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Oct. 24, 2007

So there was this giant fish, a grouper to end all groupers, and it came here a few thousand eons ago. It opened its mouth, and out came Man. Followed shortly thereafter by Woman, and the poodle. And Man and Woman began to promptly fornicate, and give forth of their kind, which eventually outnumbered the dinosaurs, which were hunted and eaten into extinction.
          And some particularly nasty (or hungry) humans also killed and ate the grouper, which riled up God, you see, because God was a grouper, too, and the dead fish was his only begotten son. But on the fourth or fifth day, somebody saw the grouper swimming offshore near Monte Carlo, smoking a cigar and looking very sharp in cravat and beret, and lo, it was said that he had risen from the dead. And God said Man was cursed with sin and evil, and the Bushes and Clintons, but one day the grouper would return and set things right, and all who ever loved the grouper, dead and living, would stride into his open mouth, and he would then swim up to heaven, and release them into eternal fields of lollipops and cocaine and sex, and all other things that humans love best. The rest would remain on earth, doomed to burn and rot with Oprah Winfrey and Fox News.
          This is Christianity, or at least, what much of it has become. The generic Christian yarn is no better---actually much less colorful and entertaining---than this tale, or countless other religious mythologies to be found on this suffocating little spinning sphere. Just think: lots of Jesus dingoes actually believe that humans cavorted with Barney the Purple Dinosaur and his lumbering pals, just a few thousand years ago. Really. And hey---how 'bout that Jesus-died-for-your-sins sitcom? God says he'll forgive you every Sunday for any sins you commit---infanticide, cannibalism, listening to Rush Limbaugh---because Pilate nailed his son up a long time ago? Huh? Such a deal!
          Whoever Jesus was, or Jesus-es, and whatever shiny and pure things he or they stood for, fuhgeddabouddit. It's: we all gwyne up to hebbin on de big ribuhboat, and you’re not. We believe, therefore we are saved. You’re not. You soon-to-be pustule-ridden, Rapture-festering craphounds.
          The supernatural aspects of the whole Son of God melodrama are a giant fish story---the crucified one that got away---but that’s fine because most people need to believe in supernatural things, and an "after-life," and honest elections. And of course, there is an after-life. We are all broken down into bits of carbon and methane and reconstituted into other things. We are the greatest imaginable argument for recyling. Your grandmother could be a milk carton. Or a tampon. Or a bird of paradise. Or all three.
          So today in these here Yoo-benighted States, or Unitashtase, as Bush pronounces it, we have those madcap, fun-loving, zany so-called fundamentalists (boy are they fundamental) and Armageddonists and End-Timers and Evangelicals who all believe that Mr. Jesus Christ is coming back anysecondnow and that “believers” will be whisked right out of their clothes and launched, buck-nekkid, to the Great Nudist Colony in the Sky. Forever and ever, world without end, Amen. Me, I’d find that a little embarrassing. I’d prefer wearing a nice Pendleton and jeans when I meet the Big Grouper. Although I wouldn’t mind seeing Monica Bellucci’s end-times, if you know what I mean.
          Now all this would be just a bit funny---and it used to be, back in the ‘70’s when you could get stoned and laugh your ass off at televangelists----if it were not for the fact that these dithering JEEE-suhs flunkies determine government policy. Twenty-five percent of Congress believes that Man and dinosaur were pinochle partners. I mean, think about that: would you hire insane retards with a death wish to run the country? Well, you have!
          Frank Zappa predicted it decades ago, but I figured he was exaggerating. (Whoops.) Yes, people who not only think the human world is ending---but who want the human world to end---have been influencing and making policy in Washington with progressive success since the country grew diseased enough to elect that B-movie actor. I mean, one of the current presi-dense-ial candidates subscribes to a religion that believes The C-Man will set up HQ in Atlanta. Tweet! Now it is all pinnacling with Prezboy “God speaks through me”/”I cry on God’s shoulder” Bush. Yes, I know you know, but I think you need to be reminded. Every time I think about it, I want to slap myself upside the hay-uhd, and hope I wake up back in Kansas.
          Christianity, as it has been comic booked and cartooned, has become nothing more than a death cult. Jim Jonesville, with corpulent uglies like John Hagee and the (late---thank you, Jesus) Jerry Falwell spewing nothing but corpulent ugliness. These are men of God? Then send me to Hay-uhll! All most Christians are doing today is a-linin’ up, a-grinnin’, for the Jesus Kool-Aid Rapture. (Actually, Jones served grape Flavor-Aid, the Kool-Aid knockoff. Couldn’t even let his flock fly first-class.) And going to “mega-churches” where they get whipped up into an eyeball-rolling-back-in-the-head, goo-goo-boo-goo talkin’-in-tongues froth by filthy rich skinks and salamanders like Joel Osteen and Benny Hinn.
          Understand: these people want to die and go straight to guh-lorrr-ay! Now you can see how this could just have a wee bit of an impact on oh, war, and foreign policy, and maybe queer your chances of pouring yourself a big bowl of Honeynut Cheerios tomorrow morning and slapping the li’l woman playfully on the ass. Of course, it has also provided us with the worst comedy team since Abbott and Costello (who weren’t really very funny, and Costello hated Abbott), and by that I refer to Christians and Jews. Yes, dentally-impaired Christians about as smart and book-eddicated as gum trees have aligned themselves with their Jewish “brethren,” who---and you’ll have to indulge a bit of racist/ethnic generalization here---tend to be no more highly educated or intelligent than the average Nobel Prize-winning chemist or poet. I mean, har! Har again!
