You think people who are real religious are on Jesus’s email list?  I mean, don’t tell me that you haven’t ever googled God.com.  You know it is out there, and while you’re not quite sure it is the real deally-o, you’re not exactly going to sign up for a membership with the email address of fuqoff@smallpp.com either.  You think Jesus gets spam?  OK, I see the problem with that query.  Every good Bible scholar knows that Jesus did turn unwanted pork products into Spam in the book of Pottedmeaticus; but that is not what I’m talking about.

I’m talking about the slew of unwanted emails that anyone who has ever been on any site on the world wide webular inevitably gets.  If you’ve ever been unable to persuade someone of whatever sex to crank your generator and looked at porno sites instead, then you’ve got more Spam than all of the Hawaiian Isles combined.  Before I go any further, what is the deal with all those Sumo-American fools diggin’ the potted meat?  Not to say that an occasional grilled Spam and cheese sandwich isn’t tasty; but my understanding is, those homebiscuits throw it down like a snap n’ pop around the 4th O’July.  That seems so strange to me seeing as how they have all that fresh fish and seafood everywhere around them.  I mean, I wonder if the same girl scout that came up with Samoa cookies convinced the rest of her troop that “potted meat” did not mean it came in a clay pot.  Did she have to tell them it was a taste explosion manufactured far before the entrails hit the butcher’s floor?  If she did, you know that ho-tater has like the biggest “Dr. Phil” badge on her accomplishment sash that anyone short of Oprah with a magnifying telescope has ever seen.  By the way, aren’t sashes just supposed to tell you where you’re from, like in case you get lost at a beauty pageant, as opposed to throwing all your alleged Little House On the Prarie-esque accomplishments on the common folk who have embraced the 21st Century?  John Rambo made due with a tarp and knife, but these girl scouts don’t have to wear a sash to force me to acknowledge they cleaned toilets at a geezer commune, or picked up dog turds at the park for 3 hours straight on 8 non-consecutive Sundays.

Anyway, Jesus is allegedly about to show back up…I think…I don’t really know.  I know that he did at one time, but I’ve never had religion forced on me enough to know if he’s like Santa Claus – he comes back every year - or like David Lee Roth and Van Halen – he only comes back when he needs more money.  Do you think Jesus and the Easter Bunny know each other?  Maybe the Easter Bunny was like the first pet that the Head Hippie In Charge received from God; but after realizing that he might be ready to die for everyones sins, he still wasn’t too keen on the idea of having to take care of a pet.  Due to Jesus being unable to care for his – crucifixion wasn’t exactly a believable excuse back then – he was given a special power,  and placed on Earth to bring happiness and joy to the rest of us non-celestial bastards.  How else are you going to explain a rabbit that lays colored eggs?  Short of Leslie Nielson pulling those eggs with finches out of that chick’s mouth in Airplane, I haven’t seen anything similar.

I guess no matter what flavor you believe the big sucker in the sky is, you still can’t say how many licks it takes to get to the center.  But, I think most everyone can agree that the thrill of licking your way there is what brings us together as people.  I hope you have a surge protector, because you might see some lightning after reading this.  I am not responsible in tort, nor blasphemy.

The Catholic church has been in hot holy water over the past couple of decades, as more and more cases of child molestation by clergy members come to the light – I used to think raking in millions upon millions of tax-free dollars every year was the most despicable thing churches did, until these stories began to surface.   Apparently some men of the cloth have been de-frocking their choir boy companions for years now, and the church has done all it can to keep these incidents under their pious, pointy hats.  Now, to be fair, Catholicism isn’t the only religious sect that has been involved in these allegations of gross misconduct – in both the figurative and literal sense – but their pathetic and veiled attempts at handling these cases has been a travesty.  For example, a 2006 BBC documentary titled Sex Crimes and the Vatican specifically talks about a secret church decree known as ‘Crimen sollicitationis’, which “imposes the strictest oath of secrecy on the child victim, the priest dealing with the allegation, and any witnesses…Breaking that oath means instant banishment from the Catholic Church – also known as excommunication.”  This has led to many molestation cases being handled internally – no pun intended – and also a reluctance by the church to work with civil authorities who investigate these types of cases.  One would think that an organization known for its lofty moral standards, a group of people who basically believe themselves to be the right hand of God, would want all the help they can get when it comes to finding kid diddlers within their ranks.  But as this recent story shows, the Vatican prefers issues of this nature to be shrouded in secrecy and handled in anonymity, instead of having their image damaged by a little thing like the truth.

Pope Benedict XVI on Sunday accused Belgian police of “deplorable methods” in raiding a bishops’ meeting as part of a pedophilia probe, as Brussels said the Vatican was over-reacting.

“I want to express… my closeness and solidarity in this moment of sadness – moment of sadness?!? Really?!? - in which, with certain surprising and deplorable methods, searches were carried out including in the Mechelen cathedral and in the premises where the Belgian episcopate was meeting in plenary session,” he said. 

