The Gospel According to Condo Don

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A few of the topics covered by the condo legislation, and contained in this translation: This book also contains translations of other legislation related to condo management and day-today operation: The Road Map has three synchronised columns: There's much more to the Civil Code than just the parts that are relevant to a condo.

With this powerful tool, you can easily find the part of the code that pertains to any topic that affects you. As well, you can quickly find the section of the code that applies if you've only been given an article number. The Road Map is also extensively indexed. The comprehensive index lets you quickly and easily find all the references in the law to any topic about condos and their administration. This is the perfect companion book to the " Jalisco Condo Manual " by the same author. Read more Read less.

The Gospel According to Condo Don

Prime Book Box for Kids. Add both to Cart Add both to List. One of these items ships sooner than the other. Buy the selected items together This item: Ships from and sold by Amazon. Customers who bought this item also bought. Page 1 of 1 Start over Page 1 of 1. Related Video Shorts 0 Upload your video. Share your thoughts with other customers. Write a customer review. There was a problem filtering reviews right now. Please try again later. Excellent update of an already useful book, now giving additional relevant laws. The development where I own property is now four years along in a dispute with the developer.

But the only image that came to mind was from a faded black and white photograph her mother had once shown her. He was tall, black, and muscular. Marva thought that he was the second most handsome and kindly man who had ever walked the earth. A lithographed likeness of the first and best man was centered on the wall in a gilded frame. Marva wasn't sure where it had come from. No matter where she stood in the small bedroom, her glance was returned by Jesus.

Even now, as she lay on the brass bed directly beneath the portrait, His eyes lovingly met hers. It made her feel all warm and secure to know that Jesus was always watching her, even when she slept. Her relationship with Jesus was of a personal, one-on-one nature. He talked to her from within her mind and never let her stray from the path of righteousness. Jesus loved all children. And Marva knew in her heart of hearts that Jesus especially adored her. The small room was divided in half by a green blanket draped over a clothesline that ran between opposing walls.

The other half of the bedroom had belonged to her older brother, Marcellus, before he had perished in a drive-by shooting several years back. The blanket was an imperfect partition. Any tall person could see over it and any small child could easily peer beneath it.

The blanket gave no protection from the odor of alcohol or the stench of drugs. She would often hold the cross tightly to her breast in the darkness and pray that everything happening in the other room would soon go away. The brass bed was the only thing left to remind her of her brother. When they had shared the bedroom, it had been his and she had slept on a mattress on the floor. The bed wasn't really brass. In the eighth grade she had done a science project on ferrous metals and had found that a refrigerator magnet stuck to the bed.

Besides, real brass didn't rust. Marva believed her mother had been glad when Marcellus died. He was big and tough and belonged to a gang. Sometimes he called his mother a whore and threatened to kill her when he came home and found her under the influence of drugs. Once he had pistol whipped a gentleman friend and had slapped her repeatedly until she fell to the floor. He even stole money from her purse and flushed her drugs down the toilet. Terrorizing his mother would have been a non-stop ritual, except that Marcellus had preferred to spend as little time as possible at home. He usually ignored Marva except to advise her to escape from their mother as soon as possible.

The day after the shooting, several gangsters from the Rolling '60's Crips gang had dropped by the apartment. They had pressed a wad of money into Marva's mother's hand and told her it was to cover the funeral expenses plus a little extra for "party money. The blanket and the clothesline had remained in place following Marcellus' death. Marva's mother told her that the apartment was too cramped and she needed the extra space for storage. All of Marcellus' personal belongings had been thrown into the trash. In their place were now a broken television set, odds and ends of furniture, and an enormous steamer trunk filled with every losing lottery ticket her mother had ever purchased.

With Marcellus gone Marva's mother no longer had any controls on her life. She made no attempt to hide her drug habit and her gentlemen friends visited with increasing frequency. Often the partying continued throughout the night. It wasn't easy to get to sleep amid the racket. After she said her prayers, Marva would curl up in a fetal position upon the bed and commence a ritual that had begun many years before.

She would say "good night" to all of the inanimate objects in the bedroom until she fell asleep:. Good night, Holy Cross. Good night light bulb. Good night, blue dress. Good night, black dress. Good night, pink wall. Good night, brass bed. Good night, white socks. As the inventory progressed, it became slower. Soon, Marva began her nightly journey through a wonderful world of enchanted dreams that erased the day's pain.

