The Reverend Gregory Malia, from the hilariously-named town of Wilkes-Barre PA, makes his bones selling pharmaceuticals to hemophiliacs. He spends his bones at posh New York nightclubs, treating tables to $10,000 worth of champagne and buying $25,000 magnums of Dom for himself. He's unapologetic about it, claiming that he still donates 20% of his salary to the church. Plus he's not some small time rube, he argues:
I'm a national businessperson dealing with very chronic and severe illnesses that cost huge amounts of money. I'm not running a mom-and-pop store.
But the church doesn't see it the same way, and he's under investigation. It could lead to him being permanently stripped of his priestly title. Which is too bad!
He's a jerkwad with a publicist and who probably says, somewhere in the dank echoy realms of MySpace, that he "makes it rain," and his brother says that he was a hemophiliac orphan who had it tough growing up, and that is sad. But if a man of the cloth, a man of God, can go clurb-bumpin' til the cash registers ring with glee, then maybe all is not lost. The Almighty is on our side, fiscally at least. And drunkily.
And that ought to count for something.