nm, dupe.
As I’m in the process of moving to a new locale, I’m preparing for the possibility of a new neighbor(s) asking if I’ve found a “church home” in the area (this happened years ago).
I figure on responding that we worship online, and if pressed, mentioning the Church of the Subgenius website.
“Hey, thanks, mister - I’m still blind but you’ve just cured my erectile dysfunction! Here, give me your hand - I’ll show you…”
Sadly, my penis is not big enough for me to feel comfortable joking about losing the use of it. 
I had been thinking more like “Thanks! The pills from the internet don’t seem to work, so maybe prayer will help!”
Tell the laying-on-of-hands guy that you also have hemorrhoids, and you would like him to start with those.
Regards,
Shodan
Oh, absolutely. Which is weird to me - we’re talking about a supernatural entity that built its entire religion around a human sacrifice made to itself.
Talk about leaving me an opening!
I would never lay hands on my mother - I was just honestly flabbergasted. Evacuating was clearly the best option.
(Loudly) “Hmmmppfff! Obviously your religious instruction is deficient in matters of blind faith!”
If you can see afterward, thank them.
If you can’t, shout “It didn’t work!”
For the classless idiots who try to touch you, go with the “stranger danger” response…
Start screaming “bad touch! Bad touch! I need an adult!!”
The logical paradox of a grown man screaming like a child for “adult” help should either cause their brains to implode, or at least cause terminal embarrassment
Option 2;
Say in a low, guttural, demonic voice “I must find a new host body, this new body is suitable!” As you grip them back, harder…
Jesus said to do our praying in a closet, so if you wish to pray for me, feel free to find a closet and go to town. And if you lay your hands on me, I will not hesitate to have you charged with assault.
Or “That just made it worse!”
Flying Spaghetti Monster and His Noodly Appendages is my husband’s go-to.
Alternatively:
“Butterflies”
Wait a few moments while you listen for the satisfying gurgle from an ocelot-mangled throat.
“Butterflies.”
Wait a few moments again.
“Samantha, did you go gallivanting off again? SAMANTHA! Damn that ocelot! Hey wait right here, would ya? I have to go find my ocelot so I can give her the codeword to rip your throat out. If she shows up while I’m gone, the codeword is ‘Butterflies.’ Just go ahead and say it to her, and she’ll know what to do. Hey thanks a lot!!”
Then take your cane and go tap-tap-tapping away.
When the dude lays his hands on you, turn it into a bear-hug embrace and gush loudly for all to hear,* “oh sweetheart, I thought you’d never ask! Of course I’ll marry you!!!”*
There’s a whole thing you could roll out here: “Wait…wait…omigod…Oh MY GOD!..I CAN’T HEAR NOW! YOU MADE ME DEAF! NOW I’M BLIND AND DEAF! AND - ARE YOU STILL TOUCHING ME? OH GOD…MY LEGS! NOW I CAN’T FEEL MY LEGS! WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME??? YOU’RE A MONSTER!!!”
Or just go old school and shout “STRANGER DANGER!”
Stranger wants to Pray for me?
Great! I will ask them to respect my religion and direct the prayer to the Almighty Flying Spaghetti Monster (long may his noodly appendages grow!), or for lesser request to direct the Prayer to Shub-Niggurath who is this week’s Portal to his noodlyness.
This response seems to really inspire the prayerful person, who usually jumps up with joy and runs screaming of the Glory of the AFSM.
Ah, i just saw that SUnny Daze (or at least her husband) is also a pastafarian. Glory to His Noodlyness, and let the Sauce Flow to the heathens.
OK, so sword canes are out if you don’t want to go full Denzel in Book of Eli. Spoilsport. I have to admit MacTech’s suggestion is the one that made me <snerk> the most. How about amassing a giant collection of foul and offensive t-shirts to wear for grocery shopping and Sunday strolls? You have a perfect out and you can have a little fun listening to the sharp intakes of breathe and the scurrying of Moms hastily covering their children’s eyes to prevent their being corrupted!
When hitting the rah-rah protesters at the local Women’s Health Center, I sometimes wear a T-shirt that states Rainbow is My Favorite Color. If they comment on it, I point out that the Rainbow is a promise from God, so what’s your objection?
The fun part is where, if someone complains, you get to make them say the horribly offensive words out loud. “I don’t understand, what does my shirt say?”