Thursday, December 21, 2006

Everything’s been sold to others’ revolutions

Yes, I am the person you’ve seen picketing at the car factories in Detroit. And at the rubber-glove factories in Malaysia. And at the security-harness factories in Taiwan. I have been getting quite a lot of press about my signs that call for the president to cut federal funding to these industries and the sinful, sinful groups that buy their products. I figure that it worked for the AIDS funding we used to send to Africa to promote condom use, so it’s worth a try.

I am vehemently opposed to car bumpers. So is everyone else who goes to my church. Bumpers encourage bad driving. For proof, you need look no further than my car: When a stranger rear-ended me, which part of the car do you think he smashed into? The bumper, of course! He damaged his own front bumper and my back bumper. Clearly, he saw that we both had bumpers, and he decided that he could drive recklessly on our icy roads. And what did he learn from the experience? Nothing, of course! His car wasn’t destroyed, as any God-fearing car without a bumper would have been. He is probably out there having indiscriminate car accidents, leaving a trail of heartbreak. What a terrible story. It could have been avoided if neither of us had bumpers. Then we could have removed his DNA from our gene poo – I mean, we could have mourned this beautiful, created being, fully secure in the knowledge that we are much better than he is.

Rubber gloves are a sure ticket to hell. They encourage people to touch other people who are possibly infected with God only knows what. In MY day, we threw stones at lepers. We certainly didn’t touch them, and nobody gave us rubber gloves to “protect” us. I’m telling you, if people are sick, it is because they are supposed to be that way. It is all part of a plan that is so huge that your puny mind can’t comprehend it. Don’t touch these people. For goodness’ sake, don’t put on rubber gloves and think that you will be safe. I won’t allow rubber gloves anywhere near me, and I don’t recommend that you wear them, either.

The company that owns my building is doing repairs to the outside. This requires the use of scaffolding. I’m completely in favour of scaffolding, especially when used in the execution of atheists whose degenerate lifestyles have encouraged them to lead lives of crime. But in this case, the scaffolding is being used to allow the workers to reach the second floor windows. That’s OK; I’m willing to accept that. What I can’t accept is the fact that they wear safety harnesses. SAFETY HARNESSES. That’s an oxymoron if I ever heard one. These harnesses are tools of the devil. They make people think they are safe. I bet that the people who wear them are actually LESS safe. They are probably more willing to take risks than the God-fearing workers who can be certain that they are risking their lives by stepping too close to the edge: “No need to worry about me! I’ve got my safety harness on! AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” That sickening crash you hear is the tear forming in the Lord’s eye. People with crushed skulls aren’t allowed to enter heaven. The Lord saves those whose spirits are crushed, but I don’t recall anything about crushed skulls. Sucks to be you. Obviously, the way to avoid eternal damnation is to stay away from safety harnesses altogether.

I hope I’ve made you think about the horrors of your own deviant life. While you’re at it, pull out your checkbook and donate money to the president’s abstinence-only AIDS programs.

Saturday, December 16, 2006

Pagan festivals

Greetings, stiff-necked sinners:

A few of you have asked about Michael's so-called Christmas concert and its obviously non-Christian purpose. You are correct: Tuesday's concert is not a religious occasion. And I could not be happier about it. You see, as soon as you bring religion into a school event like this one, you have to acknowledge OTHER religions, and I just can't have that.

Religion is the one thing that you can't mock, no matter how weird it is. You could say something that's obviously wrong, like that God forgives sinners like you, and I would have to nod piously and say "I respect that." Well, I won't be respecting anyone else's religion, thank you very much. Everything in my religion is true. I know this because my religion SAYS that everything in it is true. This is also how I can be certain that your religion is wrong. It's simple logic. We can't both be right. Therefore, you must be wrong.

You see, everyone here knows that you are constantly committing wicked acts to vex the Lord. I would expel you from this holy land myself, were it not for our liberal laws that allow you to stay. And I can't let you sully this Christmas season with your made-up religious stories. For this reason, I am selflessly willing to forgo my own 100% true religious stories. I can't allow you equal time. You might sway one of the faithful, and then only 143,999 of us would get to go to heaven. An empty seat in heaven is a tear in the Lord's eye.

So I'm just thrilled to attend non-religious school concerts and to greet you with "Happy Holidays". That way, I'm able to pretend that it's all about the one true religion, instead of the vomit-inducing tripe that passes for your own view of the world.

Sunday, December 10, 2006

Getting closer

Friends, we are getting closer to the rapture and some of you are getting nervous. You have to trust me on this. If our own Prime Minister is saying the same-sex-marriage debate is over, the sky is sure to open soon. If there's anything that can't be allowed to sully this beautiful earth, it's gay marriage. Six thousand years of perfection have made us arrogant. We think we're smarter than God. And I could not be happier about it, because it means that you heathens are going to burn and I am going to get to live on a cloud with Jesus. I will probably get my own unicorn. You, on the other hand, will be picking dead animals out of the sea after it turns to blood. That won't be a problem for me: I'll be drinking living water. Sucks to be you.

This brings me to the concerns my readers have expressed. I've already reassured you that I've made arrangements for someone to take over the blog after I've been taken up into heaven. Apparently, this is not good enough for some of you godless sodomites. When you're not busy worshipping demons, you're hassling me about the identity of the person who will be taking over the blog. Apparently, you don't like ghostwriters.

