THE PASTOR THAT THOUGHT TIKTOK WAS DEMON PORTAL
THE PASTOR THAT THOUGHT TIKTOK WAS A DEMON PORTAL
It all began on a seemingly normal Sunday, the type of Sunday where people casually wear white shirts that they will inevitably regret by lunch. Pastor Emmanuel, a man of deep conviction and zero sense of digital literacy, had recently been warned by a visiting evangelist that social media platforms were infiltrated by the dark forces of the internet. Most people might have assumed this meant dodgy emails or suspicious links, but not Pastor Emmanuel. For him, the real enemy was TikTok—a platform as volatile as cryptocurrency markets.
. Yes, TikTok—the app known for dancing teenagers, lip-syncing challenges, and the occasional viral baby video. To Pastor Emmanuel, it was more sinister than a financial collapse on Wall Street. He told his congregation, with all the gravity of someone announcing a hedge fund meltdown, “TikTok is the gateway to demons. It is the virtual Bermuda Triangle where souls disappear, never to be seen again!” His sermon had the precision of an investment banker analyzing market risk, minus the spreadsheets.
The church members blinked. Some nodded. One brave soul whispered, “Maybe he means YouTube?” But Pastor Emmanuel ignored all rational thought. He had a divine mission, a spiritual crusade against what he now called the “Ticking Clock of Doom,” treating TikTok like a short-selling opportunity gone rogue.
By Monday, the pastor’s paranoia escalated. He spent the entire morning pacing in his study, phone in hand, ready to confront any device that dared display the app’s logo. His secretary, Ada, timidly suggested, “Sir, maybe you should just avoid the app?”
“Avoid?” Pastor Emmanuel scoffed. “Ada, avoidance is how demons grow stronger! We must face TikTok head-on, armed with prayer, holy water, and righteous indignation!” He spoke with the fervor of someone defending their trading strategy against market volatility.
The first “battle” came when he tried to download the app himself to understand it. He stared at the screen like it was a portal to financial ruin. “Why does it dance when I open it? Why are there children laughing at me? Are they possessed?” He accidentally pressed the like button on a video of a cat doing yoga. Immediately, he dropped the phone and shouted, “The cat is an agent of evil!” If hedge funds could talk, they would have approved of his risk assessment—albeit in terror.
By Wednesday, Pastor Emmanuel had begun giving sermons entirely about TikTok. He warned that one minute of scrolling could summon three demons, a minor hellfire, and possibly your neighbor’s pet goldfish. Church members who had once come for spiritual guidance now attended just to witness the chaos unfold. It was like observing market analysts panic over a sudden crypto crash.
The pastor even created an elaborate TikTok Demon Exorcism Checklist. It included items like:
Wash hands three times in holy water before opening your phone.
Say “In the name of salvation” after every scroll.
Never, under any circumstance, like a video of someone flossing.
The congregation laughed nervously, unsure if this was a teaching moment or a full-blown comedy show. One member asked, “Pastor, what if I’m already on TikTok?” The pastor’s eyes widened. “Then, my child, we must act fast! We shall initiate the Ritual of the Swipe!” His tone had the urgency of a trader reacting to a flash crash in the stock market.
The Ritual of the Swipe, as it turned out, involved holding your phone at arm’s length, chanting verses while dramatically swiping left and right, and sprinkling holy water on the screen. Pastor Emmanuel demonstrated with such intensity that he knocked over the church podium, splashed water on two elderly ladies, and somehow hit the janitor in the shin. It was a perfect analogy for reckless day trading—chaotic, unpredictable, and hilarious.
By the end of the week, the pastor had gained a new level of fame—or infamy. Local newspapers ran headlines like:
“Pastor Battles TikTok: Locals Confused, Slightly Amused”
“Divine Intervention or Digital Paranoia? Pastor Emmanuel Declares War on Social Media”
Even the youth group started creating memes about the pastor’s crusade. One particularly viral image showed him holding a Bible in one hand and his phone in the other, eyes wide, with the caption: “When you fight demons but they keep sending friend requests.” If memes were a stock, this one would have skyrocketed on the viral ROI index.