She walked with Jesus, talked with her father, and flew with angels. Always, when she woke in the morning, she was smiling and looking forward to another day. It was the finest of Sunday mornings. The sun basked the city in its warm glow—warm enough to be felt on exposed skin, but not hot enough to release the odor of the offal scattered about the streets. Nothing broke the blue skyline above the rooftops except for an occasional billboard touting the manly virtues of imbibing a particular brand of alcoholic beverage.

Latino immigrants had been moving into the traditionally black neighborhood for the past decade. Although they were still a small part of the community, their influence was becoming noticeable. The white models in the billboard advertisements were airbrushed brown almost as often as they were airbrushed black. However, the blonde hair and the Nordic features of the billboard dwellers lent both them and the products they were hawking an alien tinge.

The billboard dwellers were painted bigger than life—hedonistic, two-dimensional gods in the fantasy Mount Olympus that existed above the mean city streets. A substantial number of the mortal men below believed that by purchasing the billboard dwellers' products, they, too, could become part of a better world. But the streets, even on this, the finest of Sunday mornings, bore testimony to the degradation of alcohol, as sunken-eyed derelicts sat on the neighborhood stoops with their brown paper bags between their feet. Marva nearly stumbled into one such derelict as she exited her apartment building.

The pile of dirty clothing before her stirred and looked up, showing that it still retained some vestige of the humanity God had bestowed upon it. You has won your heart's desire with such finery," and he held the paper bag out towards Marva as if to invite her to share his elixir. She quickly stepped past him and was rid of everything about him but his voice as she reached the street.

Is you in such a hurry that you can't stop a minute to socialize with your main man? Marva wished she had waited for one of the older church ladies to pass by before she ventured out on the street. The vermin seemed to melt into the asphalt whenever they spotted one of the venerable matrons walking towards them. Sharp tongued and armed with weighty purses, they were capable of tearing a man to shreds who did not show them proper respect. Viewing their world with black and white severity, they trod on the unrighteous and unjust as they strode towards church on Sunday morning.

But Marva was no longer a little girl and she knew it was time to learn to protect herself from the harsh environment. Transfixing her features into chiseled stone and glaring straight ahead as fiercely as she could manage, she set off at a fast pace down the sidewalk towards the storefront church. Many of the buildings she passed were abandoned.

Not being able to generate the revenue for their absentee owners that it took to maintain them, they had, consequently, decayed beyond the point where they could attract tenants. They had become shooting galleries for addicts and breeding grounds for rats. Here and there, like skipped teeth, were garbage strewn empty lots where the city had demolished boarded-up buildings. The entire landscape resembled a war zone. And there was never an armistice or cease-fire.

These streets had already claimed a dozen additional victims since Marcellus met his tragic fate. Sociologists viewed it as a continuing struggle for upward mobility by the disadvantaged. Politicians dubbed it an urban battleground instituted by drugs and crime. But Marva knew it for what it was—the ultimate war between Good and Evil. As she walked, Marva passed neither trees nor birds. All living things except man and vermin had vanished from the inner city long ago.

Human beings were now the endangered species. With every building boarded-up or demolished, their habitat shrank. New immigrants were continually searching for cheap housing. Many of the older residents on fixed incomes sublet space in their cramped apartments to help pay their rent. The population density was soaring. In summer the entire inner city became a non-air conditioned pressure cooker waiting to explode. Periodic riots such as the Rodney King riot in vented steam and accomplished little else. Hopelessness pervaded the community. Few believed that conditions would ever get better.

The occasional politician or religious leader who attempted to make improvements was almost always overwhelmed by the enormity of the task. Formerly Stroud's Discount Furniture, the Missionary Baptist Church was indistinguishable from the buildings it adjoined. Built of unreinforced brick and mortar, it had the same crumbling appearance as the majority of older downtown buildings. What made it a community landmark, however, was not its looks. The indefatigable spirit of the church, personified by the Reverend Solomon Harms, acted as a magnet that attracted the faithful from the surrounding community on Sunday mornings.

Competition was fierce for the hard-backed folding seats and it was not unusual to have a large number of people standing in the rear of the church as the Reverend Harms beseeched Almighty God to show them His mercy by restoring peace to the community. People came early, congregating under an awning outside the entrance. Gossip flowed freely as church matrons deplored the decadent state of the neighborhood. Marva ran the gauntlet of ladies, speaking politely to those who spoke to her, and took her usual seat in the sixth row.

