What dreams may come...

Gawd was that the world's Shittiest Movie Ever or what? Robin Williams needs to retire while we still think of him as merely cloying and insipid. Or go back to snorting rails like when he was at least maniacally funny -- but then he'd likely die a tragic death and I only wish that on CERTAIN people. So anyway...

I have a lot of weird, crazy dreams that I should share here more often. This, unfortunately, isn't one of those, but it's still fresh in my mind and I usually forget them in about five minutes so perhaps someone will be entertained (or inspired to give me some profound translation that changes my whole future for the better) but anyway here goes:

Okay. Picture the scene: it's last night; I'm sleeping. Got it? OK, glad you're still with me.

So I'm at some kind of trade show/convention dealio -- you know the ones. Hundreds of booths, mainly low-budget with people who just LOVE their product but are unable to generate much enthusiasm among the non-binary-digit-speaking crowd, and others that spend a fortune on whiz-bang visuals and young, fast-talking speakers and/or eye candy of either gender (but mostly female).

Anyway, so I come upon this group of women, all slickly and impeccably dressed/shod in matching black, all perfectly groomed and beautiful, all slightly different and each one impossibly intriguing to my hopelessly male and chromosome-driven brain. Choreographed like a fine dance company, and each one trained in Jedi Mind Control and exactly how to act and what to say to charm, disarm, and utterly confuse men. Yes, these were the type of women that every halfway intelligent guy wishes were representative of ALL women -- smart, classy, sassy, sexy as hell but nowhere near trashy ('bimbos' don't really work on me) -- and most importantly, each one with a big smile and eye contact that could melt a glacier, with a carefully cultivated but seemingly natural confidence and way of making a man feel like, well, a MAN. Not only did I have an erection, but I was actually TALLER.

So they were bantering with me, and I said something along the lines of "Ha! I see through your transparent attempts to charm me into signing a long-term contract with some company that provides a service I can only begin to understand after I graduate from MIT, a place that doesn't allow my kind within 500 yards of its campus. So where do I sign?"

Not particularly witty OR charming of me by even MY standards -- yet warm, convincing, sincere and APPRECIATIVE laughter erupted from each of the women like 'The Wave' at a ballgame. Perfectly timed, and a perfect combination of sociable and cute and erotic and so out of my league that I was of course unable, like Superman with a FedEx package of chocolate-covered Kryptonite bars, to resist.

Like I was the only man in the whole place, for a few seconds. "Oh, they're good," I thought, wondering how many annoying telemarketer calls from Bangladesh I would be getting once I helplessly, even earnestly, handed over my phone number.

And then it got weird. As soon as they were about to usher me off to some private room to sell me some Timeshare or Obscure Software Doohickey or Penis Enlargement Pills (or, given the usual nature of my dreams, prepare me for slaughter like a ten-point buck in the bed of a '74 Ford F100), some guy in the next booth waved me over. He clutched a bottle of high-end silver Mezcal, and he was pouring shots for each potential customer in a desperate bid to compete with the Jiffy Lube Team From The Island Of Beautiful Women. Oddly, he looked just like me. I mean, exactly. Disheveled hair and everything.

Anyway, so he just looked at me for awhile, saying nothing but leaning at me with the shotglass and a wry grin, so I said "hey man, the tequila is a nice touch, but something is drawing me back to Charlie's Angels -- no hard feelings, eh?" And I started to drift back to the Noir-Clad Sirens who still beckoned from literally meters away.

"Hey," he (or I?) blurted out, "so what are you gonna do with them tonight? I was wondering if maybe I could come along?" This was an odd twist, as I hadn't really thought there were going to be any afterschool specials happening, so I replied, within earshot of The Girls, "First of all, my friend, anything that occurred would need to have a PG rating, since I have a girlfriend who is equally stunning and almost as nice -- I say almost because she knows me, and therefore justifiably rolls her eyes fairly often. She thinks I don't know this, but though she may be sharp as most women of her caliber are, she never had to survive Army Basic Training, and I did. That was a zillion years ago, and the least said about it the better, but some things stay with you."

"Also, I may be gullible but I'm not particularly stupid. These fine women are paid to entice me. No more; no less. They are nice to me because it is their job, and I'm sure that whatever they have planned, you are free to join us, provided that both of us buy something so they can get their commission, remove those gorgeous and expensive and oh-so-uncomfortable shoes, and go home to men much better looking than you or I -- yet somehow still inadequate since, well, they are here and not in, say, St. Tropez."

"And", I added, "if those guys are halfway smart and know a good thing when they've got it, they will NOT ask if she wants a footrub. They will simply do it."

* * *

Damage

The needle tears a hole
that old familiar sting
tried to kill it all away
but I remember everything.

- Trent Reznor, of course

Shhhhhh....

I'm hunting wabbits...



* * *

Happy Palm Sunday!

For those of you unfortunate sinners who don't know the story, this is the day when Our Lord And Savior(TM), The Holy Precious Plastic Baby Dashboard Jeebus, went into Jerusalem to get himself some Ass so he wouldn't have to use his Palm anymore.

Anyway, he had his disciples go round up the best piece of Ass in town for him to ride, and ever since then he's been known as The Prince Of Piece.

This is also, I believe, where Christians got the idea they could come riding an ass and still consider themselves a virgin.


* * *

Gawd I love Pat Condell

Well-said, sir!

* * *

Finally somebody says it.

Read this.

I just happened to stumble onto this brilliant piece. Read it and weep, or nod your head -- or get pissed off if you're one of the remaining clueless propaganda-suckers. Either way.

I happened to comment on it there somewhere, and here's what I had to say:

FINALLY somebody says what I've been thinking all these years.

Throughout the '08 Prez campaign my ears were bleeding from hearing 'John McCain: War Hero' every five minutes. OK, so let me get this straight: Vietnam was a misguided fiasco at best, an immoral mass murder at worst, and here you have a guy who could barely keep a plane in the air during training, who flies a zillion feet over jungles and rice paddies and stone age villages indiscriminately and amorally carpet-bombing whatever happens to be alive down there and, since he's an incompetent pilot, gets shot down and captured. So, um, he's a HERO?

It is often said that history is written by the victors, so a similar Luftwaffe pilot who murdered a hundred London children before getting downed and captured would have been called a hero if the Nazis won WW2, right?

Except that we didn't 'win' Vietnam; we simply gave up on a very lost and very questionable cause -- so among those Americans who can't accept that we screwed up, they live in denial and create their own version of history, an alternate reality in which a murderous loser like McCain gets to play the 'hero'.

Until this sort of glorification of violence is uprooted from our national ethos (the way it was forcibly in Germany), we will never be anything but glorified self-congratulatory Prozac-addled Vikings.

Let's hope it doesn't have to happen the way it happened to Germany.

* * *

Counting down the days...

