Book review: Elijah, the Last Prophet

by Mickey Mullen


I met Mickey, this book’s author, on a public forum at, where he insisted on spouting the most insane, impossible story of his Christian conversion. God gave him a new heart. No, I mean it, a real one. God sucked the old one out and replaced it with a new blood pump.

Mickey doesn’t know it, but I watched him for months, telling his story and enduring the ridicule. I can’t believe his story … I’m just not wired to swallow that kinda thing … but whatever the heck happened to Mickey that day, it left an impression. He may have been a hell raiser before his conversion, but today he’s an absolute saint for what he puts up with on, and never loses his cool. My curiosity sparked, and I offered to review a book he had written.

Turns out he’s more than a saint. He’s the prophet Elijah, and he’s got a message for us. For one thing, we shouldn’t bother reading most of the New Testament. Stick to the Gospels and stay away from the Satanic influence of Paul. Mickey’s writing style is a bit unorthodox, and the punctuation questionable, but I’m not sure I’d have it any other way … somehow it sets just the right tone.

I was captivated for about 40 pages, while Mickey recounted stories of his childhood. Setting the stage, I assumed, for what was to come: a miraculous conversion experience. Reading the book is a bit like sitting on a log around a campfire, listening to grandpa reminisce. But the storytelling grew old, and I began to wish he’d get on with the supernatural stuff, so I was more than ready when the book turned preachy. Finally, we must be getting to the point! Okay, Mickey, I’ll swear off Paul, if you’ll tell me what happened to you! But the preachy stage came to an end, and the reminiscing began again. Along the way I learned how to drive safely, how to roast hot dogs, I learned just about everything except what I hoped. Mickey’s miraculous baptism by the Holy Ghost blew by in a couple sentences without fanfare, and the storytelling began to meander again without direction until it simply petered out on the final page as if he ran out of breath and decided to call it a night.

Mickey, you seem like a fascinating guy, it would be fun to stoke the campfire together, but your book doesn’t go anywhere.

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