Before long, Carlos Ortiz, a clerk whom she knew from the market where her mother spent their food stamps, sat down next to her. Carlos was light skinned with dark wavy hair. His family had fled for their lives from Central America, crossing the border illegally from Mexico some six years before. They lived in constant fear of being discovered and deported. Carlos worked hard at the market and gave much of his earnings to an immigration lawyer who claimed that legal residency was only a few payments away. Carlos had been attracted to Marva because she was totally unlike the other women he had met in America.

She was quiet and introspective and carried with her an aura that demanded respect. He was careful not to touch her and limited his conversation to religious matters. Marva was well aware of Carlos' attraction to her. When he had first sat next to her four weeks before, she had almost stood up and moved to another chair. There was something about him, however, that told her he was sincere. He did not attempt to force his attentions on her and he talked of religion rather than himself. Marva had begun to look forward to the precious minutes of conversation they shared before the sermon began.

Of course, Marva suspected that she and Carlos had become a source of gossip for the church matrons. But she knew that it was only talk. The previous Sunday, following services, one of them had actually pressed her arm and whispered, "He's such a nice boy. The Reverend Harms had no doubts as to the forces which composed the universe. Everything was either positive or negative—Good or Evil. There were two classes of people—the sinners and the redeemed. The latter would enjoy everlasting pleasure in Heaven and the former would roast in Hell for eternity.

Either an individual gave himself to God or he was consumed by Evil. One could read it in the Bible and one could see it in the streets. Alcohol, drugs, easy money, and a hundred other temptations of the flesh were waiting to destroy and devour anyone who failed to put his faith in God. It was Reverend Harm's job—his sacred God given mission—to share this certain knowledge with anyone who would listen. Nobody described in greater detail or with more relish the punishments of Hell. Fire and brimstone flowed from Reverend Harms' sermons like lava from a volcano.

Demons ripped apart lost souls while the tormented screamed in anguish. As his voice rose, one could almost smell the sulfur and feel the heat from the flames. This was the fate that awaited the majority of mankind.

Jesus would come again and gather up the pimps, whores, drug addicts, alcoholics, money-gouging slumlords, bigots, corrupt politicians, rapists, and sodomizers and cast the lot of them into the fiery furnace. Today's sermon was entitled "Original Sin. By succumbing to temptation in the Garden of Eden, Adam had sealed Man's fate. God now viewed mankind as tarnished and unclean and would only accept those individuals into Heaven whom His Son, Jesus Christ, had found sincerely repentant. The great of this world would tremble before the Gates of Heaven and those judged unfit would be denied admittance.

Heaven was likened to an exclusive country club where Christian acts, rather than money, purchased membership. Those who gave willingly of themselves for their brethren, those who were persecuted in life for preaching the Word of God, and those who were born again in the Spirit of Jesus, would be forgiven all sin and admitted into the presence of the Lord.

Only they would taste the cool, sweet waters of redemption and know everlasting Peace.

And those who failed the extensive screening process had nobody but themselves to blame. The Word of God surrounds Man; he need but open his ears and heart to reach Glory. Following the sermon, several ushers passed a collection plate among the congregation. Marva always dreaded this moment.

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She spent most of the money she made from babysitting on school supplies. Her offering usually consisted of one or two quarters which she would cup in her hand in the hope that nobody would notice the paucity of her contribution. Everyone was watching her, she felt, and she longed to become invisible whenever the collection plate approached. Her discomfort was compounded when she noticed that Carlos had placed folding money in the plate. Had she looked closer, she might have spotted two slugs and a bus token at the bottom. What the congregation failed to contribute to God in money, it more than made up for in song.

The small choir was the envy of many larger churches in more affluent sections of the city. Over the years, it had gained a reputation that reached far beyond the brick and mortar walls of the storefront church. Marva, too, had a fine lilting soprano voice and planned to join the choir someday. Pedestrians on the sidewalk outside the church would stop to listen.

All the misery and frustration that came from life in the inner city was vented in those hymns. Not since the psalms of the Israelites in bondage had there been such a harmonious appeal to God. The hymns of the Missionary Baptist Church were a cry from God's long suffering children to fulfill the promises that He had made to mankind. They were truly urban Christian soldiers and the tensions of the battlefield in which they lived burst forth in their songs. When the services ended and everyone stood to leave, Marva remained seated and turned towards Carlos.

I close my eyes and I can feel His presence. Temblors was what the evening news called them. Small earthquakes that did little or no damage were shaking Southern California with increased frequency. In the previous week there had been eight temblors with a magnitude greater than 3. The television reporters claimed that the temblors were beneficial, serving to relieve stress along the numerous fault lines that criss-crossed Southern California and decreasing the likelihood of a destructive quake. If anyone had surveyed them, most of Los Angeles' residents would have disagreed with the conclusions of the experts.

