I know this won’t come as a surprise to you, but some of the people you’ve “healed” might be shocked to learn that I’ve never met or even spoken to you in My life. Normally, of course, I don’t really care what sort of scams you people pull on one another. I figure that if someone is feeble-minded enough to fall for this sort of thing, it’s not My job to clue them in. Mainly, though, I’m on vacation and just can’t be bothered.
This time, not only have you gained a high enough profile for Me to contemplate letting slip the Lawyers of Gawd, but you’ve trespassed on Emeril’s turf.
The 32-year-old Canadian, tattooed to the fingers and neck, puts a palm to the forehead of the sick, desperate and faithful. Bentley yells “Bam!”
You. Are. Screwed. Didn’t you check to see if the word was trademarked? As My old friend T says, “I pity the fool.” I doubt I’ll even have to get My lawyers involved, and the consequences of stealing a trademark are much worse than lying about Me, anyway. Just for your information, though, let Me clear something up. If I could be bothered to heal people I would heal all of them. That includes amputees, by the way. And sure as I made little green apples, I wouldn’t kick old ladies in the head, knock out people’s teeth or knee terminal stomach cancer patients in the stomach. Well, not since I started the anger management classes, at least.
I’m going to let Emeril’s lawyers handle this one, but I shall watch your future career with interest.
Wish You Were Here,