Is Your God An Advertisement?

As of this very moment of writing, there have been 4,318 American casualties in Iraq since the initial occupation of the country.  There have been an estimated 1,320,110 Iraqi deaths.  There have been 712 U.S. military deaths in Afghanistan since the invasion.  There are 138 international journalists dead from participation in military reporting.  And perhaps most shockingly, 1,306 contractor employee deaths in Iraq – almost a third of the military death total – and rising.  They are all still rising.   Why?

“God.”

This is, of course, the usual response from our last president, George W. Bush.  This was a selling point for all the action, pushed daily through Christianity-based fliers distributed by Donald Rumsfeld himself.  Whenever a tough military decision was made, or more lives were put at risk, the justification was always that God had made some kind of declaration, and since the 2004 election was a mandate for President Bush’s power, there would be no reason to second guess not only God, but our very own citizens.  And it’s not to say that God is a poor thing to die for, or an ultimately ridiculous guiding force.  But when we look at the concept of God, (or for some, the absolute power of God,) we have to realize that your God isn’t my God.  Or at least not right now.

A recent study has shown that 15% of Americans consider themselves atheists, and some even suggest that the rates for teenage atheists could be double or triple that amount.  This comes dangerously close to toping the number of people who actually approved of Bush’s job as President.  However, this group receives almost no consideration when it comes to public policy, and has only one representative in the United States Senate: Barry Sanders from Vermont, (who perhaps by no coincidence, is also a socialist.) But is our concern really an atheist stronghold in American politics, or rather the unreasonable focus on Christianity in America?

Four names should appear familiar from recent encounters with the media: David Vitter, Larry Craig, John Ensign, and Mark Sanford.  All are successful Republican politicians.  All have been considered leaders in their religious communities.  And all have been involved in extramarital affairs.  Furthermore, they were instrumental in the outcry against Bill Clinton and his off-color dalliances, scandals, and lies.  Obviously, Clinton’s actions are inexcusable, but his position of power was not achieved on the basis of “family values,” “morality voting,” or “the power of Christ.”  Again, it is God who is found to be a uniting force of evil – a gigantic trust of misused emotion. 

God is being denounced by his very own followers, not atheists.  The same people that claim him as their guiding force, their all powerful light of truth, are using Him for their own well being.  To win elections. To avoid prosecution.  To justify actions that by all means are unjustifiable.   Are all Christians abusing their faith?  Not at all.  But shouldn’t we, as an oft-described “Christian Nation,” be more upset with those who are using God as a means for criminality?  As a means for destruction?  As a means for deplorable behavior?  The anger should never be directed toward atheists.  They have their beliefs, (and far better records when it comes to criminal behavior,) and you have yours.  But if you want a worthy fight,  abandoning party lines or partisan action, why not fight against those who are cheapening the word of God?  Is your God an advertisement?

(Written 6.19.09)

Harry Potter Sucks, And You Might, Too.

As far as I know, the latest Harry Potter movie opened last night to roaring crowds and sidewalks filled with pimply-faced do-gooders dressed like broomstick riding bums.  I am not a fan.  Here’s 4 simple reasons why. 

1.  Wizardry is For Kids, Not Aspiring Doctors

If you are anywhere between the ages of 7 and 14 and have not read any of the Harry Potter books, I would be glad to give you the 3 that I own: The Sorcerer’s Stone, The Chamber of Secrets, and The Prisoner of Azkaban.  At this fragile age where poop jokes are still fresh and pubic hair is still a dream, I see no harm in Potter and his stories of witchcraft.  As a matter of fact, I encourage it.  But when you get past that high school plateau, or even worse yet, well into your 20’s or 30’s, it’s time to realize what you are reading about: Teens and pre-teens fighting beasts and warlocks.  Beasts and warlocks. Past a certain age limit, I might even consider the fascination with Harry Potter pornographic.  In any other circumstance, if a man in his mid-twenties were to follow the every day happenings of a fourteen year old British boy, we would be hearing about it on Nancy Grace.  It’s strange.  It’s not kosher.  And it’s certainly not encouraging for your future as a heterosexual male.  There comes a time when your dreams should evolve past the simple concepts of childish magic and into the proper fantasies of the mature American mind: breasts and hard liquor.