Well, I'm fairly settled into my new home in chilly, rainy Seattle (well, Greater Seattle, anyway -- I'm in the 'burbs and that's the biggest adjustment for this city boy); very glad to be with my beautiful girlz but missing my friends back home.

Saw bits of Bush's 'farewell address' that I prefer to call the 'good riddance asshole obstinately clueless concession speech'. Didn't bother seeing the whole thing, as I'm so sick of looking at that bastard's smirking face that I really don't ever want to see it again unless it's blinking beady-eyed at a war crimes tribunal at The Hague.

Lest I sound as disgusted as I've been for a long time now, make no mistake -- I'm celebrating. Less than three more days and the Neocon Reign of Terror will be OVER. Yes, they leave behind smoldering wreckage from which we can only hope in desperation to slowly recover, if we somehow manage to dig out of the deep multifaceted crater that 8 years of unbridled destruction have wrought upon the world at large and our place in it. Not to mention the tattered economy, the blame for which can easily be spread around in a fairly bipartisan manner, but nobody can convince me that a gazillion-dollar war and rampant robber-baronism didn't break the proverbial camel's back -- the direct cause-and-effect of which can be laid squarely at the feet of the BushCheney Korporate brownshirts.

But enough negativity (did you ever think you'd hear that from the likes of moi?); Tuesday is Morning in America (to steal one of the few good lines from that overwrought and mistakenly idolized bastard Reagan). Oops -- guess that was still a little negative. Sorry. Anyway, Obama's historic transition is underway and I feel like I've waited a thousand years in the tenth circle of Hell for this moment; the man is a year older than me and ten times the man I will ever be -- which is what I look for in a leader, as opposed to the morons who want a president they'd have a beer with (and they got one, didn't they? Worked out well, didn't it?). Am I one of the Disciples? The 'Obamabots' so derisively labeled by desperate right-wing fascists as the hour of their demise approached? Nobody who knows me would say so. I'm a born skeptic, cynical to the core, and I know that any politician who could actually make it to office in our corrupt system is bound to break my heart by definition.

Still, after 8 years of being revolted and ashamed of being an American; of waking every day expecting more of the same evil bullshit and media complicity in the worst and most devastating Ponzi scheme this once-great nation had ever seen, I am for the moment basking in the promise of the new; the possibilities of some sort of homecoming. It's been a long time; exiled in my own country by a so-called 'uniter' who thought 51% constituted a mandate, even assuming he'd won it fair and square (which he didn't). Exiled by an absurd winner-take-all system that marginalizes half the country as 'outsiders' and has devolved to permit tyrannical authority never granted in the Founding Documents.

For the first time in many years (many more than 8), we have a gifted orator and statesman who has won the admiration and respect of much of the world before even taking office. An educated writer with a story that is international in scope and understanding yet uniquely American in its poignancy and staggering success against considerable odds. A man who believes in Science, logic, pragmatism and diplomacy; who doesn't dismiss or oversimplify the complex geopolitical realities that will take more than the sublimely short-sighted and morally bankrupt brute force we've been using in vain to address.

In short: for the first time in a long time, we have a President.

Mister Obama -- soon to be President Obama -- I salute you, sir. No one man may be capable of carrying the burdens you inherit, and I don't expect you to be faster than a speeding bullet or able to leap tall bureaucracies in a single bound. You will no doubt have to compromise a thousand times to get things done, even if those things are but a symbolic shadow of what you intended. I know how politics works. But if you are half the leader you seemed when I voted for you, you will still be ten times the leader your predecessor could even aspire to be. And despite my long-ago abandoned belief in the system; despite my waning belief in even the possibility of solving the massive crises that have enveloped the world -- despite all my cynicism and disbelief in general, Sir, I believe in you.

* * *

Off to the Great NorthWet

Well, folks, at the risk of sounding like a pretentious fuck, it's the end of an era. I've lived and worked in my beautiful, beloved (warts and all) San Francisco for 20+ years, and I have many old friends there that have become dear family. I will miss my city, my neighborhood, the craziness, all the cool shit to do, and the fact that I knew the town and the bus routes like the back of my hand, and knew enough locals to get a good table at the good restaurants without reservations. SF will always have a place in my heart, and so will the many people there who are now a part of me.

But I just got the fuck outta Dodge.

The economy is spiraling downward everywhere, and San Francisco is no place to be poor. The jobs are drying up again, and I've seen this shit before. Last time I opted to stay, and it nearly bankrupted me before I managed to recover, holding on by the skin of my eyelids. But I'm not getting any younger, and while nowhere is great right now from a fiscal perspective, I thought it wise this time to get while the gettin' was good.

But I DID have another reason; in fact, it was the primary one.

A zillion years ago, when I was just a pup in high school, I had the biggest crush on a shy but mesmerizingly beautiful girl who was 2 grades behind me and had strict parents that wouldn't even let her be SEEN with a boy. So all we had was lunch together, every day for my senior year.

Upon graduation, I went off to college and we lost touch, since there was no email back then and she was, as mentioned, not allowed to have contact with guys -- phone, letters, or otherwise. I knew a lot of girls in those days who had similar situations, but they were as rebellious as me and I snuck more than a few of them out their bedroom windows to do the things that teenagers do. But not her; she was one of those 'good' girls, and so we faded from each others' lives. But I never forgot about her.

I got married young, and so did she. She had a child -- an adorable, precocious little girl who might just be the coolest kid I know (my niece would have made the number one spot, but she'll be nineteen in a couple weeks so technically she's not a 'kid' anymore). But I was unaware of any of this, for I had moved on with my life, moving to California and settling into married 'bliss' for years before one day finding myself alone again.

Fast-forward to just about seven years ago, and I reconnected with a few friends from teenybopperhood on classmates.com, and one of them eventually led to Her. She still lived just outside of Seattle, had gotten divorced at around the same time as me, and she still had the bluest eyes I had ever seen. We met in person and I was smitten all over again, pretty much instantly. And amazingly enough, it was mutual.

We've spent the last 2 years having a long-distance relationship, flying back and forth, getting to know each other again (beyond the initial attraction), and trying to figure out that if it came down to relocating, which one of us would be the one to take the leap.

I was hesitant to leave SF for the wet and chilly Northwest again, having been there and done that -- but she DID have a well-adjusted teenage daughter and 20 years at a steady job. So all along I was the more likely candidate, since my work came mostly from freelance sources and I could technically do it from anywhere. But I dragged my feet, because the Other Woman (San Francisco) seduced me anew every morning, even while the fog obscured my breathtaking view of Twin Peaks. That city gets ahold of your soul and doesn't let go.

At this point all I really needed was a reality check -- after all, how could I let the Love of My Life potentially slip away from me while I basked in my unsustainable and rather ridiculous Peter Pan lifestyle? I'm no spring chicken and getting gamier every day, and this girl could have her pick of the litter and yet she chose ME -- so what the hell was I dragging my feet for?