The majority perceived the series of small earthquakes as a warning. Panic was beginning to grip them. People who had the resources were moving from the earthquake zone to safer locations in the Southwest. But the inhabitants of the inner city could only roll with the temblors and wonder how much more punishment their unreinforced brick and mortar buildings could absorb before they crumbled and buried their occupants beneath mounds of rubble. The Reverend Harms was quick to seize upon the earthquakes as divine punishment for the sins of man.

He visualized the ground opening and the wicked being swallowed by the earth. But Marva did not find the temblors to be threatening. As she was climbing the last of the steps to the roof, a jolt had thrust her into the sturdy arms of Carlos and he had carried her out onto the flat roof.

The Gospel According To Condo Don

The shaking had stopped but her body still trembled. Carlos thought that she was afraid and sought to reassure her that it was over and she was safe.

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He was not aware that her tremors were caused by his own proximity and that she was struggling to regain control of her emotions. At that moment he could have taken advantage of her and she would not have resisted. But Carlos was not that type of man. Concern for her safety, rather than animal lust, motivated his actions.

When Marva's heart finally slowed, she started to go back down the stairs to get the Bible she had forgotten to bring with her. He did not want her to traverse the stairs alone in case of another earthquake. Marva was indeed overcome by the wonders of God's creation in a way she had never experienced before. Silently, she thanked God for bringing her Carlos. Carlos and Marva remained on the roof for hours. The sunset was spectacular. Each particle of pollution in the urban sky bent the angled light from the waning sun like a miniature prism to produce colors that were unequaled even in the tropics.

The doves flew away and Carlos knew it was time to say goodbye. He started to bend down to kiss Marva's willing lips, but instead mumbled a few parting words and then bolted down the stairs. Marva's mother was waiting for her when she entered their apartment. Why can't you find yourself a man of your own color. If your brother were still alive, he'd have skinned that wetback for sure.

Remember, your father died from a bullet, too. And he was every bit as high and mighty of a self-righteous religious fool as you. During the riots, he went around preachin' peace and stickin' his nose where it didn't belong. And, when he got shot, God deserted him.

He bled to death in my arms. It never did any good and only served to upset her mother. She reached out to hug, but her mother abruptly pulled away. Grabbing her sequined purse and throwing a thin jacket around her shoulders, Marva's mother turned towards the door. As she exited, she took one last parting shot at Marva:. And when I come back, I'm bringin' me a real man—a black man—not some foreign trash.

He'll have a black face, and black hands, and a black pecker. He won't be the color of some turd that you flush down the toilet!

The door slammed in Marva's face, almost catching her outstretched fingers. Running to the bedroom, Marva quickly slipped under the green blanket, flung herself onto the bed, and cried for hours until finally, exhausted and soaked by warm, salty tears, sleep mercifully claimed her.

Although Janet Carson had been appointed Attorney General by the President of the United States, she considered him neither her mentor nor a man for whom she had any particular respect. She judged him to be a morally deficient womanizer who had cheated on his wife numerous times. Her appointment was a sop to the National Organization of Women who had supported the President's candidacy as the lesser of two evils. Now, following his successful election, they were pressing him for their fair share of the political spoils. Janet Carson had cut her teeth in the rough and tumble world of feminist politics.

Unlike the President, who seemed to shift with the political wind, she intended to use her office as a tool to enforce civil rights for women and to expand the influence of the feminist movement on government. At the close of the previous session, Congress had narrowly passed a bill permitting doctors to perform abortions upon demand. Although the bill contained no provisions for funding abortions, it had angered religious organizations and resulted in the mass picketing of abortion clinics throughout the United States.

There had been several incidents of violence and, as one of her first acts in office, Janet Carson had directed federal marshals to provide security for any abortionist who felt threatened. She had also personally telephoned the President and requested him to call out the National Guard to prevent protesters from forming impassable cordons around abortion clinics. Her impassioned plea had met with a "We'll wait and see how the situation develops" from the President. He had no intention of becoming embroiled in a battle with organized religion and suggested that she reconsider her decision to employ federal marshals as bodyguards.

Janet Carson firmly believed that all women had the right to abort unwanted fetuses. When an unplanned pregnancy had threatened her ability to attend law school, Janet had not hesitated to get an abortion.

