Showing posts with label god. Show all posts
Showing posts with label god. Show all posts

Friday, September 12, 2008

Name This Post

I got a quick note from my buddy Chet.* It's total contents were:
You wanna bang Sarah Palin, don't you?
You hate her, but at the same time you find yourself wondering what she looks like naked.
Am I right?
I get lots of emails like this. Just because I have a dark sense of humor and call myself a liberal (Democrats are too conservative for me), people think they can send me anything, no matter how offensive.

Of course, I laughed my ass off. To be honest, even at this late date, I think I've seen maybe three pictures of the inexperienced celebrity. They did not stir my loins. In fact, she reminds me of a brunette Sally Jessy Raphael. When I first heard McCain had chosen this unknown, inexperienced woman from Alaska, I was certain the former POW had shot himself in his Vietnamese-tortured-foot.

Here was a woman no one had ever heard of, the former mayor of a town of less than 9,000, and governor of a state with less people than Wyoming -- I exaggerate -- Alaska is 48th in population -- it actually has18K more people than Vermont (49th) and 133K more than Wisconsin (50th)! Now, if you want to talk about population density, and figure in the size of the states, Alaska would have to be something like 54th. (When will they update the flag?)

Choosing her seemed like a cynical appeal to Clinton supporters. I doubted it would work, she may be female, but she is also anti-abortion, and far from being a feminist.

But I digress. There's a reason I don't often see pictures of any news-related stuff -- I am an NPR drone. That's National Public Radio (I said I was liberal - it's not a dirty word). So, while I only vaguely know what she looks like, I have heard quite a lot of her whiny, annoying voice.

Every time she stretches out her vowels in that nasally tone, "That's what's greeeat about this couuuntry, Charlie." I go just a little more crazy. At first it was really driving me nuts because I kept thinking, "I know I've I heard that voice before, but where?"

I thought she might be channeling one of the nuns from my youth. Her voice had that kind of instant visceral impact on me. It was like Sister Joseph Marie was sticking her fingers down my throat to induce vomiting.

I don't believe any of the nuns (mustachioed or not, and trust me, Sister Joseph Marie had a hell of a mustache) ever stuck their waxy fingers in my mouth, never mind down my throat, but that is the feeling I have every time Palin opens her big, fat, lying mouth. Instant retch-a-roni. We're talking the Spaghetti 500 and then some.

I thought of all the bullshit the catholic church tried to brainwash me with, but I still couldn't figure out where I'd heard such a school-marmie, condescending tone before. It turns out, the voice was the same, but I don't think the condescension was there in the original voice.

Sarah Palin sounds just like the chick on SNL that played Pat (or was it Patrick?) -- Julia Sweeney. Tell me you don't hear that.

So, if you're like me (and I doubt you are) you are hoping that you won't have to spend the next four years listening to that whiny sound and thinking of Pat in those overstuffed shirts saying things like, "Sorry if I'm a little grumpy, I have really bad cramps... I rode my bike over here, and my calf muscles are KILLING me!" But, knowing the way things seem to always turn out for me, you're probably thinking -- we're doomed.

But hell, her voice aside, you've got to admit that the idea of a gun toting beauty queen has its appeal.

Would you be able to say no to that? Get her in a muscle car, and there's no telling what might happen.

Of course, the whole idea is quite repellent, but that's the point of catholicism, right?

Hate yourself, do degrading and sinful acts, then entertain a guy in a dress with embarrassing tales of your misadventures. Once you do that, and if you hit all the right notes about being sorry and promising never to do it again, all you have to do is say a couple of Our Fathers, and you're set to start all over again.

That's what's great about this country.

And thankfully, the new TV season is just around the corner.

Thursday, August 14, 2008

LER ALERT!!! SPOILER ALERT!!! SPOILER ALERT!!! SPOILER ALERT!!! SPOILER ALERT!!! SPOILER ALER

Just a little warning there, so I don't spoil the ending for those of you who like surprises or are in denial. But if you're still reading, brace yourself for this shocking revelation: when you die, you're dead. And that's it. When you settle down for that final big dirt nap, that's the end of the story. You're not going to be greeted by a choir of heavenly angels or a troop of hellish ghouls. In fact, you're not going to be greeted at all, because you are dead.

As much as I would like to think I'll be greeted by 69 vestal virgins on the other side (by the way, does anyone know what the hell a vestal is?), I have to be honest with myself. The only things that will be interested in me once I reach a non-breathing state are worms, bugs, and possibly very small rodents. That is, if medical science doesn't get their hands on me first.

Well, in truth I don't believe that. I will live on, or at least parts of me will, as long as I die in such a way that my organs are relatively healthy. Yes, I carry an organ donor card. I have to admit, though, that the first couple of weeks after signing it I jumped every time the doorbell rang. I kept having images of Monty Python's Meaning of Life flashing through my head.

We're here for your kidney, mate.
That Python guy sure is a funny dude.

But back to the subject at hand, the great hereafter. I'm sure it's not shocking that someone who describes himself as pro-pandemic (see Word Choice) is also anti-god. (I do hedge my bets, though.)

I am convinced there is no afterlife, no old man with a grey beard hanging down to his most holy knees watching me every minute of every day making sure to take notes of every terrible sin I may commit, like coveting my neighbor's ass. God forbid I should have immoral or unpure thoughts -- how much ink can the guy have, anyhow? Regardless, I don't believe any of that crap. I was raised catholic, for god's sake.

And here's the cover-my-ass (sort of) part:

If on the off-chance that I'm wrong (it's happened), and there actually is a god waiting for me on the other side, (although I know there isn't), then I doubt he (or she) cares a whit about where I am on Sundays, or how often I've used his (non-existent) name in vain. So do you get that? I don't believe there is a god, but if there is a god, I don't believe he cares if I believe in him/her.

So there.

Right about now my friend Ann Margaret* would be ducking for cover, certain the next lightning bolt would steer unerringly towards that exact middle point between my eyes.
But no, there is no god.

But the guy with the black cloak, big pointy scythe, does the reaping thing and speaks in all CAPS, in Him, I do believe.