So I guess I can thank the shitty economy for slapping me upside the head and making it painfully clear that, while I barely survived the dotcom crash, THIS one was destined to kick my ass and snap off its foot in it. Thus giving me the aforementioned reality check and nullifying the strange resistance I had been feeling.

So while I gotta be honest and say that economic factors made the final decision as to WHO would do the relocating, I hope it doesn't take all the romance out of it. After all, we were destined to be together one way or another. I just had to pull my head out of my ass -- and the cold boot of recession popped it right outta there like a sommelier with a corkscrew.

So...my last couple weeks were spent packing my voluminous crap and trudging it all with my two ornery Persian cats to just outside of Seattle, where the rent is, by SF standards, cheap, and the weather is...crappy. But I'm with my girls, and that makes it alright.

I just hope they can stand living with me. Gawd only knows I can barely stand myself sometimes...


* * *

Ode to Miss Wasilla

Oh, Sarah Palin
You trashed your party
Like Van Halen
With a case of Bacardi
In a Holiday Inn in Wasilla
Like a pitbull in a china shop
Like an African Gorilla
wearing lipstick and a thousand-dollar suit
throwing shit and thinking it's cute
With a wink and a grin
you did yourself in
and took down your running mate
to boot.

Oh Sarah
Words just can't describe
what you did
You interviewed like your
Down Syndrome kid
And the more your mouth was open,
the more you had us hopin'
you'd keep saying more;
You showed us
what satire's for
And, doggone it,
they can say that I'm mean,
label me obscene,
call me contrarian...
But if there's one thing I know,
You betcha it's so
that you've succeeded in destroying
the idea of men enjoying
the fantasy of the sexy
librarian.

* * *

GIMME AN O!

WE DID IT!
WE EFFIN' DID IT!

Not only do we finally have an actual President instead of an evil babbling idiot; not only does the rest of the world now realize we aren't as completely retarded as a nation as they thought we were, but now I don't have to move to Canada or kill myself!

As everyone knows, I'm far from a religious man, but HALLE-FUCKING-LUJAH!

Me so very happy right now, I could French kiss a pig...

* * *

Denial

Recently some genius in a lumbering sport-futility vehicle backed over the hood of my car. While I was in it, minding my own business, waiting for the behemoth in front of me to move forward – not, um, backward. I assumed I was just waiting for the light to change -- I say 'assumed' because I couldn't SEE the light; all I could see was this massive waste of sheet metal in front of me.

Obviously the guy didn't see me back there either. From his absurdly elevated perch high above the clouds, he no doubt had a lovely panoramic view of much of the city, but alas, he was unable to see the small economy car waiting patiently behind him. Despite sideview mirrors rivaling the Hubble Telescope, his monstrous machine simply didn't allow him to observe his environment in a way that was not dangerous to the rest of us on the street. Or maybe he just didn't look.

I just sat there, incredulously, honking my horn but unable to get his attention, and wondering if he was going to just back right over the top of me like it was some Oklahoma City Monster Truck Rally. In the back of my mind I could hear SUNDAY! SUNDAY! SUNDAY! BE THERE! WATCH THE PUNY LITTLE MAZDA DRIVER GET SMASHED BY THE FURY OF BIIIIGFOOT! Did I mention that I live in San Francisco, work from home and mostly take public transit — in other words, I drive my car once in a blue moon, and this guy randomly decides this is his moment to back over the top of someone. Wunderbar. I couldn't figure out just WHY the oblivious fool was suddenly BACKING UP in the middle of traffic. It made no sense to me at all, but then again, at that moment I was mostly just wondering if I was about to die.

Luckily, at some point he figured out that something didn't seem right, and he stopped. Halfway over my hood. I looked up and saw, inches from my windshield, something beautifully and perfectly ironic, almost like it was a sign from some supernatural prankster. Right there on the back of the SUV was one of those plastic silver Christian fish symbol thingies, and right next to it was the shiny chrome emblem of the vehicle – and I could swear it said, in big bold macho letters, D E N I A L.

As the panic receded and my eyes began to refocus, it was clear that what it really said was 'DENALI', a General Motors monstrosity named after a National Park in Alaska. They like to name those things after places in nature that they will never actually see, since mostly they're used as urban assault vehicles – which could be considered rather ironic all by itself. Perhaps I was in shock, but the juxtaposition of the fish and the too-easily transposed name of the massive metal beast put me in a state of transcendent jocularity. I momentarily pictured myself on YouTube, the camera view mirroring mine as the two Symbols Of Utter Denial presented themselves defiantly before my awestruck eyeballs.

By now I was really just grateful that the guy had actually stopped short of crushing my head, so I got out calmly and asked him if he would mind giving me his insurance information. Actually, he was more shaken up than I was, and when I then asked why on Earth he was going in reverse instead of forward like everyone else, all he could stammer out was "I-I-I'm sorry; I-I-I d-d-didn't see you."

I took down his info, convinced I was dreaming the whole bizarre event, and he was fully cooperative (and rather distraught at the wreckage he'd made of my little car), so I really couldn't get all that mad. The poor guy had likely just watched too many commercials and saw himself scaling windswept mountains in his indestructible all-terrain Galactic Cruiser, only to end up with way more vehicle than he was capable of handling for his daily commute to some shitty cubicle. Denial, I chuckled to myself, wondering if my car would be considered fixable or totaled.

And then he said it.

He really shouldn't oughtta have said it, especially not to ME of all people (but of course he couldn't have known that), but he said it nevertheless. The one thing I just can't bear to hear, ever.

He said, "Praise the Lord that nobody was hurt." Yeah, that's what he said. No doubt he thought it was a nice thing to say. Anybody else might have agreed with him, or at least just let it go. But, you see, my mind went right back to that stupid chrome fish, right next to the word DENIAL, and I just couldn't let him get away with it.

"Praise the Lord?" I said, "PRAISE THE FUCKING LORD?"

I had so much to say, so many things to yell in his face, but none of them were coming into my mind. The absurdity of it all was clouding my frontal lobes and all I could do was shout, over and over, right in his face, "PRAISE THE LORD, OLD MAN? PRAISE THE GODDAMNED LORD?"

Nervously he climbed back into his truck and clumsily drove it down off my smashed hood, and all the while I was standing there, throwing random stuff at him (pieces of my headlights, some kid's discarded sippy cup, a pocketful of small change), screaming louder and louder, "PRAISE THE LORD? PRAISE THE LORD, YOU STUPID IGNORANT FUCK?" I'm pretty sure I scared the shit outta the guy. I think he thought I was nuts. Maybe he was right.

