But as you know, the Board of Deacons relented on that policy last summer, allowing Platinum-tithers to watch the Fox network, since a Fundamentalist Christian doesn't need a V-Chip to ensure he never hears anything he doesn't want to hear while watching Fox News. Well, it appears the godly care the Fox Network takes in separating wheat-facts from the chaff-facts only extends to its many news shows. If any of you out there have seen this “American Idol” travesty and don't currently have a kicked in TV screen back at your home, you are, frankly, not fit to break Olive Garden bread sticks with real Christians. And it goes without saying, you are forbidden from any further viewings of that big stinking demon-dropping of a program, which is little more than a glossy infomercial for Hell. Until further notice, you may turn the channel to Fox only when “The O’Reilly Factor” or “Hannity and Colmes” is showing. As Baptists, we have no business dabbling in Satan's most pernicious invention -- reality -- or the so-called "reality shows" it has spawned. 

I am going to have to ask that all the virgin females leave the sanctuary for about 10 minutes due to the frank nature of my concluding remarks. I also ask that security log all the unmarried harlots who remain sitting. 

While “American Idol” is filmed in a foreign, forbidden land, it is created and produced in Hell itself, by the devil, himself. The show is a contest among amateur singers, none of whom have enough talent to stand with any reputable church’s choir -- even the white ones. Satan’s chief minion on the show is a bitchy, mincing prisspot named Simon Cowell, a homosexual English man (is there any other kind?) who insists on wearing tight, black t-shirts even though he has the soft, dangling breasts of an aging Reno streetwalker. Cowell purses his bitter, penis-felating lips to coquettishly bat his eyes and banter back and forth with the show’s wildly effeminate emcee, Ryan Seacrest. Mr. Seacrest is an unrepentant sodomite who brandishes the beauty-product-coagulated hair, unblemished face and symmetric, white teeth that are the calling cards of contemporary faggotry. The verbal foreplay between Ryan and Simon is so sexually overt, you will feel as if you have spent an exhausting evening in a bathhouse before even the first commercial break. Indeed, the dirty, musky homosexual tension between these two handsome predators is so thick, you couldn't cut it with a tsunami of Clorox. 

A spokesman for the nation’s leading ex-gay ministry, Baptists Are Saving Homosexuals has confirmed that “Ryan” is one of the more popular first names adopted by homosexuals, typically those of the submissive variety (often called “bottoms”). Surveys reveal that most of the American audience, including its supposedly Christian members, recognize that Seacrest is a rump-offering sodomite (since most viewers are not blind), yet they watch the show anyway! As for Cowell, he is from England. Need I say more? If you aren’t feeling queasy by now, just wait.

Cowell is one of three judges of the competition. The other two represent true Christians’ worst nightmares. One is an uppity Negro whose critiques are made in what most viewers regard as harmless Ebonics nonsense, but are in fact coded gang signals secretly used to instruct colored viewers about who they are to rob or kill after the show. Randy Jackson, who looks like he swallowed both his brother Tito and his sister LaToya, begins every spiel with, “Yo, yo, yo, dog!” The canine to which he is referring is undoubtedly the judge to his left, a heroin-addicted Jew from Syria. Paula Abdul giggles uncontrollably throughout the show, spews out twaddle after each performance while slurping liquid Demerol from a plastic Coca-Cola cup. Miss Abdul -- a terrorist name if there ever was one -- apparently has it in her contract that she is allowed to choose a contestant each week to drag home to see if anyone can sexually stimulate her anesthetized body. She typically sleeps with whatever male singers her glazed-over eyes find attractive, undoubtedly using her enormous mouth for more than mere talking. And every year, the show winds up with more mug shots than a post office, as the contestants prove to be every bit as degenerate as their hosts. 

The second place finisher during the show’s second year was Clay Aiken, a nancy-boy who has gone on to sell thousands of secular records to the Satan-worshippers of this country. Even Aiken’s most subtle mannerism seems to dare the Lord to let loose a fiery rain of Sodom-leveling brimstone. Friends, Rudolph Giuliani and a hundred of his campaign stop prop firemen couldn’t put out this flamer. Confidential sources say his fellow contestants nicknamed him, “Helium heels.” There have been numerous homos on succeeding shows, one being a 17-year-old bottom in this year’s competition named “Sanjaya.” Folks, believe it or not, America, our great nation that unfortunately continues to slide closer and closer to the fiery abyss, has voted an Indian (and I’m not talking about the casino-running variety here but, rather, the cow-worshipping sort) to the final 10. His singing voice resembles Anna Nicole’s speaking voice after a fistful of Quaaludes and a cold, barium enema. Then there is Blake Lewis, a youngster who is so chock full of demons that he often starts sputtering like a Ford Pinto on cheap gas, right in the middle of his songs. Lewis or Sanjaya, the nellie with more relaxed hair than a whole closet of Beyoncé weaves, may actually be the devil’s son. Indeed, Simon Cowell may just be Satan’s clever diversion. 

This church will not stand by while America text-message-votes its way right into the sulfurous pits of Hell . We will not silently allow popular trash like this to destroy our values and dedication to the Lord. We will turn our TV sets off, we will contact our Republican congressmen, we will write to the owners of Fox, we will protest on church lawns, and we will pray endlessly that the devil’s latest invasion of American life be defeated. Mr. Satan, take back your marginally talented demons lusting for fame! Take back your obese Negro who incites gang related deaths throughout America with his jabberwocky. Take back your hopped-up, pill-vomiting Arab terrorist! And take back those two men who burn with depraved passion for one another and a palpable desire to grind pelvises until they convulse in sated, steamy release! Let our mantra always be: “Just say ‘NO!’ to idols everywhere, whether they be Catholic, Hindu, Buddhist, voodoo or atonal karaoke singers! ”

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