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A Hairy Mess

January 20, 2010 Leave a comment

This week in news, tragedy strikes; Mo’nique, the actress primarily known for being fat and doing a really good film being fat, pregnant, and sixteen (coming soon; the death of Mo’nique’s career as an actress! Unless, of course, she’s happy with being ‘the fat best friend’ or that fat person who always falls off of something/gets covered in pie from now on), has defied good taste and THREATENED TO END ALL HUMAN LIFE with her woolly mammoth legs. While noble news reporters concerned with the fate of humanity are begging Mo’nique to excise her thicket of leg-hairs before they grow out of control and smother out life as we know it, Mo’nique has been defiant, claiming that she ‘doesn’t like shaving’. Doesn’t she understand that an unshaven female leg is a serious problem, on par with global warming and the holocaust?!? First of all, ew! And second of all, double ew! And third, Mo’nique should shave for her own good. As a fat girl, her hopes of being taken seriously by the American media are already slim. Does she really want to compromise her position now by refusing to shave her legs?

Yes, Mo’nique has certainly shown a selfish streak. What if we normal Americans want to look at her legs without vomiting, huh? As an American, it is my God-given right to look at the legs of others, especially celebrities, without having my personal standards of beauty violated. Now what am I supposed to do? Just imagine that Mo’nique is skinny with smooth appendages? I don’t have, like, infinite creativity here!

In other news, Haiti earthquake and shit. But I just can’t concentrate on it. I’m too upset. DAMN YOU, MO’NIQUE!

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Categories: Uncategorized

Female Orgasms; Too Scary for Film

January 18, 2010 1 comment

Call me an ignorant American, but I always envisioned Australia as a quiet, peaceful place, full of kind people with adorable accents barbecuing and frolicking among the kangaroos. Now, I have no reason for envisioning Australia this way. I know as much about Australia as Pat Robertson knows about tact. But Australia, to my mind, is in some ways the antithesis of America. It’s an unobtrusive country that doesn’t get much attention. The fact that Australia never gets any attention caused me to think, “Wow, Australians really have their shit together. Good on them!”

But two recent stories changed all that. Australia has finally done something that made bloggers bombard it with attention – and not in a good way.

First, the Telecommunications Minister of Australia, Stephen Conroy, recently announced that the government will work with internet service providers to filter ‘offensive’ content. And what is offensive content? Pretty much whatever the government decides it is. This includes things like certain types of pornography and directions on how to make explosives.

The justification for the ban is, of course, the usual ‘OH LAWDY THINK OF THE CHILDREN’. Because, as we all know, if a sweet, innocent child should accidentally catch sight of a big thick cock online, it is RUINED FOREVER AAAAH. So, you see, it’s not about censorship. It’s about defending children from pictures of penises!

Ok, I can see how seeing porn might be traumatic for a child. Porn can be rough stuff! And I don’t want kids to look at it anymore then people like Stephen Conroy do. But protection can go too far. In fact, I am willing to bet all the money in my pockets and all the money in your pockets that a reaction of discomfort and fear from a parent upon walking in to find their child has accidentally gleaned some questionable links from a google search does more damage to the child then the slip-up does in the first place. It’s time we stop teaching our children to fear sexuality, and to start using accidents such as these as a chance to teach them about good values.

Does this mean we should celebrate internet accidents as an opportunity? Certainly not. Kids don’t need to see porn! But if they do, it isn’t the apocalypse.

But now that I’ve finished my spiel on that, there’s a story that I think is even more troublesome then this, because you can’t really chalk it up to defending the children. Not only is it an example of modern sexism, but it’s pretty damn ignorant too. Australia has effectively banned films that depict women having squirting orgasms. Why, you may ask? Well, Australia also has a ban in place on pornography depicting golden showers. And apparently, according to the old, white men that generally make laws, women ejaculate urine.

Ok, first of all, it’s pretty damn troubling that a consenting adult is not allowed to watch two other consenting adults piss on each other in Australia. Is this really necessary? The only reason I can think of for this ban is that some people got grossed out by the idea of people pissing on each other and started whining. They kept it up so long that they formed a thick cloud of whine that hovered over Australia for months. The sound of their collective whining was so shrill that no one in Australia could function, so they just went ahead and banned golden showers.