All I can say is, at that moment I came face-to-face with everything that is wrong with this wacked culture we live in. The guy was probably sixty years old, driving a ridiculous environmental disaster of a vehicle (and driving it inexplicably backwards). He came this close to turning me into the meat in a steel sandwich, and instead of having an epiphany that maybe he's doing it all wrong; maybe while driving his DENALI he's actually living in DENIAL — instead of anything sensible like that, he chalks it all up to Divine Intervention and goes on his clueless merry way.

OK; sure — I had his license number, his contact info, his insurance policy number. I probably should have called the cops but they likely wouldn't have shown up anyway, and in all likelihood I could count on Mister Christian to just accept the blame that was undeniably his, and the insurance companies would hash it out and fix my car.

But I just couldn't get past the surreal absurdity of it all.

Deep denial is a powerful force. It operates in the realm of Religion, obviously, and it also has its hand in the multilayered nachos of greed, waste, and entitlement. All of which seem to have become American values, replacing the more sustainable ones I remember being taught as a kid (thrift, trustworthiness, pragmatism, etc).

Denial plays its role in Nationalism/Patriotism just as fiercely. Hence the whole Bush=America nonsense, in which criticizing an administration means you hate America. Any moron can see that criticizing a particular administration is in essence saying “hey man, you are not acting like American government was set up to act” and is therefore a powerful display of patriotism (these days often risking oneself to do so), while blind subservience to whatever agenda the powermongers set is the opposite of patriotism.

Of course, in the secular realm at least we have a Constitution to fall back on, one that was written by men we are familiar with, whose other writings are available, all in relatively plain English that is only occasionally ambiguous due to the unforeseen changes taken place since it was penned. No one claims it was handed down by some mysterious supernatural force, and it is a living document, open to being changed as necessary. Surely there are, as there is with anything else, differences over differing interpretations of those gray areas, but at heart it is a document we can stand behind with reason rather than blind faith. (lately this doesn’t seem to matter much, as the status quo renders the Constitution ‘just a piece of paper’, but my hope is that it will still serve as a grounding to return to when the usurpers are defeated — or else we will have simply proven to have been a failed — and rather short-lived, by historical standards — experiment).

The religious crowd, however, relies on a cobbled-together and endlessly edited (in secret by Church scribes with agendas) collection of medieval and prehistoric tales that have mysterious origins and often contradict each other, with no way to verify any of it other than to refer back to the circular reasoning that somehow it’s from ‘God’ because it says it is. On top of that, each of a zillion sects has its own set of interpretations, many in complete opposition to the others.

So...praise the Lord that the ol' Clueless Christian elderly tank driver didn't kill me while he was busy being self-absorbed and self-centered. Thank God that He was watching over me when one of His many moronic followers went about his usual business of acting like he's the only person on the planet. Hallelujah that I got to be a metaphor for the senseless destruction wrought by those who needn't take any responsibility for the stupid things they do, because God is on their side and whatever they do must surely be His will. The Lord works in mysterious ways, doggone it. You betcha.


* * *

The Last Daze

The bizarre paradox of fundamentalist Christians eagerly awaiting their ’salvation’ via ‘Rapture’ and yet fiercely resisting perceived 'signs' of impending ‘One World Government’ and crap like that, is endlessly both horrifying and deeply fascinating.

I recently received some email drivel passed around amongst the fundies (I still know a few, and they send me stuff in the hopes of ’saving’ me), and in one particular round of religiospam, I found the following:

1) An email claiming that Barack Obama — besides being a ‘Muslim’ and a ‘Marxist’ and whatever other bullshit GOP smears that the sheeple blindly buy — is the notorious ‘Antichrist’ as supposedly prophesied in the Bible.

2) Another email, this one about Sarah Palin being the person who will lead the way toward confronting our ‘Ultimate Foes’ (it used to be Communists; now it’s Muslims) at the final battle which will bring about the Second Coming of Jesus. Obviously, this is supposed to be a GOOD thing.

Now, granted, these emails were probably not originated by the same person or group. But given the general fundamentalist obsession with ‘prophecy’ and all that, I think the two emails are related, and revealing.

So we can talk all day about the ’scriptures’ and ‘prophecies’ and all that absurd bullshit all day, but what I’d rather focus on here is the odd little conundrum that fundies evidently find themselves in with their ‘End Times’ obsessions.

Because technically, if the Bible actually says that an ‘Antichrist’ will rule the world, and THAT will bring about Armageddon and the Second Coming, blah blah blah — and if, absurdly, Barack Obama IS that guy, then by their own beliefs, isn’t it inevitable (and, actually, a benefit to them) that he wins the election? What are they afraid of, if he’s fulfilling the prophecies? Jesus will defeat him (and the rest of us infidels) in the end, and everybody will get golden halos and sacramental-blood-flavored lollipops, right? So, really, they SHOULD vote for him, in order to start the festivities, right?

OK, so on to Sarah Palin. As stated, the email about HER was basically saying the same thing as the one about Obama — that this person will bring about the series of events that will lead to The End Of The World, and of course we all know that to fundies, the End Of The World is a GOOD thing. I think that’s why they’re called ‘fundies’, as in FUN+DIE.

Paradoxically, however, Palin isn’t called ‘the Antichrist’; rather she’s cast as the ‘good guy’ for bringing about Armageddon. Well, folks, which is it? Is The End good or bad? Seems to me that if you believe in an ‘Antichrist’ and you believe that he (or she) will rule the world before being defeated by Jesus (I’m not making this shit up — it comes straight from the junk that Palin’s church and a zillion others preach, based on a REALLY loose and convoluted interpretation of several disjointed passages from several books of the Bible, especially Revelation), then, um, well, you can’t pick and choose your Antichrists and your prophecies. You can’t warn me NOT to vote for Obama because the prophecies say he will be the bad guy, unless you believe you can override the aforementioned prophecies (and unless you WANT to override them, which, according to the Palin email, you don’t).

Now, I personally don’t believe in any of this Antichrist claptrap — I was raised in the tradition, but then I grew up and took a much closer look and realized that all these people had fed me a bowl of horseshit — but it seems to me that IF you believe in said prophecies, then really what you should be doing is kicking back and letting them happen. It’s not like you have a choice, if it’s God’s Plan From The Beginning. Right?

So — if the Palin email is CELEBRATING her potentially ‘fulfilling’ the prophesied events, and the Obama email is essentially WARNING that he will fulfill the prophesied events, what does this say about the generally confused mental state of believers at large?

I think what it says is that the fundies are both eagerly anticipating the End Of The World and afraid of it at the same time.

And in case that sounds like I just don’t know what I’m talking about, I will repeat that I was raised — steeped, if you will — in the world of fundamentalist apocalyptic Christianity. Basically a good number of these folks are generally convinced that the ‘apocalypse’ — or whatever you want to call it — surely represents the violent end of THIS world, but it also represents their salvation. You can’t have one without the other, right? I mean, what if they go ahead and start ‘Armageddon’ which results in horrible suffering everywhere, including here in Disneycountry, with martial law and starvation and disease in the streets, culminating perhaps in nuclear winter or something equally terrible — but Jesus never shows up?