Now, I don't think you're taking your situation seriously enough. Believe me, when the locusts are stinging you, this will be the least of your worries. You are going to be tormented with burning sulfur, and I will get to watch. I know how this makes you feel: I myself could burst with excitement just at the thought of it. I wish the president would just drop an atomic bomb and hurry things along, but apparently this is not to be. It makes sense, because no man knows the hour of the rapture, and I suppose that would include the president. In the meantime, we are forced to wait hour after hour after hour until 10:30 AM, when Wheel of Fortune comes on. Then we start waiting again at 11:00.

I am trying SO HARD to make things easier for you, and this is the thanks I get? You are definitely the WORST sinners I have ever met. I would have thought that you would be grateful for the help I've offered to you. Just wait until someone writes MOTHER OF PROSTITUTES AND OF THE ABOMINATIONS OF THE EARTH on your forehead. You'll be happy to have anything else to read, ingrates.

No, I am not going to reveal his identity. He deserves his privacy. If I tell you who it is, he will probably not be able to leave his house without having to fight off paparazzi trying to get pictures of his personal regions. You should be focusing on the log in your own eye before you try to pick at the speck in my eye. And trust me, it's a VERY SMALL SPECK.

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

A winner

I must admit that I have been overwhelmed by the sheer number of applications to take over the blog during the last days. (YOUR last days, not mine.) Clearly, I am something of an icon and many people look up to me. Heck, hundreds of people want to BE me. There were so many worthy applicants that it was hard to choose.

First, I must thank the dozen or so people who indicated that I would probably not have any trouble running the blog myself after the rapture. Your faith in me is admirable, but at this point we really do have to make plans, not congratulate each other about our greatness.

For privacy reasons, I will not be naming the winner of our contest. He does not need to be overrun with godless sodomites looking for my autograph. I am practically in exile already. Wandering in the wilderness, you might say.

We do have a clear winner. All of his meals include ingredients that were produced more than 100 miles from his home, so he's obviously an enemy of the environment. He leaves Arby’s wrappers in the back of his SUV. He listens to the Dixie Chicks, and after work he likes to unwind by setting American flags on fire with other burning American flags. He’s friends with Maureen Dowd AND Ann Coulter. He’s in favour of stem-cell research, but only to save the lives of other stem cells. He hates universal health care, the Barenaked Ladies and Tim Horton’s coffee. He has no idea who Ben Mulroney or Sacha Trudeau are. And he can’t seem to make up his mind about gay marriage.

I think we can all be quite sure that this fellow is doomed to the lake of fire. He’ll probably be thrown in twice. So you can rest easy, knowing that your daily blogging fix will still be available after I’m taken into the clouds. Of course, you might have to struggle through some liberal tripe for a while, at least until the earthquakes start and he’s blogging in the dark. But let’s face it, that’s probably all that’ll be available anywhere.

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

I brake for distilled spirits

I am still collecting applications to take over the blog in the last days. The signs are everywhere. I'm telling you, the sky is already dark here. How much more do you need?

I saw a fascinating bumper sticker the other day as I was driving to work. There's no better use for a $20,000 car than as a sticker book, I say.

Anyway, this particular sticker caught my eye.

In case of rapture, this vehicle will be unmanned.

I must congratulate the writer for reaching a new level of snarkiness. I'd bow at his feet, except that I don't turn to idols. I'm leaving that for the person who wins my contest. This sticker is a simple yet direct way of making the following points:

1. I'm definitely going to heaven.
2. You are not. Otherwise, there would be no need for this warning.
3. I think there's a reasonable chance that the rapture will happen while I'm driving.
4. It's really funny to think about my car, suddenly driverless, plowing headlong into traffic. See how glib I am about it? That's because I think it's fun to joke about the deaths of innocents. Except that these people aren't innocent, so who really cares?
5. Too bad I can't put a warning on the front of my car too, so the pagans can see me coming in case of rapture. Oh wait, they are probably too busy living in debauchery to bother watching for my unmanned vehicle. Never mind.

Wednesday, November 8, 2006


Greetings, godless sodomites:

Well, we all know how the election went. There can only be one conclusion. Clearly, the kingdom of God is at hand.

Yes, indeed. The rapture is close. 144,000 of us are going to heaven. The other 6 billion of you, along with billions of others who’ve already died, are going to burn. Get ready for fire, smoke and sulfur. The birds will gorge themselves on your flesh, and you will be tormented day and night forever.

But now is not the time for rejoicing. No, now is the time for planning. Obviously, someone is going to have to take over the blog after the rapture, because I won’t be around. Fortunately, we know that there will be a period of time after I’m taken up into heaven but before you burn in everlasting fire. That’s the time we must plan for, my friends.

I am now taking applications from people who are likely to burn. And let’s face it, just running the numbers, odds are that you’re one of them. I want to hear why you think you would be a good candidate to take over the blog after I’m taken up on a cloud for eternal rejoicing. And I don’t want to hear any wussy stuff about how you wear clothing woven with two types of cloth. I need to know you are really serious about staying on the earth during the end times AND keeping a record of your miseries. You’ll be dodging locusts, worshiping demons and gnawing your tongue in agony. What a fun time for you!

I’ll get you set up with water, canned goods and a lamp. You’ll need these things, because the water is going to turn to blood, the plants will be burned up, and the sky is going to go dark. There’s nothing in the Bible about losing your Internet connection, though, so that should be OK.

Taking applications starting…NOW.