Do you like my shirt?
Thank you. I just got it.
Yes, it’s a very expensive shirt.
Oh, sure, it was on sale and there’s that sales tax holiday going on, but it still cost me a pretty penny.
I wanted to look my best for my sister’s surgery.
You see, it’s an experimental surgery. Very risky.
We’re hoping for the best, but things could go wrong.
And when things go wrong, well, we Jews do that whole “rending of garments” thing.
So she knows how much I’m pulling for her.
(But if things go wrong, I’m tearing my pants.)
Tag: religion
Stability
I moved to this town years ago.
Got this house, picked out some furniture, and started my new life here.
I was alone.
Confused.
Afraid.
After years of shakiness and instability, trying one self-help book after another, I turned to religion.
I sought out every faith there was, and they all gave me holy books to take home.
The Bible.
The Torah.
The Q’Ran.
The Book Of Mormon.
All of them.
I tried them all, and after years searching, I finally found one that was the right fit.
Steady as a rock.
No. Really. My kitchen table doesn’t wobble anymore.
The Lost God
Whuh, the God Of All Who Are Lost.
He has no priests, no followers, no temples.
Wander, traveler, and you are in the domain of Whuh.
The old bum, over there, under a crumpled, misfolded map as a paper hat, steering shopping cart full of broken GPS boxes, his chattering chorus of misdirection.
His eyes have seen many lands.
But he remembers none of them.
Do not ask him for directions.
Just walk. Walk in any direction.
You’ll find your way.
You’ll escape from the domain of Whuh.
The electronic chorus says TURN LEFT NOW.
The bum coughs and laughs.
Warren
A frail and elderly imam was slowly helped through the White House, a guide at each elbow.
But every so often, he’d stop at a painting or work of art, inspect it for a while, and then continue his journey.
Then, he stopped at a painting of a former president, pointed, and said what the guides thought was “War and Jihad?”
The art curator was confused. “That’s not Bush, that’s Warren G. Hardi,” he said, then realized the mistake. “OOOOOOOH, I see. Right. Warren G. Harding.”
The imam smiled, and the guides helped him down the hall to the bathroom.
The Feast Of Saint Walter
Unlike other feasts for saints, The Feast For Saint Walter is unique in the fact it does not involve any elaborate preparations, but involves eating from a dumpster.
That’s right. A dumpster.
Walter was flat-ass broke when he was alive, bumming money from everybody.
I always said “It’s a miracle that people still give that dude money.”
Bob once told me “It’s a miracle his wife hasn’t thrown his broke ass out.”
He was rummaging through a dumpster and hit his head on the lid when the truck came.
Martyrdom through compaction.
Hey, is that an orange rind?
Walter provides!
The Only Way
Whenever someone tells me that something is the only way to do something, I challenge myself to try to think up another way to do it.
Sometimes, I come up with a much better way, and I propose it to them as a viable alternative.
“It’s easier, less expensive, and is much safer to do,” I say, going through the plans. “Plus, it doesn’t cause any pollution.”
The other person scowls angrily. “You cannot do this because God says not to.”
I do it anyway, because if God doesn’t want me to do things cheaper, safer, and easier, fuck Him.
Baptized
Know what’s fun?
Getting baptized.
I’m not talking about one of those sprinkle-water-in-my-face baptisms.
I’m talking about a go-down-to-the-river baptism.
You see, I’m a mermaid. And when I get in the water, my legs transform back into a tail.
Then I laugh and swim away.
It really scares the crap out of the congregation.
Although, you’ve gotta be careful when planning these pranks.
Make sure it happens in a river and it’s deep enough to escape.
You do not want to end up dragged to a swimming pool at the local Y.
“You just baptized me!” I yelled.
No dice.
Noodge
My people worship Noodge, God of Constant Guidance.
There’s no priests to spread His word or prophets of His revelation, as He is here with us.
That’s him at the bar, the guy in the robe drinking a beer. That’s Noodge.
He is always telling us what to do, how to do things, and constantly judging us.
What? You don’t see Him? You don’t hear Him telling the barkeeper how to best pour a beer?
You’re serious, right? Heresy’s a dangerous thing. Noodge might hear you and… well, He just nags us more.
(Teach us how to ignore Him too!)
Advent
I never understood the concept behind the Advent Calendar.
To me, it was just an overpriced fancy package of candy.
Not really much of a calendar, because you shred the numbers to get to the candy, and once you eat the first one… there’s always the second one… and third… and fourth…
Pretty soon, you’re sitting there on the first of the month, face covered in chocolate, and the whole calendar’s been torn to shreds.
There’s supposed to be Bible verses in there, something to do with the shapes of the candy treats?
Whatever. Hand me another calendar.
I’m hungry.
The Stone Church
We founded the church on Peter, commanding the funeral masons to shape and polish his remains into a single massive cornerstone.
The Ancestors are hauled from The Garden of Memories, and they are also used as building blocks for the church.
Soon, The Birthing Mine is producing more blocks for the church than children. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I saw a young stoneman walking about.
The Teachers, replaced by the priests as the authorities of our land, were commanded to volunteer themselves for quarrying.
Some resisted, and they were pulverized to provide pebbles for the walkways.