Johnny Senior was frankly relieved to get rid of Jody with her non-stop lecturing, and Sonja whatever his real name was with his rules on abstinence, celibacy, and nutrition.
As far as Johnny was concerned he was an independent Prophet now with no one to answer to, or cause him to look over his shoulder, and no one to second-guess him.
It didn’t take him long to find someone to become his playmate. The object of his latest perverted passion was one Carla Shenk. She was a beautiful eighteen-year-old redhead exchange student from Austria who had become a member of the flock.
Carla shared Johnny’s passion for bondage and his sadistic inclinations; in fact she far exceeded them. One has to wonder why the Prophet got such a kick out of self-mutilation. Maybe it was because he secretly loathed what he had become and wanted to punish himself.
The two of them made quite a sight with their blazing red hair and Johnny with his reddish beard. Someone made the comment that they looked like Santa Claus and his wife in reverse, only on a strict diet and in the nude, well almost nude. Johnny had shucked his flowing robes for the latest tight fitting shirts and brown leather pants. Carla of course sans bra chose to dress the same.
The two of them enjoyed going out, but didn’t like everyone staring at them. They decided to go away on a long ski weekend to an exclusive Ski Resort at Aspen Colorado. They assumed they could enjoy their privacy there. They were wrong.
No sooner had they arrived and checked into their hotel than the local paparazzi started following them and taking their pictures no matter where they went. They weren’t safe in the restaurants, the discos, or on the slopes so they decided to stay in and order room service from the hotel.
When breakfast was delivered they discovered that a photographer had bribed the bellboy, switched outfits with him, and was taking pictures with a camera hidden in the idiot’s jacket lapel.
Johnny got furious and insisted that the hotel manager himself bring them a four day supply of food and wine.
“They would cook it themselves in the suite’s kitchenette,” He told the manager, “I don’t want anyone entering this suite for the next four days, not even the maid. We will clean the damn place ourselves.”
Of course they never cleaned anything, but boy they sure did make a hell of a mess in the kitchenette.
Johnny and Carla settled down for a weekend of kinky sex. They tried every conceivable type of weirdo stuff they could manager without the proper S&M equipment. They hadn’t brought much with them. About the only thing Carla could find in her suitcase was a whip, some masking tape, and handcuffs.
“This will have to do my pet,” Carla said, “It’s all I have. We will just have to use our imaginations.”
Somewhere along the line on the second night of their stay, Johnny made the mistake of telling Carla, “You have no imagination bitch. You keep doing the same thing over and over. The Prophet is bored with you, get lost.”
Oops, Johnny shouldn’t have said that while he was handcuffed and bound to the bed.
Carla went into a rage. First she whipped him bloody with her whip. Then when he started to scream and beg for mercy she covered his mouth with the last of the masking tape.
Next Carla gave the Prophet a lecture telling him, “You are an over the hill bastard at twenty two. I’ve had better sex with my dog. You are an inconsiderate monster who doesn’t care about other people’s feelings. I thought I loved you. Boy was I wrong. You’re pathetic.” With that she packed her bag and left the hotel in a huff never to be seen in those parts again.
Late on the fourth day, the manager responding to complaints by hotel guests that a strange smell was coming from Johnny’s room; disregarded his instructions and entered the suite followed by two photographers who had made the manager an offer he was too greedy to refuse.
What they found would make these paparazzi rich men. The scandal sheets would pay a fortune for the photos. They didn’t stop shooting. They discovered Johnny naked and spread eagle on the bed. He was handcuffed to the four-poster bed frame. His feet and mouth were bound with masking tape, and on his stomach Carla had written in red lipstick, “Some Prophet, he’s pathetic.”
It was over. The scandal would ruin the Institute. Johnny was no Prophet, he was just a pathetic sex maniac, and soon the whole world would know it. The manager finally managed to get Johnny out of his restraints and took the masking tape off his mouth. Johnny was alive, but practically too weak to speak from the lack of food and water.
