Or maybe the straw that broke the Goddess’ back was the disclaimer the Temple required clients to sign that stated—for obviously spiritual reasons rather than legal ones—“I will not receive any type of sexual gratification in exchange for money during my session” and “all that unfolds is consensual exchange between self-sovereign beings for the purpose of expanding knowledge of life force.”

What exactly did six months of “undercover” investigation entail? After ninety-nine handjobs on the taxpayers’ dime, did detectives think to themselves, “Y’know, my lingam is still unsure whether this is legitimate tantric healing or flat-out prostitution—let’s try it one more time”?

After six months, Phoenix law enforcement’s ruthless code-cracking inquisitors were finally able to discern that “seeker” meant “john,” that “sacred union” meant “sexual intercourse,” that “goddess” meant “whore,” that “church” meant “whorehouse,” that “tantric touch” meant “handjob,” that “wand of light” meant “penis,” that “donation” meant “pay the bitch,” and that “chakra de caca” meant “prostate gland.” (OK, I made that last one up.)

After Wednesday’s arrest, accused gigolo-for-God Alex Averill—who at 23 is by eons the youngest Temple whore, and if his penis is half the size of his nose, he’s packing quite the kielbasa—choked back tears for TV cameras and called himself a “spiritual warrior.” Averill went by the name “Zander” in the Temple and admitted to receiving more than $200 per hour from hundreds of clients, many of them overweight women. “Sometimes, people just need to be hugged for an hour and a half—is there something incriminating about that?” he pleaded. No, not if you don’t get paid, “Zander.” If you hugged fat women for an hour without pay, that would be a hanging offense.

If the accused hookers are this uncomely, one can only shudder thinking what their clients look like. What type of malformed impotent gnomes sought their services? What sort of sexual cripples limped to this unholy den of iniquity seeking relief? Probably the kind of men who live under bridges and behind landfills. These are lonesome horny toads who are so desperate for sex, whenever they’re near an ocean, they leap in hoping that dolphins will penetrate them. Kali be praised, news coverage so far has failed to yield even one image of a Phoenix Goddess Temple customer. I’m afraid I’d turn into a pillar of salt just looking at one of them.

After news broke of the mass Temple arrest, a Facebook page went up where supporters with names such as “Hercules Liotard” and “Kenny Bountiful Sun” offered their condolences to the arrested shamans and sha-women. Employing the erection-murdering, labia-fusing jargon of the New Age sex-positivity cult, they condemned the puritanical, repressive, body-hating, soul-crippling, chakra-crushing, yoni-phobic Arizona Nazi stormtroopers for perpetrating such a perversion of justice.

For entirely different reasons, I tend to take their side. Unless Felonious Tackiness and Grievous Homeliness are crimes, I don’t believe these Whore Whisperers should be incarcerated. I don’t feel they’re doing anything worse than what ordinary churches do. In fact, at least they give their supplicants something in return for their money and don’t tell them the “happy ending” will only come after they die. Sure, this kind of “church” will only appeal to undesirable nerdlings—it’s Star Trek with genitals. And yes, this sort of thing has been going on since the days of Ishtar and Aphrodite, although I’d hope the ancients turned tricks with a little more élan than these creeps. I’d say we legalize what they’re doing and tax them twice as much as I get taxed. As the Good Book says, “The whores, you shall always have with you.” If you can’t beat ’em, beat ’em off.