If this is how the world works, than I want to ban something that I dislike too. From now on, justifying your Orwellian censorship with the used-up platitude, ‘For the children!’ is banned. Banned, I say! But I digress.

The second disturbing part of this is that if you know anything about women, or orgasms, basically if you aren’t so squeamish about vaginas that you just kind of ignore the existence of female sexuality altogether, you know that female ejaculate is NOT URINE. It’s not even yellow.

To me, this ban reveals the level of ignorance the perseveres in many societies that are considered civilized and advanced. The people who put this ban into effect can’t have done any real research, or if they did they fudged it on purpose – there is NO research done by competent scientists to suggest that female ejaculate is urine, or equivalent to urine.

So what is this really about? I’m inclined to think it’s about women and orgasms. Ten years into the twenty-first century, men in power still hold an attitude that seems more at home among stone-aged which doctors; the female orgasm is scary, perhaps even imbued with evil power, and should be hidden and ignored if at all possible.

This led me to thinking about something I think about rather a lot. Historically, people – and by people I mean men in power – have been afraid of female sexuality. This led to the denial of its existence for years. We live in happier times now, where women can wear their vaginas with pride. We’re even shedding unfortunate taboos such as the unspoken ban on female masturbation. But some people still want to sweep the existence of female sexuality under the rug. And that sucks.

But it also sucks that on the flip side of the coin, male sexuality is so trivialized. I can’t go two feet without hearing someone talk about men like they’re these horny apes that, without the reins of society and propriety, would just go marauding for pussy all day. It’s also said that men have an orgasm at the drop of a hat, and are disconnected emotionally from their sexual experiences.

What do the readers who have made it this far think? Is it worse to have your sexuality denied, or is it worse to have your sexuality simply trivialized?

Categories: Uncategorized

Rights

November 19, 2009 2 comments

“A Right Unexcercised is a Right Lost”

So says text gracing the top of a website devoted to promoting open-carry rights for guns. And you know what? I agree with them.

I, for one, am ashamed to admit that I have not been exercising all of my rights. But this laziness ends now. Starting today, I am going to exercise ALL of my rights.

What have I been neglecting? Well, for one thing, I don’t own a gun. This is mostly because I don’t really want a gun, and I have no use for a gun, but this is a matter of principle, goddammit. So, the first thing I’ll do is get me a gun. Maybe I’ll learn to hunt, because I also have the right to do that. I’m a vegetarian, though, so I’ll have to figure out what to do with the meat. Perhaps I could hand it out to friends. They would appreciate. Of course, they might get sick of having their freezers crowded by frozen moose burgers; in order to ensure that my rights are still solid, I’ll probably be hunting pretty often.

I’ve also been neglecting my right to vote. Oh, state and national elections I definitely intend to turn out; but I’ve never really cared about local politics that much. Since I’m kind impartial about local issues, I guess I’ll just fill in my ballot at random. It is my right, after all.

And come to think of it, given this bold new attitude I’m taking towards my rights, I have to admit I’m kind of glad that prop 8, which I had previously very much opposed, has passed. Otherwise I would have to marry a woman. I suppose traditional, heterosexual marriage is also considered a right, which means I’ve got to start working on my boyfriend and trying to convince him that it actually IS a good idea to get married young! This will probably lead to life-long animosity between us, and perhaps a messy divorce. But at least neither of us has to learn to like gay sex! And, more importantly, we won’t be foolishly sacrificing our rights in the name of making intelligent life decisions.

Freedom of speech is something that I have always exercised with great vigor, but I now see that I have not exercised it with nearly enough vigor. You see, I have only ever used free speech to espouse opinions which I personally hold. From now on I will exercise my free speech rights to their fullest extent, expressing all manner of controversial opinions that in other, not-so-free countries would illicit censorship or worse. All Negroes must hang!

So there you have it; my plan of action for protecting my rights. I encourage you to do the same.