She considered her body, like that of all women, to be her exclusive property to do with as she wished. As she watched the presidency vacillate on issues concerning women's rights, she felt a need to redouble her efforts to force the public to accept feminist values, regardless of the political cost to herself and the Administration.

She felt that if she could not enforce the abortion rights of women, the pro-abortion issue would lose momentum as fast as the Equal Rights Amendment had in a previous decade. Abortion had become her personal crusade. Nobody had ever mistaken Carl Utz for a crusader. With close cropped gray hair, short arms and legs, and a stocky body, Carl resembled a bulldog. And like the bulldog, Carl plodded methodically after his opponents until he sunk his teeth into them.

Short on bark and big on bite, he was a gruff veteran of 32 years on the Philadelphia Homicide Squad. Forced to retire, Carl Utz had chosen to become the head of a newly formed federal law enforcement agency rather than rust in a rocking chair. As chief of the Genetic Enforcement Service GES , it was his responsibility to arrest anyone who had committed a biological crime in violation of federal statutes, especially those involving unauthorized alteration of DNA, and turn them over to the Justice Department for prosecution.

Although he had at first imagined this to mean tracking down assorted Frankenstein monsters, he soon discovered that for the most part his duties consisted of preventing potentially dangerous genetic alterations of fruit and vegetables. His first case had involved a biologist who had attempted to market an apricot that was the size of an apple.

It was firmer and sweeter than any conventional apricot and had only one drawback—it contained enough strychnine to make it potentially lethal to anyone who ate large quantities of the fruit. When confronted with the evidence, the unwitting offender had readily signed an Agreement to Desist. Because the altered apricot had yet to be marketed, nobody had been injured and Carl hadn't even bothered to prosecute the biologist for a misdemeanor. It was difficult to accept that after a stunning 32 year career as a homicide detective in which he had single-handedly brought to justice the notorious Parkway Strangler, Carl now found himself working as a glorified agricultural inspector.

Chief in name only, his entire workforce consisted of a buxom secretary and a geneticist who spent most of her working hours perusing obscure biological journals for evidence of criminal activity. His request for a 9 mm standard police issue handgun had been turned down by the Government Accounting Office as an unnecessary expenditure. Carl's boss was Attorney General Janet Carson.

They had never met and he would not have recognized her if he had passed her in a hallway. Considering the vast scope of her responsibilities, it was doubtful that she was aware that GES was part of her domain. Isolated and obscure, Carl Utz felt like the straight man in some bureaucratic joke. How he missed Philadelphia! The Reverend Solomon Harms was a mortal man, made of flesh and blood. He experienced the same urges and temptations as other men.

Many was the time when he had succumbed to sin, but he was always sorry afterwards and prayed to God for forgiveness. And God had forgiven him—not seven times, but more than seven times seven. And so it was on this dismal night that Solomon Harms had felt the Forces of Evil transform him into Mr. Hyde and had gone out into the streets to seek relief from his torment. Sitting in a corner of a sleazy, darkened bar, he found his Jezebel. After a few drinks, she suggested he accompany her to her apartment. Soon, they were in the backseat of a taxi, indulging their passions. Somehow, however, in the light of her apartment, the magical feeling had vanished.

He could now see the wrinkles beneath the makeup and the purple stains of varicose veins. Downing drink after drink in the futile hope that the distilled potion would transform the scrawny hag in his arms into a vision of loveliness, Solomon Harms at last achieved numbness. In a blissful state of Nirvana with the walls circling around him, he began to slip from the sofa onto the floor. But as he went down, his blurred vision focused on the luscious, curvaceous outline of a feminine figure that seemingly beckoned to him from behind a thin green backlit blanket in an adjoining room.

Here was the vision of loveliness he craved, the Madonna of his dreams. On hands and knees he wobbled towards the goddess, and then reached up to possess her. She stood up on her bed and stomped on the clutching hands. Grabbing the wooden cross from the wall, she swung it like a pickax against the head of the inebriated cleric. Blood gushed from a scalp wound and his body slumped to the floor. Marva's mother, shocked sober from her stupor, ran into the bedroom and cradled the bloody head in her arms. Next time, you stick to your Mexican trash or I'll throw you out on your black ass.

After stopping the bleeding with a towel, Marva's mother splashed cold water on the Reverend's face until he regained consciousness.

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He kept blubbering something about forgiveness as she struggled to get him down the stairs and put him in the back of a taxi. Marva's mother bounded back up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. Bursting into the apartment, she hit the blanket divider full force, pulling the clothesline from the wall.