2. It Is Not A Good Enough Series To Consider Your Entire Literary Canon

If Facebook is any indication, (and to be honest, Facebook is EVERY indication,) the majority of young Americans haven’t ventured very far into literature.  With the exception of required readings, I’d be willing to say that most people between the ages of 14 and 25 have not read more than 1 book for pleasure in their life.   Page after page showcase a very similar collection when it comes to ‘Favorite Books’: “I don’t read.”  And although this is obviously a shameful admission, I almost find it equally disgusting when the only books listed are Harry Potter or the Bible.  It’s like a straight-faced confession that you haven’t even tried to look for something with some literary depth – nothing with the bite that could create some mental stimulation.  No.  It’s Harry Potter, the Bible, or nothing.  And it’s a damn shame, because there are so many books that young adults would find so much more interesting: hard-boiled drug anecdotes, middle-class tear jerkers, and plenty of worthwhile tales of dramatic excellence.  You all seem to love Fight Club, but how many of you have read it?  The Wizard of Oz?  Oh – I apologize.  I forgot that we are the same generation that has fallen in love with Donnie Darko, a movie so hollow that Keanu Reeves could have crawled inside of it and died, and so blindly appealing to the ADHD culture of Generation Y that it makes Johnny Knoxville puke.  But you can sit through 700 pages of a kid fighting puberty with a magic wand.  It’s incredible. 

 

The Harry Potter craze is the closest thing to a virginity spell that the world will ever see.

3. Do You Know What An Archetype Is?  You Would If You Read More Than Harry Potter

An archetype is very simple: a prototype has been created, only to be copied, patterned, and furthered through more works.  You know them by heart.  Good vs. Evil.  Dark vs. light.  The tragic fall.  The mentor figure.  The geeky hero.  Every piece of literature uses them.  Every 80s movie was drowning in them.  But my problem with Harry Potter is that it uses ALL of them.  For a lot of the reasons that I find Star Wars to be an overrated franchise, I find Harry Potter to be a mere continuation of the same plotline simplicity.  How much character depth does Harry Potter really have?  I’d say he is about as deep as the puddle of drool I leave after falling asleep from the first 4 pages of The Goblet of Fire.  He is a shiny glaze over the same prototypical hero that we have seen for years.  There are no real twists to his character.  You’re never forced to fret over whether Harry will do the right thing.  Of course he will!  Because you are supposed to be 10 when you are reading these damn things, and the encouragement of honesty and integrity should be pivotal in your development as a human being!  But by the time you’re 34, a lonely woman in a studio apartment eating Fig Newtons by the sleeve and hoping Prince Charming will storm right through the door and into your Hello Kitty bedspread, it should be strikingly apparent that the traits of honesty and integrity have passed you over: You’ve been lying to yourself for years.  It’s not that you are too smart for every one else, it’s that every one else realizes you can’t bathe yourself with a magic wand, stinky.  Now THIS kind of character would be a break from archetypal sludge!  Perhaps I’ve underestimated your true motives!…  Naw.  You disgust me.

4. Harry Potter is a Cult, and Not Even the Good Kind Where All of the Morons End Up Killing Themselves

It’s as simple as that.  For some reason, every Harry Potter fan thinks they are special for understanding the complex and uplifting tale of this teenage wizard, but if 30 million people are rushing out to grab this piece of melodramatic slime every time a new one is published, you can’t be that special.  Part of the allure of a cult phenomenon , (Rocky Horror Picture Show or The Residents, for instance,) is that you share this treasure with a very small group of people who truly understand how amazing the feature is.   Not every one gets it, man, and that is what is cool.  It’s an exclusive club of people that figured it out.  But Harry Potter is all inclusive, and therefore, a braindead flock of sheep that couldn’t dare stray away from the rest of the world, but somehow convince themselves that they have broken away from the hustle and bustle of reality.  When Jim Jones led nearly 1,000 of his followers into the jungle of Guyana, they followed because they thought Jones was offering them a secret paradise that everyone else had failed to grasp.  And as the government filed in to take control of the situation, the followers were forced to kill themselves.  As devastating as this was, the loss of nearly a thousand brainwashed UFO Christians, I find it even more devastating to know that there’s no way the same feat can be accomplished with the Harry Potter maniacs.  There’s just far too many of them to huddle into an isolated South American country.  And as a true humanitarian, I can’t encourage you to hurt or kill the Harry Potter elitists, but I can insist that you refuse any medical assistance they should need in times of emergency.  It’s the least you can do for your country and the betterment of mankind.  And if they know so much about magic, they can save themselves.

Enjoy your movies.  I can honestly say I enjoy those.  And I can’t wait until Daniel Radcliffe winds up a drug-addled Hollywood mess and Emma Watson becomes a softcore porn actress.

61 Points of Loathing – (Small Scale for the Ladies)

61 Points of Loathing

Why 61?  It’s the number of home runs Roger Maris hit in the magical upside-down year 1961 to break the single season record, only to be ridiculed by fans and neglected by the Hall of Fame.  But dammit, he looked like a ballplayer.

1.  The worse your haircut is, the more attractive you seem to become.  I don’t know if it takes away from the God-awful pucker faces these emo kids have, but their swish-top haircuts are always the rave. 

2. There is no such thing as an athletic role model anymore.  Even if you aren’t on the juice, cheating on your spouse, yelling at officials, or fathering illegitimate children…you might tomorrow.

3. “Politics is Hollywood for ugly people.”  (Truth.)

4.  I have a 2004 Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Calendar on my wall.  Not only have I outgrown the need to plaster my surroundings with half naked women, but I can’t even keep up with a normal schedule.  Obsolete. 

5.  Men: Is it possible to watch a female eat a banana without thinking something dirty?

6. Women: With that being said, there are other sources of potassium, you know…

7. Women again: …and protein…

8. Women for the third time: I’m sorry.

9.  In 1970, Dock Ellis pitched a complete game no-hitter while under the influence of LSD. 

10. In 2008, Alex Denison had a near-death experience after 2 energy drinks and a flight of stairs. 

11.  I was asked at dinner last night whether men would be needed at all if women could asexually reproduce.  After years of training as a red-blooded chauvinistic pig, I still couldn’t come up with one reason we would ever be kept around…

12.  The lead singer of Slayer is a practicing Catholic.  I weep for all the braindead metalheads who think that they are hearing the words of Satan’s henchmen. 

13.  Before there was Buckcherry’s “Crazy Bitch”, there was Leonard Cohen’s 1974 ballad “Chelsea Hotel #2”.  “I remember you well at the Chelsea Hotel.  You were talking so brave and so sweet.  Giving me head on the unmade bed, while limousines wait in the street.”

14.  The preceding was the first time Buckcherry and Leonard Cohen have ever been used in the same area code, let alone sentence.

15.  A friend tried to tell me that all of the 9/11 hijackers are still alive.  I don’t have a punchline.  I think this speaks for itself.

16.  BABA-BOOEY.  Do people still do that?

17. Text message sent to friend: “Yeah, we’re going to see Bruno tonight at the theaters.”

18.  Text message received in reply: “Oh yeah – You going to get a BJ from a 16 year old?”

19.  The same friend once said he would have sex with an Arby’s roast beef sandwich.  I think he may still be my friend because he makes me feel better about myself.

20.  I don’t believe most of the items on Post Secret.  If you give people the opportunity to send you an anonymous confession on a postcard, you had better expect them to be dramatic and hyperbolic.  This may come back to haunt me, but I don’t think this many people genuinely despise their immediate family.

21.  Thank goodness for a text clarification from previous friend: “You know.  In the theater.”

22.  61 is an extremely ambitious number for something only I will ever read.

23.  I knew a girl that used to write about me in her diary, and with each passing day, I more deeply consider breaking into her home and stealing it.  And then lighting her home on fire.  The two incidents are not related.

24.  Too much concentration is put into erectile dysfunction medication.  I understand that it is awful to be old and impotent, but for the love of God, there must be a reason why it doesn’t work anymore.  Take a hint, raisin-sack.

25.  I never want to have daughters.  I would never let them leave the house and consequently would go insane from the menstruation typhoon that would drown me in middle-age.

26.  The top three songs of the past decade: 3. “Grace Kelly” by Mika.  2. “Crazy” by Gnarls Barkley. 1. “Rehab” by Amy Winehouse.  Reason being?  None of them sound like they were made anytime in the last decade.

27.  I want to hate John Mayer but I can’t.

28.  Will.I.Am wants to be relevant, but isn’t.  (Does anyone remember on election night when they beamed him in on CNN via Star Wars hologram?  Moments like this lead me to believe that the Dark Ages couldn’t have been this bad.)

29.  The number one fear of all Americans is public speaking. 

30.  The number one reason we don’t have more doctors is a college pre-calculus requirement.

31.  (I’m fine with that.  I’m not sure I want a doctor who isn’t confident with his pre-calculus abilities.  Trigonometry and anatomy are eerily similar.)

32.  Whoever it was that sat down and figured out all of the theorems, formulas, and statistical boundaries of mathematics is simply an asshole.  An asshole.

33.  Whatever happened to Spain?  Not to sound ignorant, but are they even a country anymore?

34.  The further you go in advanced education, the more likely you are to be a liberal.  Liberal response: “The enlightenment of the mind.”  The right-wing response: “Liberal brainwashing!”

35.  No one likes the Beatles as much as they say they do.

36.  The current rate of American drug consumption has fueled gang-related terrorism near our southern border, resulting in numerous innocent deaths and a continuing threat of violence, which leads me back to what I’ve been saying this entire time: Down with whitey.

37.  It is impossible to lead a cow upstairs, but not downstairs.  So never build your slaughter house in the attic.

38.   More than half of American families  with teenagers use internet filters to limit access to adult material.  The rest have fathers looking for the perfect bonding opportunity. 

39.  Who the hell is Kim Kardashian?

40.  There is virtually no use for bird-baths.  Unless you fill them with sulfuric acid. 

41.  Why do the mentally handicapped make such great dishwashers?

42.  50 Bibles are sold every minute in the world. The Bible is also the world’s most shoplifted book.  In unrelated news, I hate Republicans. 

43.  The most recent lyric to come through my stereo system: “All the fluids of your mother, I can barely stand in your lake of juices.  And the doctor asked me, where do all your parts go?”  (Art: An excuse to say anything.)

44.  “Go.”  That is an entire sentence.  And it is aesthetically disgusting. 

45.  I wish there really were monsters under children’s beds.  Monsters that threatened bodily harm if kids didn’t put down their video games and study.  Monsters: the perfect cure for ADHD. 

46.  It’s impossible to sneeze with your eyes open, but it is too easy to shit your pants while sneezing. 

47.  A fetus develops fingerprints at just 17 weeks in the womb.  THIS IS WHY WE HAVE TO ACT FAST, LIBERAL BABY-KILLERS.

48.  Previously mentioned friend text update: “Whatever, nigga.”

49.  I’ve been having awful dreams about John McCain’s daughter Meghan.  To make a long story short, yes she is naked, and no, I don’t get to enjoy any of the alcohol from the bottle that is smashed over my head.

50.  My mom has a thing for broken noses and mustaches.  I’ve been trying to hook her up with Rollie Fingers for years. ( http://i578.photobucket.com/albums/ss226/picturesforworknothingelse/250_rollie_fingers.jpg )

51.  In 1899, someone told President McKinley that, “everything that can be invented has already been invented.”  If only that were true.  Without the fleshlight, we would be a much more productive society. 

52.  The Fleshlight, if you were unaware, is the best selling adult item in the world.  If you don’t know what it is, think about it for a second, and you’ll probably be right.

53.  Surprisingly, inflatable sheep do not make the top 10. 

54.  I know more attractive Sara(h)’s than any other name.  This could be because it is a popular name, or because I assume all attractive strangers are named Sarah.

55. The ocean is scarier than space.  There might be aliens in space, but there are definitely icky fish things with lights on their heads in the ocean.
http://oddplaza.blogspot.com/2008/02/1.html – Find me anything like that in space, and I’ll gladly pitch a tent in the desert forever.

56.  My friend David Conway writes about sports.  He writes well.  And unlike myself, he doesn’t have to talk about tranny hookers for anyone’s attention.  What the hell, I’ll plug him up as well:   http://www.chicagosportssuck.wordpress.com

57. If you’re small and headed to prison, you should lube yourself in advance.  I mean, what’s it going to hurt?  (No pun intended.)

58. TRANNY HOOKERS.  Are they real?  Find out at 10.

59.  It’s only 8:13, and one google search assured me that yes, indeed, tranny hookers are not only real, but incredibly available.  Anyone want to split one?  (Again, no pun intended.)

60.  I have a Rafael Palmeiro bobble-head doll with eyes that follow me everywhere I go.  And I like it.

61.  The song that just rolled across my iTunes shuffle is about a sad transsexual.  And his/her partner “swallowed the evidence.”  (Art.)

Despite his miraculous 1961 season, Maris truly did not deserve to be a Hall of Famer.  He didn’t drink enough booze or harass enough women to ever be a legend.

Alex Denison.

Winning is Sinning: Or : How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Despise The Entire Jive

Could it all be a dream?  A silly, demented, self-important dream that could never possibly be reality?  A hidden little corner of the human mind that has somehow clawed it’s way to consciousness, like a badger from back of the cerebellum, piercing through all the mundane transactions of give and take and straight through the forehead.  Yes – straight through my forehead hangs the zombified fist of the Republican Party, taking it’s last breaths before wilting away like a forgotten rose: a truly beautiful piece of earth that bloomed many years ago and has been deteriorating ever since.  With Nixon came a blustery winter.  And with Reagan a rejuvenated spring.  Bush II was the faded lifeless fall.  And where do we go from here?

“And where do we go from here?  And which is the way that’s clear?  Still looking for that blue jean, baby queen.  Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.  See her shake on the movie screen …Jimmy Dean…” 

And it is this blue jean, baby queen that comes as the final nail in a proverbial coffin this evening, the coffin of an entire party filled with vampires and street preachers, degenerates and crusaders – all going down in a fireball of pompous certainty, untamed bigotry, and the most hypocritical positioning imaginable.  Pure apocalyptic beauty, a Shakespearean tragedy, all rolled into the guise of a value-oriented organization.  The gorgeous siren of backwoods intolerance has left her post, and with her goes the last bit of elected confidence left on the right wing scale.

If Palin is indeed the paradoxical baby queen, then Mark Sanford can be none other than Jimmy Dean – the rebel without a cause.  The romantic bad-boy with a bigger picture than the restraints of his career and the scorn of his community.  His press conferences are like watching a mid-life crisis in action, filled with long-faced absences of thought – pure delusion at times – before awakening to find the dumbfounded mob of reporters and supporters alike, sharing the same thoughts of confusion.  His Argentine princess, a news reporter herself, and a beautiful specimen of adultery if one has ever been created, seems to be his true desire.  Not the sympathy of a nation, nor the forgiveness of his constituency.  No – just the love of his self-described “soul mate,” the women of his garbled dreams, and wispy little cloud that he tends to stare at through misty lenses. 

Yes, where do we go from here?  Do I dance on the graves of the fallen?  Do I drag John Ensign back into the picture for reference, or David Vitter for good measure, and create a Christmas card mugshot for the liberal friends and family?  Can I even relish in the fact that these elected men and women have all gutted their own chances of political fortune, or do I sweat at the reality that they have already been a considerable success?  With every scandal that seeps it’s way through the wire, I question my own political desires and regret all my off-the-cuff remarks.  If only life were like an internet history file – another subject worthy of fret – which could be deleted after abuse.  Have I really won at all?  Or have I been contributing to the larger target of sin!  And have my efforts been in vain, and have my dreams already been extinguished by the reality of behavior?  Is my party next?  Are my heroes soon to be destroyed? 

But I rest easy for now, with the zombie fist dangling from my mind.  The entire party drooling all over themselves, trying to come up with a solution for their demise.  There aren’t enough sandbags in the Sahara to keep the water from flooding the sadistic visions of the GOP, and the people know it all!  Drippy little grins have turned into horrified slobbering confessions and the world can see it all!  Ronald Reagan is spinning in his grave, a bone-dry skeleton with a perfect haircut still meticulously preserved.  (I often wonder, merely wonder, how Russia can display the body of Lenin as a hero to a nation, and how the Republicans have allowed Reagan’s body to rot underground.  The savior to our country!  The messiah of the spoken word!  A Christ-like figure for all the praise, the greatest leader of all time!  Underground.  In a modest hole.  No Rushmore.  No mummified presentation.  Just a pile of radioactive perfection with the flag wrapped round and round.)

And here we are – the Democrats (dirty words) with all the glory of piety behind us, and almost nothing to show for it.  The hopeful 60 member Senate has been achieved, and will be squandered without thought.  Health care will be tarnished, the gay agenda left to drown, and all of the hopes that floated us through the finish line will fall to the ground like an ominous fog over Washington – the last reminder of a dream deferred.  The last reminder of the slugs that truly run our country on both sides of the aisle, slowly sucking the optimism from the atmosphere and leaving nothing but a slimy trail of waste.  Literal waste.  From the Senate floor to your front door, with no end in sight.  The promises left unfulfilled from years of apathy and greed – and these are the good guys.  The ones to appreciate.  Because they’re merely wasting our time, but taking advantage for themselves.

It’s the ones that lose both – our trust and their own kingdoms – that are really the ones to revile.  The ones to look at with upturned noses and simply thoughts: You wasted everything we gave you.  An entire nation of people that accept the lizards of civil service and never think twice of reelection.  As long as we aren’t too burdened with the tremendous price of fuel, or the loss of cable television, or the bacon on our tables, we will vote again and again for the same disgusting tyrants of brain-washed, filthy bloodlust.  Nixon, if nothing else, was a winner.  But Jimmy Carter was a shame.

And the shames are who we should be looking for to drive this country away from public policy, and instead into the fields of self-reliance, peace, and contribution.  Outer-Washington leadership that doesn’t have to answer to the angry taxpayer, the ambitious lobbyist, or the pile of dogshit in a suit.  Where are the dreamers that don’t need the power?  Where are the ones satisfied with pure change – for the better – for the people – for the elegant romance of life? 

Dead.  All dead.  And mostly forgotten.  The ones that got away.

We can never win – Democrats, Republicans, non-partisan babes of middle-ground.  We are all in this together.  And the dying party gives the chance for the thriving party to ruin all the gleaming ideas they once held.  The element of power will take over, the wasteful shake of power-rabies finally tearing through the world.  And we, again, are losers.  The same ones that fought so hard for liberties and life will be the casualties of victory.  The casualties of our own fight.  The same fight that we “won.”

“The buck stops here,” Truman said.  But the muck keeps rolling on.