Sometimes the life of a satirist is a lonely calling. You do your best to call your fellow man back to the permanent things, and away from the follies of the hour. You use hyperbole, trying to accentuate the worst features of contemporary errors so that people will see those errors in stark relief, realize their true nature, and return to sanity. So you try your best to develop any gifts of godly exaggeration you might have, in order to serve the larger Christian church. And just when you think you might have it down, along comes Mrs. Benny Hinn, Preacherette. Things have gotten so weird any more that the polemical caricaturist doesn’t have any room to move really. This is the age of technology. We have self-cleaning ovens, and now we have self-satirizing folly. It is enough to make Jonathan Swift want to jump off a cliff.
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