If you gave a typical fundie some truth serum, they’d probably admit to being scared out of their minds because the Bible is completely ambiguous. It’s not like it says anything straight-up about the so-called ‘End Times’ — it’s all garbled and open to interpretation. So down deep inside, you’ve gotta know that many of them aren’t sure what to believe. I mean, they might believe in Jesus with all their hearts, but can they say for sure what the Book of Revelation really means? Can they say for sure it was talking about NOW? After all, my parents once believed that Henry Kissinger (among others) was surely the Antichrist and that Armageddon was around the corner thirty years ago. I remember spending my childhood waiting for the ‘Rapture’ that was going to come ‘any day now’. So c’mon; even if you believe in all that crap, you know down deep that you can’t be sure when it’s gonna happen — so when things get REALLY tough out there, I think that Christians get rather nervously excited. They want the Rapture to come save them, but what if it doesn’t? What if it’s just another ugly period in history like all the others, and they’ll have to go through the whole thing without being rescued? Oh no! So I think that they relish the actual ‘End’ because they have faith Jesus will save them, but they can’t ever be sure that ‘this’ is IT. Such is the road to insanity.

There are seemingly 2 basic kinds of fundies in this respect — those that are content to wait and see what unfolds, having faith that God has it under control (these people are not the problem; though as a fan of Sam Harris, I will agree that they SUPPORT the problem) — and those that are so friggin’ convinced that their hundred-year-old interpretation (yes, sorry to tell ya, folks, but the whole ‘Rapture’ thing was conjured up in the 19th century) is absolutely true and absolutely imminent, and that somehow God needs THEIR help in making it all come about.

The latter represent a seriously psychopathic wing of the Religiotards, and their narrow worldview reveals an astounding level of arrogance and ignorance — as it places so much faith in a fairly recent set of beliefs so as to literally risk EVERYTHING to follow it to its conclusion, and yet, since they evidently don’t think God has it under enough control that he doesn’t need their meddling, it’s a complete paradox. I mean, if it IS the ‘last days’ according to some ambiguously worded prophecies, why don’t they just chill the fuck out and watch? Why do they need to set the shit in motion? Why does Sarah Palin on the one hand believe so fervently in God as Omnipotent Being With A Plan, and yet also believe that somehow in order for that Plan to come to fruition, God somehow needs the likes of HER to go start World War Three? It doesn’t make ANY sense unless you’re a megalomaniacal sociopath who believes themselves to be instrumental in God’s Master Plan.

Which brings me back to the two emails.

Both follow essentially the same premise: that God’s Plan and His timing can be manipulated by humans. And not just humans, but specifically AMERICANS, since this particular brand of Christianity is absurdly America-centered. I know fundies who can find all sorts of shit they purport to be about the USA in the Bible, which would be truly extraordinary if it could possibly be true. But one look at the passages they mention, and you realize just how deluded they are.

But, of course, if America plays a prophesied role in Armageddon, we just HAVE to be the good guys, right? Because how can we be the bad guys? We’re AMERICANS! We’re GOOD! Well, except for them evil commie gawdless libruls.

So if Obama wins, he’s the Antichrist and that’s bad. So we need to vote against him — but then again, if he’s the Antichrist, then voting against him won’t do any good, because, well, it’s been prophesied, right? And besides, if he’s the Antichrist, then all the Christians are about to be Raptured, right? And that’s what y’all WANT, right?

Then again, if Sarah Palin wins, she’s the AntiAntichrist. I don’t remember even reading about THAT, but whatever. None of this makes any damn sense anyway.

Religion is just Mass Insanity.

* * *

Palin My Ass

Sarah Palin.
The illegitimate lovechild of Gidget and Joseph Stalin.

Or, as I like to call her, Claws Barbie. The history majors among you will likely get the reference. Sadly, far too many will have to look it up. But anyway.

This religiofascist bitch must be stopped. And if Christians think she’s on their side, whatever THAT means, they are mistaken. Separation of church and state is what PROTECTS Christians and other religions from EACH OTHER.

Most of the victims of the Taliban, for example, are other Muslims — those who just don’t seem pious enough, or who have a slightly different interpretation, or try to be less vicious to women, or whatever. Theocratic rule is a horror story for EVERYONE, religious or not. That’s why the founders of this country sought to erect that wall a long time ago, never to be torn down.

It’s one thing if a candidate PRACTICES a religion or belief and keeps it private — JFK was not interested in instituting a Catholic Theocracy. It’s quite another matter when the tenets of the church a candidate follows advocate the indoctrination of the masses in their particular dogma, and actively seek to put representatives in high governmental offices to do just that. I too was raised in a fundamentalist environment (as I've mentioned many times), and I can tell you that I’ve listened to enough of their sermons to know unequivocally that Palin’s mission is to destroy the traditional separation and work as hard as she can to institute a government based on the apocalyptic beliefs of her particular sect. She has basically admitted it in so many words.

Any of you who think this is a good idea need not look further than your local library (or the daily news from Muslim theocracies) to see what a disaster this would be.

Wake up, people. This is not what our country is supposed to be about. You think gay marriage and equal rights and abortion and all that is somehow a threat to your way of life? Well, let me tell ya — regardless of how you feel about those issues, they are NOTHING compared to THIS one.

Don’t take MY word for it; read your history books! Pay attention!

Fundamentalist Christianity has infiltrated the political spectrum in an attempt to gain real power — including MILITARY power. And to a large and alarming level, they’ve succeeded. And how have they succeeded? Through the support of mild-mannered masses of good people just following their faith, swelling church ranks, voting for candidates based solely on their religious fervor and attachment to pet religious-based oversimplified issues, and contributing vast amounts of cumulative wealth to psychos like Falwell and Robertson and others, to the point where they are able to buy and wedge and crowbar and threaten their way into positions of authority that men of their caliber could get no other way.

And their influence has severely damaged our country. To the point where both candidates of our already pathetic two-party (if even that) system are forced to pander to the Jeezuz contingent in order to get anywhere.

Anybody with half a brain knows that theocracy, or even a hint of it, is a bad idea even for the followers of the prevailing sect. Why? Because as has been shown in every theocracy ever, not only is it unconscionable that one particular dogma could dictate the rights of sovereign individuals through coercion or governmental law, but quite simply, setting a precedent of theocracy means that at any given moment, a different sect could grab the reins, and suddenly all those who followed the dogma of the previous theocratic power structure are suddenly heathens. And make no mistake, history shows us what happens when you give the self-righteous ‘god on our side’ theocrats of ANY religion access to military power, what once may have been petty ecumenical differences will surely turn into a bloodbath. Wash, rinse, repeat.