Thursday’s raids were prompted by new claims of child abuse by members of the Catholic Church in Belgium, one of the countries worst hit by recent revelations of pedophilia by priests in Europe and North America.

In his letter Pope Benedict called for the respect of the Church’s own procedures for tackling abuse…He stressed that police had targeted a meeting that was due to address “amongst other things, aspects linked to the abuse of minors by members of the clergy.”  If you were a victim, would you be more comforted by law enforcement officers looking for hard evidence that the church was attempting to cover up, or a meeting among church leaders that included a “molestation is bad, m’kay” speech? “I have myself repeated numerous times that these serious facts must be dealt with by civil law and by canon law, in reciprocal respect of the specificity and autonomy of each,” added the pontiff, according to a copy of the letter released Sunday by the Vatican. Which basically means, “Law enforcement authorities should handle any crimes against the church; but we’ll deal with any crimes that are perpetrated by members of the church in our own way.”

A spokesman for the Belgian archdiocese, Eric De Beukelaer, insisted “the church doesn’t consider itself above the law.”…”The only thing we ask is whether the searches were proportional,” as the images went around the world and “gave a negative image of the church,” he told local television RTL-TVi.  All of the molestation accusations are apparently fine, but seeing images of a church being raided is seemingly the worst of their public relation concerns at the moment.

Police confiscated phones, computers and the archdiocese’s accounting system in a search for documents including any correspondence between alleged victims and the Catholic authorities…The Belgian Church was rocked in April when its longest-serving bishop, 73-year-old Roger Vangheluwe, resigned after admitting sexually abusing a boy for years.

Police also seized computer files at the home of the bishop’s predecessor Godfried Danneels, who was Belgium’s top cardinal for the past 20 years.  According to retired priest Dirk Deville, hundreds of cases of sexual abuse had been signaled to Danneels going back to the 1990s, leading to suspicions of a cover-up.(VIA)

The police should have just let comedian Louis C.K. handle the investigation, because he apparently has no problem getting the truth out of the Catholic church (Contains language – not recommended if you are the politically correct type either):

(Silky: I feel like shite, so here is a blast from Mr. Smith’s writing past for you to enjoy again- or for the first time if you’re a newcomer to the site.) 

The X-Files prided their X’s on convincing the masses that tuned in every week that Scully and Mulder’s eXploits were based on some form of the truth.  If you bought into the theory that anything one of those shows were based on was even a tad bit factual, you’re dumb enough to believe the FBI would hire two people named “Scully” and “Mulder”, and then make them partners.  That’s almost as dumb as putting two people named David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson in a TV show together.  Well, that may be the only true thing you can take away from that paragraph.

Believing in stuff never gets you anywhere other than wherever you got yourself.  You can attribute your success or failures to bad luck, karma, mojo or a pissed off higher being, but that ain’t got nothin’ to do with nun of it.  The only thing you can believe in that is real is yourself.  Now, you may cause your own bad luck by continually breakin’ into convenient stores with the same M.O. (see H.I. McDunnough and the fact that he only met his wife because she took all of his booking photos after his being arrested EVERY time he robbed a store).  ”The sun don’t rise and set with the corner grocery store,” somebody once said to him.

You can cause yourself bad karma by stepping on bugs, killing things and eating animals according to Hindus; who also worship something with a bunch of arms named Vishnu.  They’ve got a thing for mystical elephants as well – if I remember correctly from the two semesters of Asian Philosophy that I had to take in college, because I got a D the first time (For the record for whoever is recording, I got an A- the second time).  Them fools don’t have to believe in that karma shit to understand their problems.  If you go around killing bugs, inevitably, you’re not going to be looking at what you’re doing and you’ll fall in a hole, get run over or possibly electrify your innards.  Not paying attention is the number one fiscal flaw out there.  Killing things will get you injured or killed yourself, because sharp objects or projectiles – and from my experiences, a lot of alcohol – are in abundant supply.  And anytime you mix any of those with humans, you may have yourself a mini-crusade.  Swords, pocket knives and bayonets don’t seem that harmful until some Knight Who Says Ni, pissed off redneck, or French & Indian War veteran are trying to behead, stick or shiv ya.  Now in terms of an elephant, the more you fool around with those things, the bigger chance you have of being an wet spot underneath their foot after being tusked by their ivory.  Maybe that is what that Fleetwood Mac song is all about?  You’ve all been on YouTube and searched for videos under the terms “elephants gone wild”.  I’ll bet a bushel of peanuts that you came up with scores of videos of those big, non-forgetting, mouse frightened bastards putting their gourds down and tearing out from all three rings and turning everything into a multi-ton circus.  None of these happenings have to do with your failure to believe.  They all have to do with your failure to believe an intuition that proximity to dangerous shit can equal pain or death.