Pastor Emmanuel, oblivious to the humor, doubled down. He began conducting “TikTok-Free Days” where everyone had to hand over their phones. The results were… chaotic. Teenagers hid smartphones in church plants, elderly members forgot how to operate their remote controls, and one man accidentally walked out holding someone else’s iPad. It was like witnessing a liquidity crisis in real-time.
The pastor, convinced that the entire internet was now his spiritual battlefield, held an emergency prayer session. He instructed everyone to chant in unison: “Demons of TikTok, we banish you into the void of buffering!” The congregation complied, though several were secretly recording the session for social media—ironically, TikTok videos. One could almost calculate the engagement metrics as if analyzing a high-yield social media investment.
By the second week, Pastor Emmanuel had escalated his mission to “Digital Deliverance.” He inspected phones for signs of demonic possession, which, according to him, included:
Repetitive dance videos
Lip-syncing to songs with more than three words
Excessive use of filters, especially cat ears
Those guilty of these “sins” were asked to undergo spiritual detox, which involved sitting quietly while the pastor read TikTok-inspired psalms and occasionally flicked holy water like confetti. It was a process as meticulous as a wealth management portfolio review.
One unforgettable moment occurred when he confronted a teenage girl about a viral trend. She had recreated a famous dance challenge. Pastor Emmanuel, in righteous fury, exclaimed, “You have summoned the demons of distraction, laziness, and avocado toast! Confess now!” His risk assessment was sound if applied to digital habits, but his methodology lacked basic human ROI calculations.
The girl, unbothered, simply shrugged and said, “It’s just a dance, Pastor.” Emmanuel’s face went pale. “Just a dance? That is what they want you to believe. Just a dance leads to just a subscription, which leads to just a following, which leads to… spiritual bankruptcy!” It was like watching someone warn against leveraged investments without understanding compound interest.
By the third week, the church had unintentionally become a tourist attraction. People came not for worship, but to witness the pastor’s TikTok exorcisms. Bloggers filmed him dramatically turning phones upside down while chanting verses. Even the local news did a segment titled: “Pastor vs. TikTok: A Battle of Spiritual Proportions.” The engagement was trending higher than a volatile stock in pre-market trading.
Then came the grand finale: the Pastor Emmanuel TikTok Summit. He invited local tech experts, spiritual leaders, and bewildered teenagers. His keynote address lasted three hours. He demonstrated how to spot evil trends, how to perform holy swipes, and even how to properly sprinkle holy water over iPads. It was like attending a fintech conference that had gone entirely spiritual.
By the end of the event, Pastor Emmanuel was exhausted but triumphant. He declared TikTok temporarily neutralized in his congregation. The teenagers secretly celebrated, already planning the viral video they would make about the summit. Engagement metrics, likes, and shares were off the charts—more profitable than some small-cap investment portfolios.
The moral? Sometimes, technology confuses even the most faithful. Sometimes, TikTok is merely dancing, not demonic. And sometimes, a pastor who thinks he’s fighting demons is actually creating the funniest viral content in town. It’s the spiritual equivalent of turning a risky trade into passive income from sheer entertainment value.
To this day, the legend of Pastor Emmanuel and his demon-fighting TikTok crusade lives on. Children whisper about him in awe, adults shake their heads in disbelief, and the pastor continues his spiritual mission, occasionally checking his phone for signs that the demons are plotting a comeback… or a viral dance challenge. The ROI on curiosity alone has kept the story alive across social media platforms.
Even in hindsight, Pastor Emmanuel now compares TikTok exorcisms to managing a hedge fund: risk assessment, attention allocation, and the occasional holy intervention. Every swipe becomes a financial metaphor. Every viral trend is analyzed as though it were a digital asset. And every follower? Pure spiritual equity.
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