Categories: Politics

Because I am a Shameless Whore

November 6, 2009 Leave a comment

I sometimes submit work to a collaborative creative fiction site. This is fun, because there are many creative, talented people on the site to collaborate with. But then, there’s also the usual web fiction crowd; twelve-year-olds, fangirls, horny, socially awkward japanophiles, and other people who seem barely to be able to speak English, let alone write a compelling story.

So it was not to my surprise when someone posted an idea for a ‘plot’ involving a boy who falls in love with a girl and then, in a shocking twist… gets the girl. The end!

Of course there are differences between my version and his version. My version has better grammar. See?;

“The Element of Love is a Romance Story About a High School Kid who  has a Crush on a Girl.But he is afaird to tell her everytime she comes around.He Just can not get his words. Together With the Help of His Friends they will help him get the Girl that he been Dreaming about Asking out”

Aah, internets… you have brought us 4chan, tentacle porn, and the Rick Roll. But perhaps your most important overlooked contribution is your enabling of an increasingly stupid population to share their bad ideas with hundreds of random strangers. But I digress.

In an act of supreme snark, I actually submitted a chapter for this story. And it got FEATURED. YAY. For your entertainment, or perhaps, for your dismay, or, perhaps, for your sudden uncontrollable bowel movement (how do I know how random strangers will react to my story?), here is what I wrote.

Follow this link or just read on below.

Once upon a time there was a magical toaster named Steven. Steven was loved by all, because every piece of toast he made came pre-jammed or pre-buttered. Steven was especially proud when he produced a piece of toast that came up already smeared with pesto.

So Steven was happy, mostly. He enjoyed his work and his friends, a mop named Dustin and a refrigerator named Otto.

There was one thing that he was not sure whether he enjoyed or not, and that was staring at a beautiful coffee maker named Denise who lived on the counter across from him. He was not sure whether he enjoyed this, because beautiful though she was, Denise didn’t seem to realize that Steven existed.

Steven felt completely helpless around her. More and more, his mind would wander from his toasting duties as he watched her, and before he knew it, he would end up with an ashy mess. This troubled him, as he had always prided himself in his work, but perhaps not as much as it should have. His mind always wandered back to Denise. Lovely Denise. Everything about her so suggested sleekness and easy elegance, that Steven couldn’t help but feel that she must be a goddess from another world. She had a tall, graceful body with gleaming curves. She filled ceramic mugs from her state-of-the-art double nozzle drip system with care and finesse. And yet she also seemed so earthly. Her softness and apparent compassion – expressed in the small ways that only true compassion is, such as in the loving way she heated water, or the devotion and attention she put into brewing the perfect mug of coffee – made her seem accessible, but Steven was paralyzed.

“Just go talk to her, man,” Otto muttered one day when he caught Steven staring. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“What would a dame like that want to do with a guy like me?” Said Steven. Then he sighed, exhaling ribbons of black smoke, for he had burned the third slice of toast in a row.

“Stop that,” protested Otto. “I don’t have any fingers to hold my nose with. Yuch!”

“Quit playing,” said Dustin. “You don’t have a nose.”

“Do so,” said Otto. “It’s near my… air compressor. Yeah.”

“Man, you’re lying,” said Dustin. “You don’t know your condenser from your heating coils.”

“Oh, go suck up some dust,” said Otto.

“You guys are lame,” grumbled Steven. “I’m going to bed.” And with that, he pulled out his cord with a practiced twitch of his rear and fell asleep.

As he slept, he dreamed that he and Denise were floating in an ocean of bread. Steven was desperately trying to toast every last slice, but when he felt that he could almost reach out and grab Denise’s pretty cord, the sky opened and a torrential downpour of bread spilled forth. Steven screamed to the high heavens as Denise was swept away from him.

Steven woke up to the sound of his own springs giving a mighty twang as he catapulted an imaginary piece of toast into the air.

“Christ on a scooter!” said Dustin. “Cool it with that thing, wouldja?”

“Sorry,” said Steven sheepishly. “I had a nightmare.”