So after they imprison and/or kill all us ‘unbelievers’, guess who’s next?

As Sam Harris implies in The End of Faith, while as an average hardworking, non-threatening, even kind-hearted Christian you can personally claim innocence — the same way the average Cambodian or Spaniard or German or Byzantine could in their day — the fact is that you are potentially a moral and financial supply line to a system that produces megalomaniacs hell-bent on supergluing the church to the state, with all the bloody consequences that your history books should have warned you about. So if you're gonna be a follower, be ever vigilant as to whom you are following.

If you can’t see that, plain as day, well, all I can say is I’ll see you in the camps.

* * *

This is the end. Beautiful friend, the end.

Well, I've pretty much had it up to here with the dolts in this country.

Obama is nobody's messiah, but Jeeebus; compared to McPain he most certainly is. And don't even get me started on that psychopathic smug little moron Palin. Ugh. Those dipshits will be the end for sure, and if they don't end up destroying the world in a newkyuhler war, they will at the very least ruin what's left of this always-flawed but once-great country.

I'm holding my breath until November 4th (or 5th), and if somehow that nightmare McCain/Palin ticket manages to pull it off, I am going to take what's left of my money and I am going on a trip. I will travel around the world, attempting to enjoy myself in between having to apologize and explain to the befuddled that at least half my fellow Americans are mentally retarded, and I'm sorry but I tried. Yada yada...like 2004 all over again but worse.

And when the money runs out, I will then commit suicide. I will attempt to do it in a very public way that will not hurt anyone else but will call attention to the reason I did it. maybe I'll do it on YouTube or something, with my manifesto as The Last True Patriot mailed to all the news outlets ahead of time. I dunno; something that will get attention. I wanna be remembered as the guy who repeated the words of Patrick Henry and actually meant them.

* * *

Take out the traysh

Is it just me, or is this whole ghetto/trailertrash 'chic' thing gotten way past annoying? You know what I'm talkin' bout, right? I'm not going on some racist rant here; it's not about that. I mean, can anybody explain to me why Amy Winehouse has fans? The whole Cleopatra-as-crack-whore-who-got-gang-banged-while-passed-out-in-a-tattoo-parlor thing is, um, interesting how? Her voice reminds me of a fighter jet crashing into an animal shelter, and she looks like what would have happened if Carly Simon had been beaten up by Mike Tyson and ended up an extra on 'The Addams Family' instead of a crappy songwriter (yeah I know I'm making a lot of nonlinear assumptions about the spacetime continuum here, but work with me).

And speaking of dumpster chic, don't even get me started on the whole Britney/Lindsay/Paris thing either. Regarding the latter, I wasn't aware Gucci even made trailers. But I'm sure they're nice. To be fair, Hilton went up a (small) notch in my esteem with her unexpectedly articulate video smackdown of McCain -- but all that proves is that she can be coached and taught to read convincingly.

The point is, where are the Grace Kellys? The Lena Hornes? The Audrey Hepburns? Or even the Kate Hepburns? Am I just getting old? I mean, it's not like I'm 70 or something, ya know. I've got a good 25 years before retirement, assuming I can pull it off without having to move into a trailer myself and live on cat food (but that's a whole other discussion).

And what's with all the thugspeak? I mean, OK, let's just say for the sake of argument that the whole 'real' thug culture is a product of all the racial oppression, war on 'drugs' and institutionalized poverty that lead to gang violence, etc. Fine. Rap gives me a headache, and 'gangsta' rap pretty much ratchets it up to a brain tumor, but fine. OK, we've got angry black youth shouting about smacking up their hos and popping caps in each other's asses. Right. Except for one thing:

THE PRIMARY AUDIENCE FOR THIS CRAP IS MIDDLE CLASS WHITE KIDS.

Yeah, we've all seen 'em. 'Wiggers' they're called, as a 'white' variation on the dreaded N-word (the word that hordes of civil rights leaders went through hell to try and eliminate, and they must really be happy that their kids and grandkids call each other that, but anyway). I just don't get it -- what is the point of all the white kids trying so hard to be black -- and not 'normal' black, but quasi-scary ghetto thug black? What's with the hideous clothes? When, for the love of Gawd, is the ridiculous GIANT PANTS pulled halfway down thing gonna go away? I mean, shouldn't it be passe by now? Please?

Let me be clear on this. I used to love black music, back in the day. Marvin Gaye; James Brown; Richie Havens; Al Green -- I loved those guys. But none of us white dudes tried to be black; we just tried to be open and multicultural and get along with and understand everybody. We tried, anyway, some of us. But how stupid would it have been if I'd attempted to dress up like Havens? A Dashiki just wouldn't work on me. Somehow it worked on him, but no way would it have looked anything but silly on me. These days the thug fashions look pretty stupid on the black rappers and wannabes that wear them, but they look even stupider on the white kids that try to emulate them.

Sorry; I just can't deal with the whole glorification of the lowest common denominator. The whole "keepin' it real" thing has just gotten way too out of hand for me. I mean, if you REALLY wanna 'keep it real', get rid of your TV and your endless 'bling' (40 pounds of gold chains and a 'grill' that makes you look like a complete retard) and your $400 sneakers, quit talking like some shuck-and-jive stereotype, read a book or two, and for Gawd's sake, turn down the bass on your piece of shit car stereo, willya? Jeebus.

I really hope Obama wins the election for a LOT of reasons. One of which is that he's not McCain. But maybe, just maybe, having a black President will give all the young black guys a reason to be a little less angry, and a little less...ghetto. And since the moronic white kids who want to be black will follow their lead, maybe they'll all be just a little less annoying.

Nah, who am I kidding? But vote Obama anyway, so I don't have to come pop a cap in your ass.

* * *

Park yer carcass

Anybody who lives in a major city will no doubt have endless complaints about a lot of things, from crowds to violence to panhandlers to noise to having their front porch used as a toilet even though they pay as much rent as Warren Buffett earns in interest every month.

And yeah, as a San Franciscan, I can tell you stories about all of those things, and I have the dried shit in the tread of my Chuck Taylors to prove it.

But the one thing that really chaps my ass about living in a city, and this one in particular, is the parking situation. In case you don't live here or nobody has explained it to you, it just plain sucks ass.

First of all, it's a small city area-wise, with a lot of people crammed into it, and despite our California Liberal reputation of being all greenified and all that, way too many of those people have big gigantic stupid gas-pissing SUVs and such, taking up way too much room. So parking is at a premium.

The commercial areas are all dotted with parking meters and overpriced hourly lots, and that's fine. The city gets a shitload of revenue from the meters (mostly when they're expired and the Parking Nazis get to write the tickets they so love to write), and the unknown tycoons who own the lots and garages can likely afford their own private helipads. But whatever. The problem is the residential areas, where I live in my little Victorian flat with my two overindulged and overly furry feline roommates. Yeah that sounded pretty gay. Get over it.