          These Christians, of course, think Babble prophecy dictates that Israel’s presence is “required” for Jesus to come screaming down in a cosmic Cadillac, or, as the Hagee Left Behind crowd thinks, to come thundering down as a mighty, avenging warrior. Samurai Christ. Yes, these people have their brains in their left behind, but it doesn’t matter. Dick Cheney just went to Utah and made a nice speech for them---yes, for the Left Behind goons. He’s the ultimate End-Timer, is Dick, and he’s working ‘round the clock to scrub your good-time. And shall I get the pincers and extract a delicate little irony? Okay. These so-called Christians until recently were a veritable glee-club of Anti-Semitism---the kind of pious, forgiven-on-Sundee folk who blame “the Jews” for just about everything short of toenail fungus. And their Jewish supporters? Well, this is a match made in Armageddon heaven, as most of the Jews whoring it up with Hagee’s nutball Christians United For Israel are neocon right-wing kneejerk reactionary Israel-can-do-no-wrong bellicose paranoid nuke-slavering backers of the Israel lobby.
          Who’s on first? Hey, Abbooooottttttt. . .
          See, the joker in this whole Death Cult Christianity deck is the word, “faith.” It is the Big Hoodoo, the magic dust that powders all current Jesus events, the comfy blanky that just smothers everything with nice, oozy, drippy, honied beatitude. “Faith” connotes purity, holiness, goodness, and possibly lack of an anus. It is a word very often spoken by people who have just committed murder, rape, or rape-murder. Politicians brought down by (take your choice) stealing, embezzling, diddling underage boys and girls, spewing reproductive fluid on interns’ dresses, promptly begin speaking of their “faith.” Presidink Bush, who has caused the deaths of between half-a-million and a million Iraqis, speaks often of his “faith.” When “believers” start talking of “faith” and “faith-based initiatives,” it just sounds dang-near as sweet as one of Aunt Bee’s gooseberry pies on a Mayberry windowsill, don’t it?
          Ah, how they love to say it. MY FAITH. I don’t know what I would do without MY FAITH. MY FAITH will sustaineth my ass. Watch me roll my eyes back and smile as if the vibrator is on overdrive and say, “MY FAITH.” Well, let’s examine this word, “faith,” just for futile sport. When you attempt to engage a “believer” in discussion of his or her religion, first they deny they have a “religion.” Huh? That’s right---it’s knowledge, not “religion.” They know. It's their personal relationship with Gawd. (As if Gawd could be bothered with Johnny Johnson of Jackson Hole.) And before long, FAITH shows up, like froth in the mouth of a holy rollin’ snake-handler. It goes something like this.
          Why do you say that Jesus Christ is the son of God? Well, because he is the son of God! But this is your belief---it’s not a fact. No, I know this. I don’t believe it. Okay, then why do you call yourself a believer, asshole?
          This. . .is “faith.” When you claim to know something instead of merely believing it, and when you “know” that all other points of view and contrary religious notions are wrong and will get the believer sent to hell, or at least Fresno, you have. . .faith. In other words, when there is no evidence to warrant believing something, you simply decide to accept it as truth, and you call it “faith.” Shazam!
          This is where the Jesusists are drilling without a molar, spouting without a blowhole, smoking without the crack. (And adherents of most other religions.) This sort of “faith” is as pure and simple a definition of insanity as has ever existed. I believe in Jesus because it’s true. I believe in leprechauns because they are real. I believe in tiny happy dogs growing in my armpits because they are. The Bible is the word of God because it is. Yeah, but the Bible was written by humans. No, The Bible is the word of God. No, you believe The Bible is the word of God. No, I don’t---I know it for a fact. How do you know God is not a really smart ferret? Because I know it!
          Before long, they tend to get a little peeved, sort of like the Daleks in “Dr. Who,” indignantly caterwauling, “Do not blaspheme! Do not blaspheme!” I know people who get angry---angry---if you tell jokes that involve Jesus or God. Seriously angry. Like the Mormon minister in Utah who years ago sent me an e-mail bursting with profanity and denunciation in response to a column I had written. Very Christian of her!
          Look, I’ll allow for the slight possibility that extra terrestrials will come back to visit the planet and wipe out all war-mongering murderous jackasses who were not part of the initial prehistoric E.T. experiments on monkeys. But that’s as far as I’ll go. I’m a here-and-now kinda guy, anyhow.
          And I think that here and now we need to get some laws passed, fast. First, there should be a law that Disneyland must be rebuilt and restored exactly to Walt’s original specifications, standards, and morality. Get rid of all the Star Wars crap, and slow down all the Fantasyland rides to their original speed. Then: outlaw pineapple on pizza. Also: all female TV news, sports, and weathermannequins must wear no make-up, never show teeth, and blouses must button all the way up. Further: television journalists should wear wrinkled shirts, loose ties, and have extensive backgrounds in print journalism. Also: say the word, “cool,” in public, except in reference to temperature, and pay a $1000 fine. Second offense: jail time. And of course there should be a law outlawing all SUV’s, tattooes, and young women talking on cell phones.
          But most of all, let’s ban all influence by all religious groups in government. Period. No financial contributions allowed, no “Christian” lobbyists, no Jesus nothin’. Candidates running on a platform merging of church and state? Disqualify. Then tax the hell out of all the churches, and use the revenue exclusively for health care, gang rehabilitation, free chocolate, and planting trees.
          Forever and ever, Amen.

all I can say is: "Amen, brother"!

Well, that and thanks for evoking all the great gut-guffaws (tempered only by the serious
scariness of the reality you nailed with such wicked precision); laughter is absolutely the quintessential antidote to such rancid bullshit (referring to these rabid neochristians, not your article, of course)!

Brian James

ps. About the only place you and I differ, is that I actually like pineapple on my pizza.

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