The God #Wine
I’d like to start with a risky disclosure. [deep breath] Okay! Here goes! Hang on tight, this is going to be one hell of a ride.
In real life I’m not that entertaining.
I know, right?!
I have an analytical personality, specifically “INTJ” aka The Architect which includes, among other things, this telling description: “One Reflects More When Traveling Alone.”
As an analytical type, I’ve often gotten into trouble in social situations after being asked a question, especially when I’m not prepared. A question stimulates my brain into “pondering mode” and my face goes blank in the same way as a computer that has been tricked by Captain Kirk.
To the person asking the question, I’m told, this comes across as rude. (Whatever the hell that means.)
(128 words in and the H-bomb has already been dropped three times in a post containing the word “God” in the subject line. Is this guy good or what? -Ed.)
I recently had a deep thought.
Life is lived one week at a time.
–Tom B. Taker
Let’s take a look at a typical week then, shall we? We’ll use my patented Poop Colored Glasses with Capitalism Tint.
In other words, this look is founded on a work-based viewpoint.
A lot of work-based people tend to favor Friday. They have it up on some kind of pedestal. Well, not me! Why? Because Friday is the work day closest to Monday. And it’s still a day where you actually go to work. Sorry, Friday. That puts you squarely in the Shit bin.
“Holy Time” is my description of the time between Friday at 5pm and midnight. Seven golden hours of goodness. This section of time is the most removed from going back to work. Unfortunately it’s also the smallest damn piece of the whole friggin’ pie.
Saturday is a pretty good day. It’s preceded by Holy Time, which is good, and to its credit, is also followed by a day that is not work. Therefore this day is “Good.” That’s high praise from the likes of me.
Sunday is a bit of a quandary. Since it is followed by a work day, it’s a very melancholy time. Yeah, it’s not as bad as work, but it is being chased by an ominous black cloud of death. Technically speaking, Sunday is a day tainted by evil. But it’s still not work. So this day we will classify as Tainted and/or Mediocre.
This graph is actually incomplete. It’s missing the slice that consists of the last two hours before bed on a Sunday night. This slice, if it had been shown, would have been represented with the terminology “Despair.” Technically it’s know worse than any work night yet is somehow amplified by the freedom that was just tasted.
The rest of the 168 hours in the life unit known as the “week” fall into a bucket known simply as Shit. This is, by far, the biggest piece of the life of pie. And I think that pretty much sums it up.
Front Lines of Christmas
It’s that time of year again. Tis the season to lace up your boots, grab your weapon of choice and go hunt down people who don’t share the same opinions as you.
Ho, ho, ho, motherfucker!
I feel more jolly already.
The Most Holy Depressional
Key words for this post: Deity, depressional, destiny, deduction (tax).
Maybe it’s not too late for me. Maybe I can still see the light. Let us pray.
Maybe the reason I ended up an atheist is that I was destined for other things. This thought occurred to me today. Perhaps, instead of believing in an existing religion, it is my destiny to create my own.
Yes, now that I think about it, I realize that must be it. Finally, answers at last!
I don’t want to get things too out of order, but it occurred to me that the first thing I have to sort out is what makes my religion unique. Luckily a vision came to me quickly.
The depressional is a small, enclosed booth used for the Sacrament of Negativity, often called depressionizing, or The Purging of Positivity.
The procedure is simple. In the booth awaits the Guru or one of the holy elders. The holy one hears the positive thoughts of the repenter and then offers a blessing. The blessing typically will consist of verbally abusing the parishioner and/or telling them how their positive thought sucks the big one. The holy one may also expound on the many ways the positive thought is bound to fail.
After that, the percentage of tithing will be of paramount importance. We’ll probably start small, say 25 percent, and see how it goes.
Lastly, we’ll need a deity. (I did get this in the correct order, right?) Ah, hell. I’ll figure that part out later.
So, all I have to really do is start my own religion. And get a small, enclosed booth. Those shouldn’t be too hard, although I may have some trouble with the booth part. I don’t have a lot of resources.
Luckily, in the United States, we have “freedom of religion.” We have the right (mostly) to believe what we want and practice religion as we see fit.
Of course, I’m not the first to have the bright idea of starting my own religion. Allow me to introduce Wilbur and Mary Ellen Tracy. Back in 1981 while living in Santa Monica with their eight children, Wilbur was visited by God who poured “pure knowledge” into him. The knowledge was specific to Egyptian scrolls which he then confirmed with his own research. He shared the knowledge with his wife Mary Ellen. They moved to Los Angeles and established their own church.
This is how Wilbur described his divine revelation:
On April 24, 1984, in broad daylight, I had a revelation that changed my life and the way I perceive the world and others. However, because I was blinded by the ignorance of the modern education, which I foolishly accepted as knowledge, I did not immediately understand the full impact of the revelation. I failed to understand that the mind can perceive only what the mind can conceive. What I experienced was beyond my conception, while my perception was completely distorted by what I had been taught was enlightenment. It was only when I set aside my prejudices–those beliefs which I had been conditioned to accept as fact, but which were in fact false–that I began to understand the experience.”
The church was called “The Church of the Most High Goddess.” Mary Ellen became the “High Priestess.” One of the tenets of the church was that the High Priestess would be required to have sex with one-thousand men in a series of rituals that would cleanse sins.
Mary Ellen took the name “Sabrina Aset” and began her duties for the church. In her words, “I have performed the same sexual rituals which involve oral sex and vaginal intercourse with thousands of men.”
Shit. This makes my religious aims seem downright boring. Dammit. I thought I was on to something, too.
I think I need to visit the depressional.
Sources used for this post:
This is my “D” post for the April 2011 “A to Z Blogging Challenge.”