Johnny whispered in a hoarse raspy voice, “I was just trying to crucify myself to save my flock from the end of the world. I am offering myself up to pay for their sins.”
This last statement wouldn’t wash. The pictures told the real story. Johnny the Prophet was finished. The Institute was finished. Dialectic Spiritualism was finished.
Jody flew home with Jason in a vain attempt to save her precious Institute. This time even she couldn’t stem the tide of the impending disaster. The paparazzi took pictures of them getting off the plane from France arm in arm. They labeled it Infidelity Dialectic Style in the press photos.
Johnny Junior arrived at Rancho Santa Fee where the family was gathering. He told the reporters, “I am here to save the day. I am the one true Prophet. I have the ‘word’ now.
It was just about his last ‘word’. Junior was mobbed by a bevy of former lovers including at least a half a dozen movie starlets carrying signs reading, “He gave me the clap.”
Junior’s goose was cooked. The paparazzi took pictures of him slinking out of the garage carrying a cardboard box, which they labeled, “Antibiotics,” for the sake of the scandal sheets using their photos.
Vividly Magazine ran a picture on its cover of the whole family with the caption, “The County’s most dysfunctional well known family.”
There was a small inset photo of the Prophet spread eagle on the bed. They placed a large Red Cross over his pecker to hide it and included a small sub-heading, which read, “This is as sick as it gets.”
Senseless Magazine not to be out circulated ran a cover picture of Johnny as a young boy on one side and as a grown Prophet on the other with a big headline reading, “Innocence turns Rancid.”
The article started off by saying: “Let us introduce you to Johnny Oops, the worlds leading charlatan and fake. Where has all the money gone Johnny? What have you done with the people’s faith?
That was enough for the IRS. They cancelled their entire fall season and had over five hundred agents swoop down on the Institute, and impound the entire facility, all the Institute’s bank accounts, and its various Post Office Boxes used to collect donations from the faithful.
The IRS issued a statement saying, “This is shaping up as the worst case of tax avoidance by a phony non profit organization that we have ever seen. These people should all face criminal prosecution.”
With the flock deserting in droves, their resources frozen, and the public against them, Johnny went on the attack. He went on a leading TV news program and made the following statement, “My people they are trying to persecute us for our beliefs. We have seen this happen before in history. Do not let the infidels and bureaucrats deceive you. Dialectic Spiritualism is the voice of the future. Don’t let the establishment throw you back into darkness. Come with me. See the light. Reach out and touch someone. Show that you really care about their private parts: the parts of them that make them essential human beings, the parts that bring us all together in a harmony of passion and virtue. The parts that exemplify the moral imperative of fulfilling your needs and satisfying your urges."
Oops, I guess it was this last part, which caused the adverse reaction. The audience rose up and stormed the stage. They carried Johnny out of the TV studio and dumped him in the sewer where they said he belonged. They kicked and pummeled him nearly to death before the police arrived to disperse the angry mob.
Johnny was left broken and sobbing in the filth of the sewer. His dream of a better world was gone. His hope for a better future was destroyed. His irrational belief in himself as someone who would make a difference was crushed.
When he was finally carted off in an ambulance he sobbed out, “My people, be of good faith. I shall return. You have not seen the last of Johnny Oops. Remember the plane crash. Prepare for my next coming.”
Poor Johnny, no one was listening. He was yesterday’s news. He had broken faith with the people, and they were in no mood to forgive him. He had committed the cardinal sin of thinking he could actually walk on water, and then trying to do it. He had drowned himself in a flurry of self-destructive activities befitting a true sado masochist.
The Prophet hadn’t been able to prophesize his own demise. Or was it just going to be another opportunity for a spiritual rebirth?
On his way to the hospital Johnny bemoaned his fate. In a semi-conscious state he wondered, “What has happened to Johnny Oops? Where have I gone wrong? What happened to my promise? Who am I? What is to become of me? Why am I being tested this way?”
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