Some people buy into the “it’s God’s will” theory of looking at shit.  Those people either have a whole lot of money or none at all.  If anything, I’d like to be in God’s will.  If you buy into it, he could theologically leave you the pearly gates, box seats in Heaven, or a deceptively evil Apple tree in an otherwise beautiful peace of property he owns.  He’d probably make Jesus the executor though, and if you buy into all that, you’d be screwed; because he’d be able to turn pleadings into orders, and if there was a will contest lawsuit, what jury is going to rule against a guy that walks on water into the courtroom?  Whereas it may seem futile, as a lawyer I’d say if you feel as though you’ve been left out of God’s will and want to challenge Joseph & Mary’s son’s take, file a will contest.  You probably wouldn’t be able to pick a jury though.  The judge prior to any trial asks all the participants to stand up, and asks them if anyone knows them or their family.  Who hasn’t heard of Jesus?  Next to the Beatles, he’s pretty damn popular.  After all the mistrials due to the inability to pick a fair and impartial jury, I’d file for a DNA test.  You know you’ve got him by the sandals then.  That shit is coming back mortal, and you’ve got yourself a good ole fashioned family dispute screwin’.  Talk about something you can believe in.

I think some militant strain of Muslims believes in some theory that – if you kill yourself in a jihad for Islam – you will go to heaven and be rewarded with 72 virgins.  What is so weird about this – other than everything about it – is that the number of amateurs is so specific.  I mean it’s like you die, and you’re up there using an abacus or calculator on your iPhone to make sure you don’t get screwed.  I guess 70 means blowing yourself up was blown way out of proportion.  Another thing strange about believing in this theory is that you’d believe you were being rewarded by being given custody of virgins.  If you’re going to blow yourself up in the name of Allah, you should be rewarded with ahere whole mess of pornstars from such educational sites as “Big Naturals”.  You don’t want a gaggle of chicks that you have to splain thangs to.  Less talky talky and more……(Fill in you’re own sacrilegious remark . I’ve always thought sacrilegious means when a man prays that he doesn’t get hit in the balls).

In terms of the big picture, it’s like having a favorite team in professional sports that sucks for extended periods of time (or forever). Cubs fans can believe that the Cubs exist, but after that, they don’t have much goin’ for them – besides knowing they are going to suck every year, and choke at some point.  But believing in the Cubs is more reliable than the 3:00 a.m. pee a man with an enlarged prostate takes, so I can understand.  To be clear, I’m not against anybody believing in nothin’.  And by nothin’, I mean somethin’.  Believing in either nothin’ or somethin’ is purely a personal decision, so you’ve just got to believe you are making the right call and go with it.  Be sure to pick a winner, or you can try to cover all your bases before the game is over.

I have mentioned the Current TV network on several different occasions before, but the focus of those posts have always revolved around clips from their show SuperNews. However, they have plenty of great specials and serious documentaries that premiere each week, and I caught one last night titled “YouTube Prophet”.  Instead of trying to explain this bizarre video, which follows a religious group that calls themselves the “Sons of Thunder”, the video description on their site provides all the background you need:

John Crowder claims he met Jesus while on an acid trip (who hasn’t?) and now travels the world getting people quite literally high on God. He and his disciples ‘drink’, ‘inject’ and ‘smoke’ Jesus and spend much of their time seemingly wasted and posting bizarre sermon videos on YouTube. This half hour documentary follows John and fellow preacher Ben Dunn as they come to the UK to hold a massive rave for the UK members of the ‘Christian Mystic’ movement. Attending the gathering are some self-proclaimed atheist party animals who want to see whether they can get high on Jesus, and two curious theology students…

My wife was brought up in the Baptist faith.  I think this means she believes in wasting her Saturday nights for fear of not being able to answer the Sunday a.m. bell, in an attempt to prove they are all double dippin’ into the same vat of Holy Water.  The first time I heard the phrase “Holy Water” I thought they were talking about this chick I once knew named Holly Walker – who thankfully ended up marrying a guy with a less biblically confusable name.

As a result of this former belief in early risin’ and usin’ water to facilitate dyin’, I am now being subjected to something called “The Face of Jesus” on the History Channel.  In HDTV nonetheless.  I don’t know if HD comes after AC or DC?  Maybe it stands for “He’s Dead” TeleVision.  I haven’t the slightest Jew.  Well, while I’m talkin’ about the lot of people who supposedly killed Ole J.C., let me just mention I don’t understand the fear or hatred of these folks.  No one of the Jewish Faith has ever tried to Gefilte my fish without consent, or wrap my foreskin in tin mohel.  I have no clue about why people don’t like them for their alleged stinginess cause – the way I figure it – why wouldn’t they hoard all their shit?  That crazy goddamn German came through like it was a “pay for none, get more free” yard sale and took all their shit.  Hating Jews for being smart and caring for their shit so it doesn’t get stolen again is like criticizing Jamaicans for selling ganja.  What in the fuck else are you supposed to do mon?

A bunch of “theologians” – which I think also dabble in the study of the societal significance of the lone Huxtable manchild – are splainin’ why something called the “Shroud of Turin” is some kind of blanket with an “image” or “outline” of his Almighty Baptitude.  This thing is like the most historical blanket the world has ever seen.  Even more important than that rag Linus carried around while felatin’ his thumb.  These fools have CT Scanned it, MRI’d it, looked at it through x-ray glasses, and even had a telepathic quilter try to recreate it using papyrus and Mastodon pubes of the highest quality.  Nothing comes close.  This is the blankie of all blankies.  It holds what believers to be an image of J.C.’s mug.  It’s even got the biblical version of a chalk outline on it showing how emaciated His Holy Holiday Hamness allegedly was the last time he curled up.  The point seems to be that a whole bunch of motherfuckers have spent their entire professional lives all trying to figure out if this sacred shawl really represents what it is supposed to.  I’ll represent that – no matter what spin cycle you look at it in – it’s going to be a window into the actual face of Christ, or, just a goddamn blanket with some coincidental markings, stains and burnholes.

I could care less what you make of it.  You either buy into it and what it represents, or you think it is the earliest example of a Snuggie that was not carefully taken care of.  Suddenly, an old hippie appears looking all knowledgeable.  This cat is trying to use his hipdom to lend credence to his Clearwater revival theory that it was once used to treat leprosy.  It’s like a Holy version of those weirdly soaked towelettes.  Apparently, instead of just removing grease and BBQ sauce, this one could remove and heal the most sloughing skin.

“There’s a lot of blood on this shroud.  A tremendous amount of blood that flowed from the head.”  This fucking thing is really a Holy gauze pad.  “It is not just blood.  It is human blood.”  Well, I don’t know if that was so persuasive; because my sources tell me red crayons were hard to come by back then, and finger-pricks often filled the void.  I’ll admit, there does seem to be an outline of a mug on it.  I have no clue what The Holy Homie looked like when and if he holied it around the hood back between the times the Aussies blokes first struck a chord.  But personally, I think the picture looks more like an outline of Duane Allman wearing a headband.  That can’t be the case though.  He’s no angel.  The outline of what they claim is the body looks like the first ever depiction of those goofy, non-scary, just dropped the top hat and cane skeletons you always see on lawns during Halloween.

There have been sightings of members of the Holy Hall of Fame throughout culinary history.  In 2006, a cat named Mike Thompson encountered Jesus’ mug in a pancake.  His reaction?  Immediately put it for sale on eBay.  I guess you could say he was merely asking other breakfast believers to throw a little tithe in his direction.  Lord knows, Bisquick-based products are endorsed by the Who’s Who of Saints.  Apostles believe in Saint Jemima and the Krusteaz Ortho-mixed Christians.

The ever believable Juan “Anejo” Patranoonce found the face of Christ etched in the back of his frying pan.  I mean, if Christ ever wanted to share a picture of himself, putting it on the back of a frying pan is the obvious choice.  I hear etching your face on the back of a frying pan was once the biblical equivalent of Facebook.  If you wanted to get yourself out there and make friends, you wanted your mug seen every time the Last Supper of the day was cooked up.  I’ve never even heard of people of the biblical ilk every frying anything.  This is like finding some kind of fucking higher message on the back of an infomercial product.  I can see a goddamn headline on Yahoo! tomorrow, “Showtime Rotisserie grill cures man’s alcoholism!  Says it told him to set it down and to forget it!”  Or “The Jesusdazzler bejewels everything in biblical patterns!  Faux jewels haven’t been this holy since a strand of Liberace’s anal beads were donated to the Catholic Church.”

To some, the holiest of all food-related biblical manifestations was the face of the Virgin Mary found in Diana Duyser’s grilled cheese sandwhich.  Once Ole DD discovered she’d already ate half of Mary’s mug, she stopped.  She immediately knew this was a sign from God.  According to media reports, she kept this fucking thing on her nightstand for 10 years and it never molded.  She said during that time it stood by her each night, and she claimed it also brought “good luck at casinos”.  She eventually decided that this cheese based piece of holiness would best serve the world if it were sold to a casino on eBay for $28K.  Nothing says first ballot Heavenly Enterer like selling a fucking grilled cheese to some schmucks running a casino for enough gouda to bind up the oldest pay toilet in all of Skirtsland.

They are still talking about this fucking blanket.  It’s “weave” this,  it’s “burn holes” that.  These are the type of statements you usually overhear when quilters bitch about their crocheting neighbor, while drinking coffee and chain smoking Virginia Slims.  At some point, someone used something anti-religious called “science” – as in, it blinded Thomas Dolby – to “carbon date” this thing, and it came back as only being around 700 hundred years old.  Oooops!  Damn the luck.  So either Jesus, Christ or the Almighty gave some caveman the making of history’s first science kit, or you think these fuckers put us here and gave us the ability to make up shit to confuse us.  Carbon dating isn’t talkin’ about two elements hitting on each other.  It’s talking about using elle-uh-mints – that everyone agrees exist – to figure out how old something is through a radiometric method using naturally occurring radioisotope carbon-14 in determining the age of carbonaceous materials.  This thing is turba-charged to figger out dates about 58,000 to 62,000 years ago.  Ooooops!  Science is ripe as the mail.  Come on darlin’, let’s ignore the truth.

“Say for instance, this shroud was on trial.  I believe the jury would say it is authentic.”  Some guy just said this then when talking about the evidence of Jesus’ existence, Easter and all that other jazz.   Whereas I can buy into the whole Mr. Wizard meets David Carusso and they blow shit up with a Mythbusters approach to deciding what is real and what isn’t, I don’t understand how a fucking sacred blanket or quilt could ever be put on trial for anything?  This just in, “Could the face on the shroud be a metaphor for the universe itself?”  If you want to know that, get one of those Peter Frampton microphones and ask Stephen Hawking, Vista 7 or any other compatible version what the fucking truth is.  That creepy voiced bastard is going to tell you ANYTHING could be a metaphor for anything else, metaphorically speaking.  If you compare the two by using one thing in place of the other during communication.  As in, if you’re speaking metaphorically, you’re using other means to communicate the same thing.

Well if I watch any more of this, I’m going to pour out my wine and turn water into a conduit for the ingestion of some form of benzodiazepine.  Water into wine?  Fuck that.  Sober into high would be more impressive.

P.S.  I do not have anything against you believing in whatever you believe in, and at the same time, I could not care less if you disagree or are offended by anything I have said above.  It’s Easter.  Go get a ham.

(P.S. Sorry about all the sodomy)

I’m either going to attempt to explain something unexplainable, or I’m simply going to further cement my first class seating on Air Hell whenever my spit of life quits rotating.  Anyway, I was doggy paddling around the web looking for something to either make me laugh, piss me off or inquire about things not covered in the tabloids found in the checkout line of the dry goods depot of your choice, and I noticed some blurb about The Pope apologizing for something.  Pope and apology made me think he was finally going to admit he stole that dark pink tea cozy he wears on the slope of the back of his gourd from a flaming Jew – I’m talking about gayspeople.  Not genocide.  It’s religion.  Everyone’s got gays.  But then it hit me like a fat woman taking out a bulimic in the buffet line for the last corn nugget.  Pope Benedict XVI was going to issue a “pastoral letter” apologizin’ for all the sodomizin’.  He’s issuing this little note of apology to the Catholics in Ireland for all the children being sexed up by Father Pete O’Phelia.  Basically, the Pope BeenDicking told the Irish Catholics, “Hey, sorry about all the red touchin’, butt fuckin’ and dick suckin’ by all those priests.  As soon as we realized we had known it, kept meticulous records about it, and had to produce them as a part of discovery in a lawsuit, it was quickly stopped.”

I’ve never been molested by anything other than a horny and confused dog, but I don’t think a written apology is going to get anyone over the ole “corn holeconfession”.  What did the Priest say to the altar boy who asked why he didn’t like the big breasted parishioner who always set in the front row at mass?  “Hell, Mary ain’t never turned me on.” – Sorry about that.  Sometimes jokes come into my head and I have produce them before they are forgotten – or believed to be much funnier then they first were.

It is acceptable to write apology letters for all kinds of shit.  Say you drank all your wife’s Mike’s Hard Lemonade Lite while she – or any of friends you respect – wasn’t looking because you fear being ridiculed for liking puss drinks.  If you can’t find an “I’m sorry I’m a puss…” card at Hallmark, you can put your sorrow for fear of embarrassment into writing and still be within the realm of decency.  If you accidentally hit a child in the head after losing  control jacking off a Wiimote while trying to get “True Jedi” on Lego Star Wars, a Post It note should be more than enough room to express your sorrow.  Getting drunk and puking all over a member of the opposite sex may require some denomination of greenback attached thereto.  It is widely accepted, however, that a sufficient apology for said college rite of passage may also be verbalized into written form.

If there was an acceptable way of sincerely apologizing for years of sexual abuse, it would read like the nastiest Penthouse Letter you’d ever skipped over to look at the pictures.  You can’t pull a Tiger Woods and stiffly apologize by simply saying “I’m sorry”, and then claiming everything else is between you and the altar boys.  Either say it face to face, or, write it like it was and how it will be.  You can’t truly apologize for something unless you describe what it is you’re apologizing for.  Fuck, the only place you can apologize without saying what you’re apologizing for and avoid giving any specific answers regarding specifics of your prior apathetic behavior is on ESPN.  They fall for phony apologies quicker than Kobe Bryant’s wife while getting her 10 Carat Canary Diamond ring sized.

Pope BeenDickin’ For16 Years said he was “truly sorry” for the “sinful and criminal” behavior, and was papal enough to acknowledge the “serious mistakes” made by the clergy.  Well, ain’t that sweet.  Truly, his Papalness must be sorry if he’s writing a letter to admit the group he’s given his whole life to was doin’ more diddlin’ than that black guy with the big shades, cowboy hat and square guitar.  Since he only had the rosary beads to write out his sorrowtude, you’ve almost got to wonder if the “serious mistakes” he was allegedly apologizin’ for was the clergy’s getting caught with their penis in the sphincter jar.  You may have been able to surmise that the actual folks who were pope-a-doped against their will weren’t really thrilled with their letter.  Just because it has a Forever Stamp on the envelope, don’t mean it’s contents will hang around for years to come.  Having unwanted cocks in your orifices will tend to piss you off.  Especially when you’re praying to God it will stop, and the person wielding the cock is praying to God it won’t.

One person or thing that thought the letter was groovier than the knee marks on the Archbishop’s office carpet was the “Primate of All Ireland” Sean Cardinal Brady (I have TBS and I ain’t heard Marsha or any of those motherfuckers mention an Irish relative).  Maybe Clyde got across the pond and was every which way but loose enough to convince them tater eaters that he was the shit.  I did not read anything saying Sean Cardinal Brady had to be coerced into commenting with bananas or video of Principal Richard Vernon after being duped by Winthorpe and Billy Ray Valentine.  The Archbishop of Dublin Diarmuid Martin gave it two lubed fingers up.  I have no idea why anyone even asked either two of whoever these guys are about their opinion of what their boss said.  I have no facts to back this up, but I’d bet wine to water these two religious fuckers  – as the case may or may not be – have been around long enough to either have been parted like the Red Sea against their will, or will to look the way at the sexually miraculous acts of their fellow clothed kindred.

To be clear, my dad’s family is Irish and Catholic.  He has 8 brothers and 1 sister.  Seven of the 9 boys are named “Joseph”.  Their sister is named “Mary Patricia”.  I’ve always said there should be a special on FOX about my dad’s childhood called “When Catholicism Attacks!”  When my friend sued the molestation out of the Catholic Church and got so much dough I considered a blowjob or three for a piece of the papal pie, I tried to convince my dad to unrepress memories of his rectory being violated.  Unfortunately, one of his oldest brothers was/is a total badass and all the men of the sticky cloth in town knew to stay away from the Smith boys – or they’d have as close as they’d know to hell to pay.  I got married in a castle in Ireland.  When I get the chance, I drink like an Irishman who left a trail of Jameson bottles while finding his way out of the Burren.  My wife and I had a Celtic Priest fasten our hands on the Cliff’s of Moher – not Mordor you LOTR nerds.  We honeymooned there, and castle snobbed it up at Waterford, Ashford, Glen, Ballinalacken and Dromoland.  We got smashed at Temple Bar, watched, and even won a bet on the Irish Football Finals.  So, it is not as though I’m just down on their predominant religion like those who propagate it on parishioners.  I just don’t think a group of any affiliation can simply apologize for years of horrific abuse by writing a fucking letter explaining how sorry you are for all the pain and sorrow you caused over the decades.  I mean, doggone it, it didn’t work for Michael Vick.  At the very least, BeenDickn’ 16 should have to be interviewed on ESPN, or been a guest on The View.

I know less about religion than being an overweight, gay, vegetarian with a lisp.  Alright, so I know about the overweight part, but I ain’t got a fucking clue about the other ingredients.  I have been theorizin on a lot of the theories behind Easter lately.  I don’t really know what has made me think about what I don’t know, but when I know, I’ll be sure to say how I figured out that I knew it.  Beyond never buying into organized religion – I mean church and not some puss form of a sports league – I’ve especially never bought into ANYTHING other than medical problems limiting the style of chow you shovel down your alchy-hole.  If a doctor isn’t tellin’ you to lay off something because your blood has the viscosity of gravy, or your ass is one cheeseburger away from its own congressman, eat what you want.  You only get one life to be a fat ass, and you should make the most of it IF you’ve decided to take the fat cart down the path of life.

Quickly, if you’re so fucking fat that you have to ride an especially equipped and dumbed down Vespa to make your way around the goddamn grocery store, what does that say about you?  If you’re that fat, the gravitational pull surrounding your body should enable you to pull shit off the shelves when you get within a foot or so – like some kind of “Fat Force”.  The Force is strong in that fat one.

Anyway, why is a ham the choice for religious feasting to celebrate Jesus’ RSVP’ing dinner?  I thought he had some kinda connection to Jewish people or something.  My whole theory on Jesus’ – is that the proper way to say Jesus possessed something? And I ain’t talkin’ about pre-exorcism here people – bein’ down with the Jews is based on what I learned from a Kinky Friedman song called, “They Ain’t Makin’ Jews Like Jesus Anymore”.  Damn good song.  Listen to it, and once you get passed what you initially think is a whole mess of racism, you’ll see the after school-like message contained therein.  But – to get back on Target like a discount retail chain – why would whatever flavor of whoever want to flog swine in honor of His Holyfullness comin’ to grub out, if the mere presence of the fare was going to piss them off?  Only thing I can think of is that ham was the cheapest of all the dinner meats, and the sacrileligiosity of it was eclipsed by its cost effectiveness.  What the fuck is a motza ball anyway?  I originally thought it was some sort of spherical meat like object made by a person from Sweden with bad teeth and a lisp.  Apparently, it is something made out of something other than meat, and it tastes like something else entirely different.  They have the color of dried dog turds.  Not quite chalky enough to write with or mistake for crack, but just the right color to keep you from stepping in/on it.

If one of the basis of you getting into your version of Valhalla is your diet, you should give up on that shit and risk going to hell for eating what you want.  Can you imagine being in the chow line waiting to take a number to get deep fried for the rest of eternity, and pulling the number right after Hitler and just before John Wayne Gacy?  That ain’t nothin’ to clown around about.  I say shave your Charlie Chaplin mustache and tell the powers that is to suck your nuts, cause what you ate shouldn’t have relegated you to the same fate as a couple of first ballot Evil Hall of Famers.  Timothy McVeigh says, “I’m in here for blowing up a federal building, and killing a bunch of people.  I deserve to die and go to hell.”  Jack Jacobson says, “Yeah.  I know where you’re coming from.  I ate a pig in a blanket, and a fucking corn dog during Sha Na Na.  I knew I shouldn’t have had that extra glass of Manischewitz either.”

What is this whole shit about not being able to eat meat on Fridays?  You go from considering the swine a sacred bounty worthy of all those who arise from the dead, to telling all your believers to lay off meat on Fridays for some goddamn reason?  Even if the cow, lamb, turtle, squirrel or Sasquatch was tortured before you ate its flesh, you had nothing to do with that shit.  Culpability doesn’t start with digestion – unless you’re fucking Jeffrey Dahmer, or a member of a rugby team who survived a plane crash.

As a result of the almighty makin’ all these menu choices, believers keep themselves from going to hell by eating fish-like sandwiches from McDonald’s.  I think you can get two, medium fries and a vat of the beverage of your choice with a #3 McHeaven Meal.  At what point in the drive-thru line do you start to question your faith?  When the garbled, Stephen Hawking with a crick in his computer voice comes over the speaker asking in tongues what Jesus wants you to eat?  Or is when you realize salvation comes in small, medium and large sizes?  When the hell is someone going to quit worrying about going there, and start questioning what kind of a fucking fish is square?  They all end up breaded, but I ain’t never seen a free swimming square fish.  Basically, the crux of a heavenly mandated meal should not look like something conjured up from forcing a bunch of random fish flesh through a fucking Play-Doh mold.  I guess if you were fishing for one of these seasonal square fish, you’d just have to put a glob of tartar sauce on your hook – because you never see one that’s not covered in that shit.

Well, I’m getting back in the orientation line in hell.  Mussolini is bitching about having to save my spot, and fucking Ty Cobb has already fired off a couple of rounds in my direction.  Love, peace and here comes Jesus week…

Hugh “Marjoe” Gortner was born in Long Beach, California on January 14, 1944 to Vernon and Marge Gortner.  Vernon Gortner was a third generation Penecostal minister, and he noticed early on that Marjoe was very adept at mimicking things he had seen on the TV, heard on the radio, or witnessed other people doing.  Seeing the potential in this, Marjoe was taught to deliver sermons at a very young age  By age four, his parents touted him as “the world’s youngest ordained minister in history” - althought the person who ordained him was not known, and many believe this never actually took place.  Soon Marjoe and his parents were traveling the United States holding revivals, and raking in cash through the use of several money making tactics they had taught their son – which included the sale of articles the family had deemed to be “holy”.  Marjoe would later estimate that between the ages of 4 and 12, his family had “fleeced his flock of an estimated $3 million” – which would equate to over $20 million in today’s dollars. 