“Alright, bucko,” said Dustin. “We know you’re under stress. We know you can’t get any toast right because of your failure to make eyes with pretty Denise over there. Last night, me and this big oaf here –“

“Hey!”

“-Had a conversation. We’re going to help you.”

“You guys would do that for me?” Said Steven.

“Bah,” said Dustin. “What are friends for?”

“But,” Steven said, bewildered, “How will you do it?”

“Well,” said Dustin, “With my gruff good looks and Otto’s, erm, not gruff good looks, I don’t see how we could fail.”

“Huh?” Said Steven.

“Here’s the plan,” said Dustin. “Me and Otto go and talk to her. I charm the lady, and before she knows it she’s just one of the million ladies who want a piece of Dustin. But then I let her in on the fact that Dustin’s not up for grabs. Being a broad, of course she’ll immediately start to do her neurotic broad insecurity thing and feel lonely. She’ll want to seek out and easy catch to stroke her ego a bit. She’ll see Otto standing there, but seeing as he’s such a big oaf who even a lady whose just been rejected by Dustin couldn’t love –“

“HEY!”

“She’ll start to feel a little desperate. And that’s where you come along.”

“This is horribly unethical,” said Steven.

“Do I look like a priest?” said Dustin.

Ten minutes later, Dustin was laying the butter on Denise.

“Yeah baby,” said Dustin. “I like my lady types to have two nozzles, like those two pretty ones you got there. Multiple pouring capabilities. Multi-tasking. You know what I’m saying?”

“Yeah,” said Denise. “It’s pretty useful. I can pour two cups of coffee at once and all that.”

“Not just useful, babe. Stylish. Stylish and classy. Dustin always recognizes a lady with class. And, sugar, you look real familiar right now.”

Denise giggled.

“Let me tell you something,” said Dustin. “I know there are lots of sleazy guys out there who would tell you what a pretty, sophisticated lady they think you are just to manipulate you. But Dustin’s not like that. Dustin just wants you to know what a lovely girl you are.”

“Thanks,” said Denise. “I was aware. Hey, I bet with that attitude, you have like, ten girlfriends.”

“Yeah,” said Dustin. “Dustin has plenty of ladies already. All of Dustin’s available lady slots have been filled. Dustin can handle a lot of women, but even Dustin gets overwhelmed. Sorry baby.”

“Too bad,” said Denise without even a hint of remorse in her voice. “What about your friend? He hasn’t said a word since you guys came over here.”

“Oh, him?” Said Dustin. “He’s as single as they come.”

“Hrrm,” said Denise. “Well, I have to get back to making coffee. Thanks for stopping by, fellows.”

“Buh,” said Dustin.

“Are you alright?” Said Denise. “You look kind of phased.”

“You mean you’re not going to at least consider falling for my big, stupid-looking friend? And then change your mind and get even more insecure and desperate?” Said Dustin.

“Oh,” said Denise. “Am I supposed to?”

“Am I supposed to?” Dustin mimicked in a mock-high voice. “Yes! Yes you are supposed to.”

“I don’t see why,” said Denise.

“Because, you dumb broad,” Dustin snapped. “My friend, a totally cool and nice guy, by the way, has been over there on the other side of the kitchen for a month now staring at your pretty little ass and burning entire loaves of bread because he can’t keep his head on straight. He’s gaga in love with you and you don’t even know he exists.”

“And what has me deciding not to fall in love with your friend got to do with all that?” Said Denise.

“Because if you can’t have me, and even a lady who’s just been turned down by Dustin wouldn’t spring for Otto, then Steven would seem like a heaven-send. A knight in shining armor. An attractive man. Etcetera, etcetera. What kind of woman are you anyway?”

Denise appeared to be thinking for a moment. Finally she said, “Is your friend less of an asshole then you?”

“Huh?” Said Dustin. “Yeah, probably.”

“Send him over,” said Denise.

So Steven found himself talking to the woman of his dreams.

“I’m really sorry about my friends,” said Steven. “They’re idiots, but they’re not bad people. I did try to stop them.”

“I understand,” said Denise. “So you really like me, huh?”

