Pat Robertson knows what Christian charity and decency are all about, doesn't he? What a frightening glimpse into the soul of a monster.
You have to ask, what happened to 'til death do us part?' That is the simplest of the vows of marriage, and that is the standard established by the Christian religion. Someone who professes to be knowledgeable about the religion of Jesus should probably have better command of the basic tenets of his own faith. A man and a woman are joined and then death is what separates them and that's that. In the modern sense, a man and a man should be allowed to marry til death do them part. Same for women. By extension then, does Robertson believe that a legally married gay couple should separate if one of them develops Alzheimer's and then go marry someone else? Or is he just too dark and sinister to handle anything other than craven self interest?
That's what this statement is about. A pleasure and comfort seeking self-centeredness that can only come from a lifetime of fleecing the believers and stuffing thick, creamy wads of cash into his pants at every turn. This is a man who has made a pretty good living using the medium of television to scare the fat pants off of shut-ins so that they could hot-foot it to the rotary phone and donate cash money to his organization by way of a God-fearing credit card transaction. Jesus had some opinions on things, but it's too bad he didn't have a specific one on stealing money from the feeble in order to create a television empire based on terrorizing the gullible.
Robertson worships at the altar of personal wealth. His belief that someone should "start all over again" isn't about love or companionship--it's about finding someone who is convenient and suitable for a partnership that will lead to more wealth and stability. Robertson knows full well that handing off custodial care is a legal means by which someone can protect the value of their personal estate. For a man late in life to find himself facing huge bills for the medical care of his wife is probably pretty frightening for a money-obsessed shill.
Think about it--you're cruising along in your seventies, and you've got a lot of money in the bank, maybe two homes, a boat, and a God-fearing belief in all things Christian and decent. All of a sudden, your old lady starts banging into walls and relieving herself in public after she gets lost looking for Sunglass Hut in the good mall in the good part of town. How embarrassing! And you're supposed to watch your filthy lucre and your pile of ill-gotten gains go to some nursing home full of snot-nosed kids?
In the world of Pat Robertson, you say, 'hells no, bitches.' And you dump that old bag of forgetful bones and you get yourself a trophy wife. You get yourself one that doesn't have cancer or self-respect or job opportunities that are better than yours, too. I mean, why stop at the bummer that is Alzheimer's? If she's going to kick the bucket, trade her in for a speedier model that doesn't have traded paint on the fenders and a kickstand made out of aluminum.
Maybe one with crazy eyes. Presidential campaign donors love a woman with crazy eyes who can't stop gibber-jabbering about her love of fine jewelry and God Almighty, Inc.
Yes. You just go and get yourself one of those. The old lady salon at the mall is full of them. Send an underling to find the one that has access to a trust fund. Woo her, marry her, and watch your personal success increase exponentially. And you live your life the way God intended, serving only you and your wealth. That's what Pat would want. That's what Newt Gingrich wants, too, but, brother, he probably wasn't prepared for that bill from Tiffany's.
I know it sounds harsh, but what Pat Robertson is saying is very clear and concise. As soon as your spouse goes off on a bathrobe walkabout through the nature preserve looking for the bus to Nordstrom's, it's time to make sure that your nest egg is secure and it's time to find some forty-year old high maintenance hump pillow to take her place.