Anyway, here's the thing: there aren't usually meters in the residential areas (yet), but there are inexplicable red zones everywhere, and you can't park in those without costing yourself so much money that I'm embarrassed to admit I know the amount. And you can't park ANYWHERE for more than 2 hours without getting a ticket. I think it's fifty bucks but it's always going up so I'm not sure of the current ripoff amount. To bypass this IF you're a resident, you can buy an annual permit sticker for the neighborhood you live in, for some significant coin. So far; so good -- it's hard enough to even FIND a parking space around here (and I have a tiny car), so if it weren't for the permit requirement, it would be IMPOSSIBLE, so I'm willing to pay for that. But the whole thing is really a racket, so it gets much more complicated. See, every street has alternating days on which you can't park there because of 'street cleaning'. Now, I've lived here for well over 20 years and I've never seen a street that was actually 'clean', but they do have these trucks that come by and swirl the crap around a bit, once a week on each side of the street. If you're parked there on that day, you get a ticket. Cha-ching. But am I complaining about that? Not this time. Not even when they randomly and without notice, change the days on which said 'cleaning' is to occur, putting up new signs here and there but not really making much noise about it so that inevitably they can ticket the folks who were too busy LIVING THEIR FUCKING LIVES to notice the slight sign change. Trust me when I tell you that the whole 'street cleaning' racket makes this city a TON of Benjamins every month, from all the folks who forget to move their damn car so the truck that swirls the crap has to drive around their parked vehicle, even if the 'street cleaning sign' had been quietly changed the night before. Yes, it's true; I've seen it. Hell, I've PAID it. Don't get me started...

But no, this blog posting isn't even about THAT particular travesty. No, it's about a certain city ordinance that one has to find out about the hard way. It seems that, regardless of the fact that you pay annually for a permit to park in your own neighborhood, and even if you carefully observe the sleight-of-hand magic they call 'street cleaning', they have an ordinance to make sure they get you anyway, no matter what you do. I think it's called the 'We're The Government So Go Fuck Yourself' ordinance. What it says is that if your car is parked anywhere, permit or not, for a minute past 72 consecutive hours, they can tow your car away and you have to pay not only an $80 ticket but right around TWO HUNDRED a day in storage fees to the tow yard. Yep. And this is assuming that you actually know you've been towed, since many of us city-dwellers walk or take public transportation and don't drive our cars every day, so -- you guessed it -- it can take a few days before you discover your car missing. So you frantically call the cops, not sure whether you prefer it was towed or stolen -- because nobody tells you. That's right; they take your shit and then don't even tell you about it. Like a week and a half later you get something in the mail saying your car was towed, but what good is that? By then you owe your life savings to the tow yard, so you'd better hope you made the discovery already.

This means, of course, that if you want to, say, fly somewhere on vacation for a few days, you have to be sure and have a friend agree to move your car for you. This means you have to be the kind of person who would do such a thing to their friend, knowing it will mean they have to spend a third of their day trying to find an available space -- one that won't conflict with any 'street cleaning' days while you're gone, or be out of the range of your permit that only covers a few blocks in either direction. And Gawd help them if you've got a car that's bigger than mine, because I can park the little fucker in a lot of places that other vehicles can't (which is one of the reasons I have it).

Anyway, so yeah, I got effin' towed. Altogether it cost me close to 500 smackers. And I can't even kill anybody, though I want to very badly.

* * *

Goodbye, yellow prick toad

I'm a bad blogger. It's true. I suck. Not at writing, mind you; at that I rock like a black leather jumpsuit on Jessica Alba. No, I suck at actually sitting down and consistently producing. It's sad, because I tend to spew wretched brilliance on a pretty frequent basis, whether it's in casual conversation or commenting on OTHER people's blogs -- but when it comes to my own, well, the cobbler's kids have no shoes.

Yet here I am. So you know there must be a reason -- an important reason, even. Though it's likely that nobody will even read this, since any fan base I could have once had has rightly evaporated like so much Everclear on a pie plate in the Arizona sun. But that's okay, because, you see, I'm here for ME. That's right; this one is a joyous celebration of life. And death. Because, my friends (if anyone is listening), not only is Jerry Falwell STILL dead, but now that bastard Jesse 'Caveman' Helms has joined his old bosom buddy in the Great Beyond.

Another evil Hypocritical Religiofascist Neanderfuck gets crossed off my list, and I was here, alive -- gloriously alive -- to see it.

Next time I encounter a cockroach crawling out of a sewer drain, I will pause and reflect, perhaps letting it live another day instead of crushing it in disgust -- because maybe reincarnation exists, and if so, I want you to savor your new life, Jesse. And your new diet.

Otherwise, RIP, asshole. Luckily for you, there's no such thing as Hell -- except for the one you and your kind created here on Earth for the rest of us.


* * *

December 21, 2012

That day is soon going to be on everybody's lips, as The Stink-of-Money-Detecting Media picks up on a meme that's been circulating for awhile, recently fueled by Internet Buzz, that the day has some sort of Great Significance to a growing number of people who believe that the final day of the Mayan calendar represents some Harbinger of Doom. As my pal The Butcher notes, many people see this date as The End Of The World, and indeed, when troubled times seem to coincide with mysterious dates that seem to have held some significance to some group of people somewhere, those believers are known to attract followers. I of course have no idea what the meaning of 2012 is -- or if there is any. I know the Maya were skilled astronomers, in a time when astronomy and astrology were one and the same. They created an intricate system based on their observations of nature both terrestrial and cosmic, and they amassed a level of strikingly detailed knowledge of the way the Solar System operates, apparently without anything approaching tools that would come into play in Europe a thousand or more years later. We still don't know of what their available technology consisted or where it came from, but much of what they observed and recorded is now, via all our equipment to observe the Heavens, considered remarkably accurate.

Their calendar used the astrological constellations and movements, and described 'Ages'. The beginning of the calendar is a mystery (as the beginnings of calendars are wont to be), and so is the end -- but given the distinct Ages described in cosmic terms, the end of the Mayan Calendar is simply the end of the Piscean Age. What does it mean? Will there be devastation of some sort? Some traditions certainly point to that, and they are often traditions way older than the 19-century story that makes up much of Christian Dogma today (I'll explain this shortly, for those who don't know). Prehistoric legends abound of cataclysmic events marking the passing of Ages, and often the fossil record bears them out. As to whether the fossils and the cyclical events in the sky coordinate, that I can't say -- though I'm sure there are better-informed people than me out there on both sides of the argument, assuming there is one (isn't there usually?). Anyway, back to the End Of The World...