“More then I like popping up a crisp piece of perfectly golden toast covered in marmalade,” said Steven. “And I like doing that a lot.”

“Hmm,” said Denise. “You don’t seem half bad. How does one date sound?”

Steven’s soul sang, a soaring melody that arched right from the center of his crumb-encrusted metal heart. “Incredible,” he said.

“Good,” said Denise. “I’ll meet you here at eight tomorrow?”

“Eight,” confirmed Steven.

And they all lived happily ever after.

How Not to Teach English

October 26, 2009 2 comments

My English teacher feels that his Honors English students are not capable of keeping up with their reading assignments unless he provides them with some extra encouragement. This encouragement come in the form of quizzes, two a week, that ask such questions as, “Who is ___?” “What does Craven say about logical fallacies?” Answers are to be short, concise, and factual rather then interpretive. This would be fine, since there is not even an inch of wiggle room for interpretation anyway in such questions, but I can’t remember that small paragraph about logical fallacies twenty pages back. I thought I was taking an English, not a Chemistry class and therefore I didn’t bother to commit the mundane details, such as the name of the main character’s brother who is mentioned once, to memory.

Today, I received an email from my English teacher. It reads;

The following new rules for quizzes will go into effect beginning Tuesday Oct 27:

1.  All quizzes must be subitted on "cut-sheet" 8 1/2 x 11" white lined standard American notebook paper.  You can buy a packet of this paper in any Walgreens, Longs, 7-Eleven, or the campus bookstore.  If you insist on using tear-sheet spiral notebook paper, it is up to you, not me, to tear off the tatters before submitting the quiz.  I will provide one package of paper for those who forget to bring their own....at least until the package runs out.

2.  All quizzes must include your name and the quiz number in the heading.   The quiz number is always clearly visible on screen.   Quizzes not properly identified in this way will earn a zero.

3.  All quiz questions must be numbered and presented in their correct numberical order (no more illegible and unlabeled jumbles of disorderly answers please).

4.  Copy down (or include) the quiz question with your answer every single time, or your answer will not count.

Example:

Who is the King of Pop?
Michael Jackson

or

The King of Pop is Michael Jackson

MY GOALS:
1)  Improve consistency and efficiency in grading quizzes
2)  Avoid time wasted vacuuming up little scraps of paper confetti in my office, car, clothing, and condo
3)  Stop being mistaken for an elementary school teacher when I grade quizzes in public

I have an idea! If you don’t want to be mistaken for an elementary school teacher, then stop making me do boring, pointless quizzes like a third grader. If I wanted to do busywork, I’d drop out of college and go back to high school. As it is, you’re insulting your students and making yourself look bad.

What’s Wrong with Peter Sprigg

October 6, 2009 1 comment

I admit it. I watch Fox News.

You should thank me. I’m taking a bullet for you, here. I am absorbing the rays of stupidity that Fox News exudes so you don’t have to.

FAUX news recently aired a story about the possible pros and cons of spanking children. Arguing the pro position, they featured Peter Sprigg.

I had never heard of Peter Sprigg before today, and I’ll assume that you’ve never heard of Peter Sprigg either. So, you’re wondering; who is Peter Sprigg? What does Peter Sprigg represent? Where did Peter Sprigg get his degree in developmental psychology?

Turns out Peter Sprigg doesn’t have a degree in developmental psychology, or any type of psychology for that matter. This sentence could alternately be read as; Peter Sprigg has no right to go on television and spout the nonsense he spouts on the subjects of disciplining children, marriage, and homosexuality. So, what is Peter Sprigg qualified to talk about? Well… He’s a baptist minister with a Bachelor of the Arts degree in political science and economics. Oops!

My question to Fox News is; if you like to have people on your show to talk about topics which they have no expertise in, can I come on your show too? I have a degree in Yak Taming, and I want to present some new theories I’ve developed regarding environmental science. I think I’ve reached a breakthrough; global warming isn’t caused by the acceleration of the carbon cycle! It’s actually caused by an army of fanciful, flatulent elves who dance about farting joyfully and releasing greenhouse gasses.

