Call me Jack London.

That's not really the truth, but it'll have to do for you, since all Work & no Play, y'know, and BTW, this book is not nor ever was about you, or me, either. It's about them, and all the other shit that God has Joined Together over the years. So soak it up, Babes, 'cause this is the last one I'm doing for Free.

As an Enlightened Man and the author of some Fifty Books, even though I don't have a Doctorate, I feel myself in a rather unique position to narrate today, the subject being, of course, The Annunciation of Our Lord. It's where the Angel Gabriel comes down and tells the Virgin Mary how the Holy Spirit has Knocked her Up. This parallels what happened to a Siberian Peasant Woman named Anna Egorovna on the night of January 10, 1869, as a Fiery Meteor burst across the Sky above the Village of Tyumen, heralding the birth of the Second Coming of our Savior. And, guess what? Just like the First Time, humans, except for a small Handful of them, let the man's entire life come and go and he was the MAN and they didn't even know it. You can always count on people to Sabotage their own Salvation! Although this is slowly beginning to change. Hell, he even looks like those Baptist-assed paintings of Jesus! And on Easter, 2002, he's coming Back. Like Michael Jordan. Three times the Charm, Bub. In fact, he's online now, and you can this time. And he'll write you back, for Rasputin, friends, is Love. He has a little Listserv up and a major Web page on the way to disperse the New Dispensation of 'Putinism. I should perhaps explain.

All you Scoffers, heedless of the Truth which is There, right before your Eyes! Just as Jesus did the First Time, in his second vessel as 'Putin, he Suffered and Died so that you might Live! Except the second time it was 1916, and even a Deity has to Move with the Times. But he Healed and Raised the Dead. He laid 2,371 women so that you wouldn't experience sexual frustration, as your Fulfillment is through Him, and he drank himself silly so that you wouldn't have to work the Twelve Steps! For in 'Putin, there is only a Single Step, and when, on the Third Day, they delivered him from the Frozen River, his hands were held out to Embrace you. And he wasn't even a Communist.

He consorted with Gypsies and Prostitutes, just as Jesus said If you have done for the least of these, you have done so unto Me! He suffered at the Hands of Evil Torturers, while all the while the World was busy thinking about WW I, Ty Cobb, and the Shackleton Expedition. Now, they're thinking about Global Terrorism and Ken Griffey, Jr. A prophet only appears in times of major world distress, see, and they're never appreciated for Who or What they are, For the hour will come when they least expect it, thus Saith the Lord. He'll be Born into a Vessel in Trenton, New Jersey. And on that Sunday Night, when everybody's dealing with the edge from Holy Saturday's Booze and watching The Sopranos, there he'll be. Rejoice.

'Putin took his Walk to the Cross by overcoming gunshots to the Body and the Head after consuming enough poison to kill something out of Jurassic Park, man, and was still alive as he was thrown into the freezing river, his hands bound, and later even his Body was Burned. Yet he had then achieved Purification, had 'Putin, and nary a one of his Captors did he injure.

These are Difficult Times; these are Terrible Times. And just 'cause you're busy getting off in some stranger's butthole, Rasputin's Love knows no East nor West; he is the same today, yesterday, tomorrow. And Sunday.

What will he find when he once again enters a Hostile World filled with the effluvious Dregs of all that God has Joined Together? I'll get a shower, take some Vicodin, and then I'll up and tell you. All the rest. For this, my friends, is Holy Week — don't let it Pass you By.