The 'world' -- meaning Earth -- is a big rock orbiting a star we call the Sun. This particular star will succumb to the fate of all things and all stars -- which is to die, likely taking the rocks that orbit it along with it. But this is, according to the estimations of modern science, about 50 gazillion years away. So if there is a thing which might be called The End Of The World, that would most likely be it.

What is generally referred to, however, as The End Of The World is variously referred to within certain religions as the day when whatever god decides to reboot his or her creation, often accompanied by some Judgement Day claptrap. In more secular circles it is generally the moment when the planet can no longer sustain life -- or at least Human life -- whether through a natural disaster such as an asteroid collision or, more likely, through a confluence of man-made disasters that are always, at least in modern times, looming on the horizon.

So The End Of The World, then, is for all intents and purposes envisioned as The End Of Humanity, because as much as we might love animals, the thought of not being here, even for their sake, is tantamount to picturing yourself obliterated, and, as a thus-far successful carrier of that DNA thing, we all have a hard time dealing with the idea of our own extinction. Well, with the exception of some Goth kids, a few crazy (as in, waaaaaaay over the top crazy) Animal Rights advocates, and way too many members of The Christopocalyptical Conspiracy (otherwise known as Fundamentalist Christianity), that is.

Anyway, I digress.

I don't generally buy into the whole Apocalyptic Prophecy thang, except where the post-postmodern irony of Self-Fulfilling Prophecy comes in. It's sorta like reading The Secret and then reading The Book Of Revelations, and then positive-thinking your way to Armageddon so Jesus will save you. And by the way, I'm being symbolic when referring to The Book Of Revelations, because if you give that book to someone who hasn't had it explained (with spoon-fed presumed interpretations), it doesn't make a damn lick of sense at all. That person would look at you like you just gave them a Chinese menu in Mexico, at a Middle-Eastern restaurant. All that crap about Jesus Coming Back To Rescue All The Perfect People is all made-up wackjob crap from as recent as the Nineteenth Century, man. Do you know that? 99% of the interpretation of Revelations that is taught as Hardcore Literal Dogma in Fundie Christianity, is from crap cobbled together from several books and re-interpreted into a farfetched and not particularly Biblical philosophy from the 1800s. Yes, folks, you guessed it. From the same era as Paul Bunyan and Babe The Blue Ox With Gigantic Testicles. So all you self-proclaimed knowledgeable and yet curiously illiterate Evangelical Types out there aren't spouting a bunch of shite from the Holy Mouth Of Jesus; you're echoing a primarily hundred and fifty-or-so-year-old patchwork of misinterpretations by people you would most certainly call crazy if they showed up today.

So in other words, all you geniuses that think bringing civilization to collapse will result in your Miraculous Salvation, I've got news for ya: 2012 seems just about right, thanks to y'all. And there ain't gonna be no Second Coming, no Rapture. Just those of us who manage to survive in roving gangs viciously taking out the clueless Middle America NeoCon Religious Hypocrite Idiot Fuckers who got us into this mess.

* * *

BeneDickShun

So the Pope is going to give a speech addressing the rampant child abuse scandal brewing in his worldwide religious ponzi scheme. Or, rather, he's likely going to do a George Bush style whitewash on all of it, because too many media outlets, while willing to play ball with their Corporate Masters over American Political Hegemonic aspirations, cannot resist (Thank Gawd) the lure of tabloid journalism that ensues When Religious Hypocrites Attack!

Gee, I wonder what pablum he's gonna spew? What could he possibly say? I mean, it's awfully telling that the situation has gotten so much bad press that His Hypocriticalness Himself will even acknowledge it -- but what can he say about something that has been an endemic, institutionalized and methodically protected part of Church history for over a thousand years?

My guess is that he's going to go the 'few bad apples' approach, and announce that the Church is 'actively purging itself of these wayward individuals' or something like that. Blah blah blah. More Scooter Libbys. More Wide Stances. Same old bullshit. Can't tell whether the Neocons learned from the Bishops or vice-versa. Or maybe they're all the same guys. Probably drink the blood of Jew babies together while dining on Endangered-Species-Kabobs every Friday.

What His LuckyMotherFuckerness SHOULD be saying is that many factors have contributed to this scourge, and the blame for ALL of them should be placed squarely at the Church's feet. A Pope denouncing child molestation is tantamount to denouncing the robe he's wearing -- it's part and parcel an integral element in the history of the organization, and it goes back to the very beginnings, stemming partially from adopted Pagan practices and largely encouraged by the absurdity of forced celibacy AND the rush to cover up every incident that gets leaked, instead of publicly and thoroughly castigating those responsible. After all, they were probably themselves originally young 'proteges' of the very clergy who end up quietly sending them where they can do their molesting in less public surroundings. It's been the Church's Dirty Little Secret since the Middle Ages at least.

So what Ol' Eggs Benedict SHOULD be saying is 'This is all our fault and we've virtually encouraged this behavior because it has served our interests (keeping 'celibate' priests from 'straying', keeping the abused victims forever secretly bonded and beholden to the institution -- many of them grow up to be priests, and abusive ones at that; it's a form of Stockholm Syndrome), BUT we are now adopting a zero-tolerance policy whereby all priests accused of such behavior will be handed over immediately to secular authorities for trial, with those convicted being stripped of their connection to the Church and handed on a platter to the mercy of the secular courts.' He should be saying that 'We are establishing a joint Church-secular task force which will have as its sole purpose to root out all of the perpetrators regardless of their rank, and NO ONE will be protected from accusations that the task force determines are legitimate. It's time for this sorry legacy of our ancient past to be put to an end, as was the Inquisition and having to memorize Latin and such other horrors. In the name of God I will not tolerate one more child abused under my watch, and I vow to destroy this insidious infection at its very core, whatever it takes.' If I were Catholic, I would accept nothing less, and I would back up that expectation with my quickly moving feet out the gilded door, slurping a dixiecup of holy water along the way, rinsing and spitting. But alas, anything short of that is complete spin and utter bullshit. And the Pope is a politician, so I expect nothing but drivel from Him. Luckily I'm not Catholic. If He's supposed to be God on Earth, then God's got a helluva lot to learn about consistency, integrity, and other such quaint ethics that some of us mere humans inexplicably value. Luckily I don't believe in God either. If I did, I might be inclined to be a complete bastard and emulate Him.

And hey -- while he's on a roll, Das Pope might as well publicly apologize for Catholic complicity with the Third Reich and its horrors (yes, it's true -- look it up), as well as the disaster that the One True Church's anti-birth-control stance hath wrought upon the so-called Third World. And that's not even taking into account all the other abominations throughout the millennia, such as heretic/witch burning, the ethnic cleansing of the so-called New World, and the alarming proliferation of plastic dashboard Jesuses.

* * *

Kewpie porn

There are simply no words fit to accompany this.

I hope I don't get in trouble for posting it.

* * *