Flog Log

(Author's warning: Christian ladies should not read this article!) Related Article

The late, great apostle Herbert Armstrong was a man obsessed with documentation. At some point in his life he seems to have documented almost everything he did, from his letters to coworkers to his letters written during transatlantic crossings to his autobiography. He was prolific with the typewriter and wrote millions of words over the half century of his career. Just about the only thing he didn't write about were his adventures with incest and rape.

Although the document has never (to my knowledge) been published, Herbert even documented his own experiences with auto-eroticism. In David Robinson's excellent book Herbert Armstrong's Tangled Web , the author reported a confession Armstrong made to him privately, that he actually kept a log of his own masturbatory episodes! This apparently came as no surprise to the headquarters ministry, who already knew about this private record, and among themselves snidely referred to it as Herbert's "Flog Log".

A record, as of the performance of a machine or the progress of an undertaking: a computer log; a trip log.

To beat severely with a whip or rod. (A reference is also made to the word "flagellate".)

Using these definitions as a guide, then, we can surmise that a "flog log" would be a "record of a severe beating with a whip or a rod". It might be the type of record one would have kept in pre-Civil War America, if one were a slave owner. Or perhaps a schoolmaster at Imperial Schools in Pasadena might have kept such a record of punishments meted out to church children.

But Herbert Armstrong neither kept slaves (in the traditional sense), nor did he teach at Imperial Schools. So his particular "flog log" must have involved "severe beatings" of another kind.

Of course we already know what kind of "beating" was going on, since Robinson clearly stated that Herbert had described episodes of masturbation (which was vigorously prohibited by the ministry, who spent thousands of hours berating those who participated in it, or were even suspected of doing so); Herbert wasn't using a whip or a rod, rather he was whipping his rod. (Ladies, I warned you!)

So we already know the subject of the document -- Herbert was whipping his willie, flogging his log, loping his mule, beating his meat, pounding his pud, and polishing his knob. But -- just what do you mean , "flog log"? I mean, what kind of entries does one make in a flog log?

It seems fairly clear what might be contained in a ship's log -- times of departure and arrival, course and speed changes, changes of the watch, and notations of any unusual events that might occur, such as births, deaths, injuries, or damage to the vessel.

A pilot's log is a record of hours flown, type of aircraft, departure and destination, etc. Truck drivers keep similar logs of their journeys. Nothing mysterious about logs in general. But...

Imagine

Since I've never seen the log, have never talked to anyone who has seen the log -- and since I don't know if the log even still exists -- I can only try to imagine, to conjecture, what Herbert might have scribbled into this most personal of all documents.

Robinson stated that Herbert claimed to have tried various lubricants, testing them for the properties most closely simulating the conditions of an actual vagina (Ladies, I warned you!); so it was all very scientific, you see. After testing a number of substances, Herbert settled on Brylcream (hair oil or gel, I'm not sure which) as the substance most closely approximating the female genitalia.

Based on this information, I must assume that Herbert thoroughly tested all the most common products used as lubrication: K-Y Jelly, Vaseline, Valvoline, Crisco (a poor choice, since it is actually a "shortening"), olive oil (only pure virgin, please), mayonnaise (with onion rings?), bacon fat (the Bible only says don't eat it), Ben Gay (now there's a rush!), beeswax, candle tallow, shaving cream, shampoo, pomade, raw honey, and unsalted Altadena Dairy butter.

Robinson further reported that Herbert pleasured himself only every two weeks, which seems to have been his optimum for recharging the equipment. I remember reading in one of Herbert's sex manuals that intercourse should not be attempted too often, as frequency diminished the intensity of the sensations. Apparently, in this case at least, he practiced what he preached.

And those are all the facts I can remember from Robinson's account. But it still doesn't answer the question... just what do you mean -- "flog log"? To answer that burning inquiry, we must rely on pure speculation.

Many questions remain unanswered, and we will never know for sure. But using what is known, we may speculate on the rest. What follows, then, is one possibility, as we attempt to place ourselves inside Herbert's mind, and recreate what might have constituted a page of Herbert's flog log.

A Page Out of Herbert's Book

Jan 7. Today is the anniversary of the birth of my ministry. Celebrated privately, in the bathroom, used the Sears catalog (excellent underwear pictures in the back). Used Vaseline. Tried K-Y previously, but it dries up too quickly. Vaseline does the job, but leaves something to be desired. Too little causes a friction burn, too much and I can't feel anything. Required 73 strokes to complete the mission.

Jan 13. Preached the afternoon sermon at the Auditorium. Talked about two trees. They just don't get it. Feeling morose afterward, retired to the mansion for dinner alone. Afterward sat in front of the television and watched Golden Girls (that Betty White is really something!). Got to feeling better, used candle wax this time. Good back pressure, required only 49 strokes. Forgot the paper towel, so splashed the TV. Missed Betty White, hit Bea Arthur. Disappointing.

Jan 15. Income is down, goddamn Xmas! Got depressed, had to chew out Buffy again. Little fuck just sits there and takes it! Felt a little better, but not enough. Went into the prayer closet outside the secretary pool. Forgot the Vaseline, had to use saliva. Not a good lubricant, dries up too quickly, and stinks besides. Had to keep spitting on it. Closed my eyes and concentrated on the female voices outside the door. Didn't work very well, the little pastor-general refused to stand at attention. Must be too soon since the last time. Got to remember, every two weeks!

Jan 30. Slept well, woke up feeling virile. Income beginning to recover (those emergency threat letters work like magic!). Showered and shaved, was surprised to find a salute from the little Pastor-General. Decided to reward him, used shaving cream this time. Watched the operation in the mirror, very impressive. Just 37 strokes, but the little P-G got a rash from the soap. Won't use that again.

Feb 14. Valentine's Day! Pagan celebration, animal lust and sex. Decided to spank the monkey for the occasion. Used the left hand this time, felt like a virgin. Concentrated on that little blond freshman who recently joined the Young Ambassadors. She's so cute, seems like my own daughter. Maybe we're related -- I'll have Herman look into it.

Feb 27. Herman gave the sermon this morning. Dry and monotonous as always, but the membership is impressed by him. He spoke on sexual perversion, his favorite topic ("We won't have MASTURBATION in God's church!"); wonder what the sheep would think if they knew about his photo collection of naked boys. What a sick fuck! Still, his sermon was mildly erotic. Stroked the little general in the back of the limo.

Mar 12. Had to leave the auditorium this morning to jerk off. Rod was in the middle of another sermon on marriage, went off on a tangent describing the physical attributes of black women. He paints a sensual picture. Too bad Lincoln freed the slaves, I could have kept a stable of dark beauties. If Hitler had won, we might have got slavery back again, but no use crying over it now. Focused on a mental image of Cicely Tyson, only used 29 strokes.

Mar 29. I FOUND IT! Brylcream is the magic formula. Feels EXACTLY like a FEMALE VAGINA!!! Hallelujah! Did it in the men's room on the 4 th floor. Right in the middle of the action that ugly bug-eyed Tkach walked in and caught me. I hate that fucking Russian! Now the bastard knows about me, he's going to want something in return for keeping quiet. Don't know what he wants yet, but probably some kind of promotion. Maybe I'll let him pastor a church somewhere overseas. He's too stupid to run anything bigger than a small congregation.

Epilogue

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