Ok. I’m not such a hardass that I won’t take anyone seriously unless they have a piece of paper affirming they know what they’re talking about. Academia has its charms, but there are other, just as valid ways of learning. I for one have never formally studied biology, but it’s a topic of great interest to me and I consider myself fairly knowledgeable in certain fields of it. But the problem isn’t that Peter Sprigg isn’t qualified to tell people how to raise their children because he has no formal training or special expertise; it’s that he has no formal training or special expertise, AND he’s an idiot.

Consider this gem of Peter Sprigg intellect;

HOST: Peter, I know you personally approve of spanking. But does this new study suggest that one is too young?

PETER; Well, I think that’s an important point. The problem is that this study is a relatively narrow finding about one year olds… The experts we consulted with suggested that spanking can be an effective form of punishment between two and eight years old. This study actually confirmed that spanking for children from two to eight years old is positive, in a way, because the two year olds didn’t display some of the negative characteristics of the one-year old children.

Children whose parents start hitting them when they’re a little older are less likely to be violent fucktards themselves, therefore you should definitely hit your kids? Also, what experts? Why is Peter Sprigg – the guy who is NOT AN EXPERT – on TV instead of his experts? Hey, Peter. You don’t have any expertise in child psychology, and you’re on TV as part of a ‘special panel’, so what kind of qualifications – or lack thereof – might your experts have? I’m guessing Peter Sprigg’s experts are much like his God; knowledgeable, useful for citing when you don’t want people to know that they have no real reasons to listen to you, and imaginary.

It goes on.

PETER: … One may be a little young because of their cognitive development.

Yeah. As any expert will tell you, cognitive development is pretty much over at two years of age. So spank away!

…And it goes on.

HOST: Can spanking sometimes be used as a deterrent?

PETER: I think everyone understands that the police are allowed to use force in a way that ordinary people are not allowed to use force. They can use guns in ways that ordinary citizens can’t.

…No, asshole. You’re dead wrong. Dead wrong. Let me ask you something.  Does a police officer catch a guy and then, after the person has surrendered, beat the crap out of him with his baton to deter him from a repeat crime? No! Of course not. Police officers who do use extraneous force are supposed to be punished, under the law. If there’s an analogue in the real world to what you’re suggesting we do with children, it’s called POLICE BRUTALITY.

Now, we know that there are plenty of stupid people waiting at all turns with legions of stupid comments that they feel the world would like to hear. What is so problematic about Peter’s suggestion that police use force as a punishment and deterrent is that it displays the ignorance and sadism that has seeped into our American culture. A grown man can go on national TV and show, in the course of four minutes, that he is completely ignorant of how law enforcement is supposed to work, and furthermore that he embraces this fantasy in which police officers dole out beatings as punishment for bad behavior, and concludes the whole shebang by suggesting that parents set up a similar hierarchy in their home, and no one bats an eye.

Well, except for me and a few others. But for the vast majority of people, this moment will slide by unnoticed. And why shouldn’t it? In America it’s not just normal for a man who doesn’t understand the law and can’t make the distinction between justice and revenge to be brought onto a new program watched by millions to give advice in a field he has no special knowledge of, it’s expected.

How has it come to pass that Americans are more attuned to dominance and retribution then fairness and indeed, a value we proclaim so loudly, equality? Why did we create, and why do we perpetuate, a culture in which justice has been replaced by a sort of sensational sadism, which seems to be egged on by the American people?

Something occurred to me recently. If you know me well, you know that I sparsely have good things to say about America. But I don’t hate ‘the system’, I’m not a conspiracy theorist or any of that, and in general I have great respect for the founders and the principles they decided to establish America on.  And I realize that we have a lot of good things; we’re wealthy, generally speaking we live comfortable lives, and we can do a lot of things that people in other countries can’t. So why can’t I bring myself to identify as a patriot? Why aren’t I proud to call myself an American?

It’s the people. It’s us, and what we’ve chosen to do with our freedom. It’s the fact that McDonalds is selling their shit food like crazy, and that people who get fat eating it sue, but it doesn’t matter because McDonalds already owns us and Americans will keep right on buying burgers. Because, hey, when we’re too fat to walk, the corporations will save us! With their pharmaceuticals and their potions and their endless appeals to the most immature parts of our psyches. It’s how we accept the truth of advertising and buy ‘miracle’ pills to cure our indigestion, our chronic headaches, our disability to become sexually aroused, and never once do we stop and say, ‘hey, why isn’t my body working right in the first place?’ It’s our refusal to take personal responsibility for our problems and our deference of them to the corporations that thrive on promising to eliminate them – miraculously, with no side effects. Americans don’t want to sacrifice anything; we are so afraid of sacrifice that we will pretend that there is always, always, always a way out of giving something up. We like to have our cake and eat it too, literally, and often twice. It’s how we childishly see freedom as the freedom to always have our own way, even if that means eliminating another person’s rights. No married gays in my state. People can’t do drugs, because I don’t agree with how they live. Let’s outlaw burning the flag, because that offends me!

So no, I don’t hate America. I’m not against the supposedly American principles; freedom, opportunity, equality, and justice for all. I am for those things, and that’s why I can’t stand people like you, Peter Sprigg and Megan Kelly and Bill O’Reilly of Fox news. And do you want to know why it’s you and your America – the one you and people like you have hijacked and reformed into a nursery school playground – I can’t stand? It’s because you’re not for those things. You are only for those principles insofar as they are of immediate benefit to you. So, if you guys, you and your flag-worshiping posse, you and your bible-thumping supporters really love America as much as you say you do… Do America a favor and shut the hell up.

Categories: Politics, Rants Tags: ,

What Space Carrots Have to do With Religion

September 22, 2009 3 comments

I will now present you with a hypothetical scenario. Hold on to your pants, my friends. (Unless you don’t want to. They probably will not go anywhere.)

Meet Crazy Harold. Crazy Harold has just moved into a house down the street from you. Crazy Harold enjoys; tether-ball, feeding his nineteen cats, and being crazy.

Now meet Vivian. Vivian has just moved into a house down the street from you on the other side. Vivian is a Catholic. Vivian enjoys lacrosse, book club, and incense.

On a bright and beautiful Saturday morning, you rise early, cook up a scrumptious plate of eggs, and sit down to check your email.

The first email is a mass email from Crazy Harold, who wants to announce that he has had a revelation; the moon is made of playdough, carrots are actually a breed of super-vegetable from space, and everyone is sort of a transcendent demi-god trapped in a worldly body until we can liberate ourselves by realizing that nothing is real.

You have a good laugh and delete it.

The second email is from Vivian, announcing the next book club. Her emails, like those of many people, are automatically signed with a signature line of text; “I believe God put me on this earth to do good.” Cheesy, but really kind of sweet. Well, her belief might not exactly resonate with you, but it’s her belief and who are you to question it?

So, quiz time; what is the difference between Harold’s belief and Vivian’s belief?

A) Bacon

B) Vivian’s belief can be used to reduce swelling in the instance of head trauma

C) Harold’s belief makes a tasty snack

D) Not much, really

If you picked ‘D’, pat yourself on the back!

No, I am not saying religious people are comparable to crazy people and should be mocked. If you know me personally, you will find that I am among the (dwindling) number of atheists that still respect religious people and leave them alone, as long as they afford me the same courtesy.

Although, by the way, if you think mentally ill people should be mocked, then you need to take a long look in the mirror, and then give yourself a head-clearing smack in the face.

So, what’s the difference between Vivian’s belief and Crazy Harold’s belief? Nothing but a shiny stamp of approval from the masses. Crazy Harold believes in things based on personal revelation. So does Vivian. The only difference between Harold and Vivian is that Vivian’s unverifiable belief has somehow come to be viewed both as commonplace (which is is) and highly personal and sacred (which it is not necessarily).

So, Vivian’s unverifiable, revealed ‘truth’ is thought of as noble and sacred, and therefore immune to inquiry, while Harold’s revealed ‘truth’ can be discarded outright?

With my keen senses, I have detected a double standard.