Voted the #1 Internet Church: THE CHURCH OF THE EVERYDAY MAN (formerly, Hatch's Kitchen Ministry)
New York...New Quark....
Or, Why is the Whirl of Bush and Satan being Danced under THE Oneness?
Glorious...like Wine on Sunday:
Our Dear, Beloved Spiritual Figurehead--the Right Rv. Kyle Hatch.
From God's Gracious Hands to yours, Welcome to His Kingdom on Earth.
Because, really, Life is like this:
"It is possible to become so defiled in life that your own Mother and Father will abandon you. But you can always believe in God to believe in you to mend your own ways. Thank you." -- Deacon Dylan, at the Church's Annual fried chicken and french fry picnic, August 12th, 2002.
>>>>>>>VOTE for our Right Reverend KYLE HATCH in the upcoming 2004 PRESIDENTIAL Election and/or 2006 Sheriff of Powatacka County Election!<<<<<<<<
How Our Reverend Went From a Boozing Sinner...to a World-Renowned Preachin' Man:
Here's a picture of the Rev. Kyle Hatch (known as Marty Farnhall, then) as a part-time jazz drummer, full-time junky, promising stand-up comedian, and a frequent houseguest of his idol's, Lenny Bruce. Lenny Bruce died three months after he took this picture of Rev. Hatch standing by the Silverlake Resevoir in Los Angeles.
"I was sure out of a good place to stay when that happened," Rev. Hatch recalls of his friend's death. "And it taught me to get my rear in gear!"
Read on for more on his Re-Enlightenment:
The Right Reverend Kyle Hatch wasn't always a preachin' man. Oh no...far from it. Born in 1945 in Waxahachie, Texas, to Jim and Flo Snipe, he eventually took on the name, Marty Farnhall, and followed his starry-eyed dreams of becoming a stand-up comedian, in the vein of his idol, Lenny Bruce. So, at the age of 16, he moved out west to Hollywood, California, seeking to make his mark on the world, looking for all the fame, riches, and notoriety he could get his hands on. He yearned for the glamorous life (good or bad) that he'd read so much about, seen on television all his life, yearned for as many heathens do.
"I was a butthole," Rev. Hatch later said about his youthful exuberiance.
But once in Hollywood, things weren't quite so easy for our dear Reverend. No, they weren't. And sometimes the dark days are the ones that let one see the light. Hallelujah!
He floundered around for the next few years--holding odd jobs as a busboy, a ticket taker at a porn movie theater on Sunset Boulevard, and, for a little under two weeks, the manager of a fish-n-chips joint in Venice--before falling in with fellow comedian, Sam Kennison, and learning a few tricks of the trade. Soon, under Sam's wing, his act was polished enough for the spotlight of the stage, and he was appearing at comedy clubs all across the country and well up into Canada. (His caricature, by the way, still graces The Comedy Store in Los Angeles.) Sam took a liking to this fame-hungry young man and, with the late funny man's help, things were looking up.... Until the lure of cocaine and alcohol finally took hold, and it was all downhill from there. Sam, in many ways, wasn't the best of influences. "It was like looking over the lip of a toilet...and knowing you're just about to fall in," Rev. Hatch was later quoted as saying. The tip of a downhill slope, to say the least.
It wasn't long before our Reverend, still going by the name Marty Farnhall, found it hard to make it to gigs on time--always out looking for a score, settling on cheap wine when he couldn't find the coke--and his girlfriend, Cherise Charlay, left him soon afterwards and changed her name to Mandy. He was devastated and dejected, to say the least, and he soon afterwards lost his apartment in West Hollywood, pissing off many of the comedy club owners who'd been so supportive of him up until then.
Sleeping on River Phoenix's couch, one of the last true friends who refused to abandon him, Farnhall continued snorting the cola and shooting the horse. Most everyone had written him off as a bad seed. He'd stolen money from those he loved, taken merchandise, clothing, and anything else he could get his Satan-possessed hands on, trying to support his growing drug and alcohol habit. It was during this dark period, laying on the dirty sheets of a downtown flophouse he was sharing with a Mexican guy named Ramon Quattro, that the good Lord came calling on him.
"Get up, young man," the Lord commanded. "I've got a job for you. Your payment will be your soul, returned."
So, with nothing better going for him, he got up, got up off that dirty, semen-stained bed, and was bestowed a new name and calling. He was given the name, Kyle Hatch, and the church, The Church of the Everyday Man, and a new Reverend was sent out into the streets to find the most troubled, wretched, despairing people he could...and turn their eyes back to their mothers' wombs, back up to the Holy Land of God Almighty. Hallelujay, everybody!
"Preach and preach and preach some more," the Lord said. "Until you can't speak or see or eat."
And now he's here to help you, too! He wants to talk to you.... He wants to deliver you sermons with a razor-sharp bible in hand and the tongue to use it. He's a man who cares. But he doesn't care if you're a drug-addict, a drunk, a prostitute, or a thief. All our welcome in The Church of the Everyday Man.
"Life's hard enough," Rev. Hatch once said. "And who needs some joker telling you you're a sinner all the time? You're not a sinner--you're a winner who hasn't won in a while, that's all. Hallelujah!"
"...The worse off you are, the more I love you...."
This Holy Drawing...
Comes from the Mind of Rev. Jim Franklin of the Coupland Congregation.
Pictured above: The Hatch Clan, undercover, sniffing out slime and crime, working for the FBI...before turning their backs on Uncle Sam and becoming, first, Interim Pastors, then Head Pastors, of The Lord Almighty Church of the Everyday Man, Woman, and Child. After their "defection," some called them, "...traitors of the worst-ilk...", while others coined them, "...good pennies in a sea of tarnished quarters."
You be the judge.
She Meant Well: Mrs. Beatrice Arthur-Simpson...
The bean-meister of the Congregation. Sadly, she died shortly after this article was published.
Yes, It;s True!
Our Reverend Did Carry On a Homosexual Affair with Mr. Andy Kaufman.
Pictured above, Interim Pastor and offspring of Kyle, alongside him on board this Holy Ship of Everydayers, the Rev. Ramahdan Hatch.
As Rev. R. Hatch says, "Please do enjoy our website, and read on, so you may know a little more or less about us."
Thanks,
from all the Believers, Everyday.
We Are the Church. We don't hang out in Rim Ram Rooms. We frequent them.
Rev. Kyle Hatch as Tony Clifton...
One of Hatch's two shows as Tony Clifton; he was a friend of the late Andy Kaufman, an Everydayist.
Below is a recording of Charles Bukowski reading a fan letter. The Rev. Kyle Hatch was a very close friend of Hank's in Los Angeles, where they drank wine together and got into fistfights in dark alleyways and dirty gutters from Long Beach to Pomona to Hollywood. They even roomed together for a time in a small apartment near downtown, until Rev. Kyle caught Charles pissing all over his clothes. That smell never did come out, and Rev. Hatch received strange looks from people for months afterward. Their deep religious and philosophical discussions, or, as many said, differences, often ended in all-night spitting on one another and long periods of silence. But their love for one another never ceased. Enjoy Charles reading a fan letter:
