"I guess I have a lot of problems, so many that I don't have time to go into them all in detail. Suffice it to say I'm anal, obsessive, vain, quick to temper, overly introspective, lazy, judgmental, insecure, and self-righteous. Probably the most annoying thing about me is that I'm hugely opinionated. But I kind of make up for that by always being right."

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

A Bad Case of Ensavioritis

It's easy to look at radical Muslims and decry their extremism. But the truth is that even your everyday garden variety Muslim looks upon us westerners as infidels. We are not the chosen people, and so will not be joining them in the afterlife. Which is a shame, because I understand the place is crawling with hot virgins.

Like it or not, Christians view the rest of the world with this same kind of arrogance. Christian leaders may talk of "inclusion" and hold photo ops with rabbis and clerics from around the world. But even as they smile and shake these men's hands, they believe that one day they will all be leaving for an extended vacation on Fire Lake.

It's right there in The Bible -- and not just in one verse, but several. Accepting Jesus as your savior isn't just one way to get into heaven, it's the only way. And as for those unfortunate billions who were born into cultures with belief systems different from our own? Well, they can just kiss our holy white asses!

Personally, I've always viewed Christianity as a mild form of retardation. Which is why I've coined the term "Cretard," a name for the followers of this bizarre cult. The Cretard's credo: "The mind is a terrible thing to use." Case in point -- the Cretard belief that Jews will go to hell is based on a book written by Jews.

Cretards believe that a man who rapes and kills women, who sexually molests hundreds of children, who lives a life of vile depravity, but who has accepted Jesus as his personal savior, will go to heaven. (By the way, thank you, God, for leaving that loophole open for me.)

Cretards also believe that a highly moral man -- a good husband and loving father who devotes his life to helping those more unfortunate than himself, but who has not accepted Jesus as his personal savior -- will go to hell. And I, for one, will spit on him on his way down.

By the way, if any of the above makes you angry, it may well be because you're Cretarded. You may have a condition of the brain called ensavioritis, which medical experts believe is caused by repeated exposure of the cranium to dark, damp spaces. They suggest a regiment of common sense and liquids. And, of course, getting your head out of your ass.

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

IQ, Race and Religion

A college football coach got into trouble recently for saying that black running backs are faster than white running backs. He was later fired for saying that in his opinion, the sun sets in the west. A spokesperson for the east called the statement "a clear case of directionism."

The case brought to mind the infamous Howard Cosell incident in which he referred to a black player on the field as a "monkey." Cosell insisted that no racism was implied by his comments, and pointed out that he has many close friends who are black, such as his chauffeur, Cheetah, and his personal trainer, Bobo.

With all of the strides that have been made in racial relations over the years, we still find it difficult to admit that there are differences between black people and white people. The problem, I think, is the old slippery slope. No, Howard, I'm not referring to a Vietnamese man covered in Vaseline, but rather to the belief that if you admit to one difference you open the door to others, including intelligence.

I don't think it's any coincidence that the IQs of people who claim that blacks are mentally inferior to whites are among the lowest on the planet -- with the possible exception, of course, of reptiles and Tom Cruise.

It's also ironic that these racists all claim to be Christians. Christians who apparently believe that God would never let people who have bigger penises than theirs be just as smart as they are.

Monday, November 07, 2005

When Radio Was Crap

Thirty years ago I was wandering the streets of my hometown, Portland, Oregon, when I heard a deafening racket coming from the floor above my favorite record store, Longhair Music. I found the entrance to the building, climbed the stairs, and walked into a music scene unlike any I had ever heard or seen before. The band on stage called themselves The Neo Boys - three or four (I can't remember which) girls who seemed to have little, if any, talent. They thrashed at their guitars as though the instruments somehow pissed them off, playing songs that only lasted about a minute-and-a-half. And it's no wonder. They shot through the poor things at a tempo I'm pretty sure music was never meant to be played at. In fact, I wasn't even sure it was music. I was sure of one thing, though. I loved it.

The next band was called The Wipers, and they were even better. The lead singer, Greg Sage, had a defiant intelligence that drew me in, and a cocky bitterness that spit me right back out again. It was exhilarating. I found out later that the music was called "punk," and I wondered why my radio was squeezing out such crap when great stuff like this was out there for the listening.

About a year or so later a band called the Ramones came to town, and my life would never be the same again. Mostly because I met a girl there who gave me the crabs, but that's a whole 'nother story.

I thought about all of this recently when I pulled out my old Ramones albums. By the way, you can't call yourself a fan of any musical artist if all you have is their greatest hits CD. Anyway, I listened to the albums in chronological order, and was struck by how much I liked one of their later releases, "Mondo Bizarro." I liked it when it came out, of course, but somehow it seems to have improved with age. In the last month I must have listened to it at least 50 times, until it's worn that comfortable groove in my mind that's made it part of my soundtrack. Years from now when I listen to it, I'm sure I'll remember today, when my kids were still young, my heart still broken, and the stuff on the radio still crap.

Wednesday, November 02, 2005

A Prayer from Paris

Our Daddy, which art in Beverly Hills, Hilton be thy name; thy daughters come; their whim be done, in Maui as it is in Palm Springs. Give us this day our daily allowance. And forgive us our porno videos as we forgive the bastards who made them. And lead us not into anorexia, but deliver us some pizza. For thine is the corporation, with the power, and the glory, for sure. Amen.