I have a fantasy in which I am sitting in my living room, drinking tea with the presidents of all the major CBA publishers. As if to prove that one man's heaven is another man's hell, they have to listen, and they can't interrupt. Gentlemen (I say in my dream), it's a little hard to accept your focus on the mite in my eye—my use of four letters, the simple humanity of sex—while you miss the log in your own by selling books by heretical televangelists and artists of dubious intentions. While I'm working through your obsession with purity—on the surface, perhaps, defensible—I'm stumbling over your sale of "music-enhanced" Bible studies, which, as we both know in our hearts, are nothing more than marketing schemes to boost cd sales among church youth groups. I would ask you whether putting a four-letter word in the mouth of a human being is worse than making royalties from what happened at Columbine or from the murder of JonBenet Ramsey—things I honestly hope I wouldn't do at the point of a gun.
Thanks to Relapsed Catholic for the link.