Pat Robertson Vs. The Loas

  It was a fine Sunday afternoon for preaching. Pat had a lovely little sermon prepared, about fire, and damnation, and the evil of the liberal elite. And maybe, he thought, he'd throw a little more about those devil worshippers in Haiti, causing their earthquakes. Obviously, those backward primatives didn't know they had sold their souls, oh so long ago.
  As Pat's limousine drove him to the Megachurch, he found that he did not recognize the route they were taking. And then, in a rural crossroads he had never seen before, the driver stopped. Pat began to snarl indignantly at the driver, he was going to be late ! But the driver turned back towards him, and it was no man he knew. Something about the man tickled at the back of his consciousness, and he felt strange... like that time in college when...
  The driver smiled through his rangy beard, his face so black he seemed to radiate night, except for that smile. It beamed moonlight and joy, and maybe some mischief too. "Hello, Pat. I am Papa Legba." "Who ? What the...! I demand-" Pat began, but Papa Legba cut him off gently, "I am sent by the Orishas to ask if you will renounce your stupidity, and make ammends to those you have offended by naming them Devil worshippers."
   "What, the Haitians ? No way, that's Fact !"
  "Pat, Pat, please, the Loas are a tad miffed with you. Perhaps you could reconsider."
 "No, you damned Devil ! I will not ! You are Hellspawn !"
    "No, Pat, no I am not. I am a way people use to commune with the same God you pretend to. And now you have one last chance, before I leave you alone with the Loas..."

  Pat Never made it to Church that day... But if you listen carefully, as you pass through a crossroads, you might still hear him saying nasty things about people he really doesn't know, and blaming them in all matters of things for which no one is culpable.

  Non Requiem aeternam dona eis (Pat Robertson), Domine