Pouncing on Marva's sobbing, prone body, she proceeded to pommel Marva, pulling Marva's hair and gouging Marva with her long fingernails. Marva offered no resistance. She continued to sob and attempted to bury her head in her pillow. Finally, Marva's mother quit beating her and stood up, yelling, "You worthless bitch, how could you? Marva's mother reached down, grabbed her daughter by the hair and turned her over on the bed, screaming, "Listen to me when I talk to you! He's a good man, an educated man, a true man of God.

He's a real gentleman. He treated me like a lady. How dare you seduce my man? Look at it child. Do you know how much money this is? She flipped over and again buried her face in the pillow. Marva lay, sobbing, amidst the blood-soaked sheets for what seemed to be an eternity before she drifted into sleep. In her dreams she saw herself rising above a tumultuous battlefield towards the peaceful meadow where she normally met either Jesus or her father. This time, a stranger in a flowing robe awaited her.

He seemed kindly and with his smile the pain drifted away. God has found you to be the most worthy of women. You shall suffer no longer. God has chosen you to bear His Son. You will be the mother of the Savior, who as He promised two thousand years ago, will return to reveal to man the meaning of creation. A warm glow overcame Marva as her soul reentered her body. She awoke completely refreshed with a new purpose in life.

God had favored her. She had fallen asleep as a girl and awoken as a woman. Something wonderful was now growing inside her. She was truly blessed! Marva sat with her hands folded in her lap, staring at the textured patterns on the opposite wall. It was freshly painted. Everything in the lobby was new. The carpet, the chairs, and the other furnishings were luxurious and bespoke an opulence seldom seen in a commercial office. Marva had come to Planned Parenthood, Incorporated, to make certain that her baby would be born healthy.

A lady for whom she sometimes babysat had told her that Planned Parenthood offered free prenatal services for low income women. After registering at the receptionist's window and filling out several forms and a long questionnaire, a nurse had taken samples of her blood and urine. She was then directed to take a seat in the lobby until the tests were processed and she could then discuss the results with a counselor. All the other girls in the lobby were younger than Marva.

She thought that one of them could not have been more than eleven years old. Several had their mothers with them, but most had come alone. One was accompanied by her boyfriend. While Marva's attention was fully engrossed in deciphering the textured pattern of the opposite wall, she was startled to hear her name called. Turning to her left, she saw an open door in which stood a tall, blonde, tanned, and immaculately dressed young white woman who was the epitome of the billboard people she had seen in liquor advertisements.

Marva stood and walked into the office where the billboard lady asked her to take a seat. We will be discussing the results of your tests and I will help you to reach solutions to any problems that they might present. Any decisions made will be entirely your own. I am here to assist you and answer any questions that you may have. Did anyone accompany you here today? You will have to trust me if I am going to be of any assistance to you. I hope that we will become friends. Feel free to ask me anything. I need to clarify some of the information you provided on your questionnaire.

It says here that the father of your child is God. Of course, God is the spiritual father of all children. What we need to know is the name of the physical father. Miller started to say something and then closed her mouth. She looked closely at Marva and announced, "I'm going to show you a film that will help you understand your situation and answer my questions. Miller pulled a screen down from the wall and dimmed the lights. After fumbling with a projector for several minutes, it made a whirring sound and Ms. Miller focused the image of two animated characters, one male and one female, on the screen.

The film was explicit and the overtly anatomically correct cartoon figures engaged in sex while the narrator defined such complex terms as penis and vagina. Several charts detailing how the sperm swam up the fallopian tubes to fertilize the egg were also explained by the narrator. As the narrator began to warm to his subject and relate how the fetus developed in the womb, Ms. Miller switched off the projector and turned the lights back on. Miller said gently, "I need to know the names of the men with whom you have had sex in the past several weeks.

The baby that I carry within me is the Child of God. Miller fumbled for a while with the pens on her desk. Marva was staring at her and Ms. Log in to rate this item. You must be logged in to post a review. Two millennia ago, the Son of God promised to return. In , that promise was fulfilled. You may have even passed Him on the street and not been aware of it. Of course, you probably thought you had more important things to do than look for the Savior.

Now, as you read an eyewitness account of the Second Coming, you realize just how wrong you were. Don't worry, there is still time. But I wouldn't delay, because it is your immortal soul that is at stake. Jesus Christ wants to change your life. He thinks you are worth saving. So, why do you keep trying to prove Him wrong? The choice is yours alone. You can either join the parade or you can stay on the sidelines and watch salvation pass you by.

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