Shortly after Marjoe’s sixteenth birthday, Vernon Gortner deserted his wife and son, and took all the money they had accumulated since their traveling revivals began.  Marjoe then decided to leave his mother, and he headed to San Francisco to experience the “peace and free love” movement that was sweeping the west coast.  After discovering that love was pretty much the only thing in California that was free, the preacher-turned-hippie decided to take his healing act back on the road to remedy his financial woes.  By the late 1960′s Marjoe suffered what he called a “crisis of conscience” and decided to make one final tour, complete with a camera crew to document the experience.  The documentary was made under the pretense that it would simply chronicle the life and times of a viable minister and his ministry, but Marjoe used it as a sort of behind the scenes look at the dirty secrets that take place under the guise of evangelism.  The resulting film was appropriately titled Marjoe, and it would go on to win the 1972 Academy Award for Best Documentary.  Here is the movie in its entirety:  

The earthquake that rocked Haiti on Tuesday was just one of the many natural disasters to hit this small Caribbean island over the years.  In fact, there have been 15 disasters that required some form of aid being sent from the United States since 2001 alone - including tropical storms or hurricanes in 2004, ’05 & ’08, and severe floods in 2002, twice in ’03, ’06 & ’07.  Scientists have pointed to quite a few factors that explain this disturbing trend, and the two main culprits involve Haiti’s location – one being that it lies within the normal geographical path of hurricanes, and the other is the presence of tectonics (consult your 3rd grade science book if you need a refresher).  The other causes of these catastrophes are a result of “man-made” problems that plague the country, such as deforestation, poor building standards, and a high population density – which all have a basis in the high poverty rate of this small republic. 

However, there are those out there who don’t put a whole lot of faith into explanations that involve frivolous things like “scientific evidence”, “research”, or “geology”.  People like 700 Club frontman Pat Robertson - a species I hope doesn’t exist - believe this earthquake was caused by a longstanding curse that is the result of a gentlemanly agreement the Haitian people once made with the supernatural Lord of the Netherworld.  That’s right.  According to Robertson, the Haitians continue to serve Satan because he was kind enough to rid their land of those dirty cheese eating surrender monkeys back in the 1800′s - crazy or not, it does sound like a pretty fair deal when you really think about it.. 

Note: I am in no way making light of the horrible situation in Haiti, but merely pointing out the tragedy of Pat Robertson having a media avenue to spread his insanity.  If you would like to help the relief efforts, take a look at the many organizations that are accepting assistance.  

Here are some more quotes from the best-selling Book of all-time, and my twisted take on their intended meanings (Part I once was lost, but can now be found here).

Quote #3: “But put forth thine hand now, and touch all that he hath, and he will curse thee to thy face.”

Translation: Use the hand that God gave you to red touch some poor bastard like a child molester with poison ivy on Mother Fun and Her Four Fun Fingers; and after you make like a Catholic priest, the molestee will cuss you like a Catholic hitting a closed liquor store on the way to Midnight Mass.

Analyzation: I guess they had the Biblical version of Chris Hanson and To Catch a Predator, because this sounds like a sting operation to me.  Maybe it was called To Shackle the Unholy, and was hosted by the Apostle Entrapment.  These Biblicaphiles should have known something was up the minute they jumped onto their mule to head to town.  No descendant of the co-conspirator to the great Apple Eat Off In the Jungle would request overly fruity wine, an ounce of donkey snot, and some papyrus with pictures of detunic’d followers of the Word.  I bet Father Pete O’Phelia made sure all his altar boys lived by the virtue of these words.  This damn line seems to be saying you can jerk off guys at the the direction of God, and merely receive a cussing in return.  There apparently was no sex offender registry back then.  Maybe they had a “Recently Cussed List” posted all over hamlets to and fro throughout the Earth.

Quote #4: “After God (or Satan) kills Job’s first set of kids, he is given an even better set – with even prettier daughters!”

Translation: “After God (or Satan) kills Job’s first set of kids, he is given an even better set – with even prettier daughters!”

Analyzation: This nail wasn’t too hard to pull from the cross.  Sometimes murders do giveth and taketh away.  There were two main suspects in the murder of Job’s “first set of kids”, but there wasn’t enough evidence to charge either God or Satan.  I guess God and Satan take into account the appearance of a kid – or set of kids – before they afflict them with a disease, strike them with lightning, or have them freakishly stabbed in the heart with a crucifix by the Crucifix Searcher.  It is good to know that the alleged two most powerful beings in the sky like to break out a little Vulcan Death Pinch on an unsuspecting group of young ‘uns.  If you thought all the “be good for goodness sake” and Santa Claus shit kept your yutes in line, imagine if you told them, “Be good for your life’s sake, because if thou isn’t, you will be killed and replaced with new and improved models.”

Well, that is all I can do for now, because a guy that hired me expects me to be prepared for his trial on Friday.  “Innocent this, innocent that.  I didn’t do this, I might have done that.”  Having a license to do shit isn’t all it’s cracked up to be; because if you’re paid to do something, you have to actually do it.  Sometimes my Job can be stressful.  However, as long as I remember to walk upright, I should keep my suit from getting holes in the knees and being covered in dirt.  Being an erectus heterosexual is half the battle.  And with that, I’ll leave you with a biblically-related word and definition.

Sac-Religious: The act of praying to God you will not be hit in the sack by some foreign object, appendage, or piece of sports equipment that is seemingly headed towards your groin area.