Tag: religion

Saints

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Last year, the Catholic Church performed an audit on all relics throughout the world.
Concerned, they sent out teams to authenticate as many as possible.
The report detailed forgeries and fakes, but there was a curious situation with Saint Miraculon, the Wonder Machine.
After the explosion at the power plant had fried his original processor, saving dozens of workers from death by electrocution, it was enshrined in San Jose.
But a backup processor had been installed in the rebuilt chassis, keeping Miraculon 2.0 running.
“Ignore that,” said the Pope. “Will someone explain exactly how St. Ignatius had five authentic femurs?”

No Miracle

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A plane crashes, and everybody dies.
Except one. A kid.
He’s badly burned, bones broken, but he’ll live.
People call it a miracle.
God doesn’t kill a hundred to spare a kid just to leave him a fucked-up, burned and battered orphan.
I see demons, laughing in the fires. It’s not a miracle.
The firefighters hose down the flames, the demons laugh… until I sprinkle the embers with holy water.
Go back to Hell.
They’re supposed to bless the de-icing compounds and the jet fuel.
Airline cutbacks. Priests are the first to go.
But, like me, the first they call.

The Ark

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Noah brought the animals on to the ark in pairs.
And after days of rain, the ark reached land and Noah let the animals back out.
Then, when the checklist was complete, he watched a brood of platypus chicks crawl down the plank.
Noah called the beavers and ducks over for a meeting.
“We were bored!” cried the beavers. “It was dark in that boat. Things got confused.”
“We were drunk!” growled the duck. “They took advantage of us!”
Noah sighed, dismissed the animals, and looked at a horse.
“I don’t want no centaur-babies,” said Noah. “You’re having an abortion.”

This is the way we have always done this

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The office goes silent as two acolytes open The Ark and the technician withdraws a cardboard box.
“This is the way we have always done this,” says the department secretary.
As the technician approaches the copier, the acolytes open the access panels.
While everyone chants, the old toner cartridge is removed and the new one slides from the box and put in its place.
“This is so stupid,” I mutter.
Oops.
“BLASPHEMER!” shouts the secretary.
“BLASPHEMER!” shouts the technician.
“BLASPHEMER!” rings though the halls.
Run!
(I’d transfer to Accounting, but the trial by walking across hot coffee burners scares me.)

Behind Enemy Lines

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The architect designed a beautiful cathedral for the city, but the builder was slightly deaf, so when he heard “Confessional Booth” he thought he heard “Concession Booth.”
Things looked normal until the builder handed the job off to the decorators and the spot where parishioners were supposed to confess their sins, ended up a gaudy-colored alcove with glass counters under which candy bars were displayed.
The archbishop was outraged.
Until he saw how much revenue the large popcorn and Coke combo pack was bringing in.
“Besides,” he said to the cardinal, “We’re sick of hearing the same old crap confessed.”

The Dying Killers

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We smuggle the temple priests, women, and children out of the village under cover of darkness.
The jihad strikes at dawn, mercilessly killing everyone.
The children and women are told not to cry, lest we be spotted.
They cry silently, never sleeping.
The next day, we wait and watch the jihad march South.
Then, one by one, the killers drop dead in the sand.
Returning to the village, we see the destruction… blood everywhere, animals slaughtered, men cut in half, and buildings burned.
And the false granary, full of poisoned seed, empty.
The priests bless the dead, and we rebuild.

Eight Nights

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On the second night of Hanukkah, the rabbis were desperate.
“This re-dedication will fail,” one said. “The consecrated oil will not last another night.”
“What do we have plenty of?” said another rabbi.
They found wine. Lots of it.
“Drink!” they shouted. “Everybody take a bottle and drink yourselves stiff!”
And so, everyone drank and drunk. They drank until they passed out.
The rabbis refilled the lamps with some non-holy oil while everyone slept it off.
“Boy, did you guys party last night!” said the rabbis. “Ready to light up again?”
The real miracle was: the wine lasted eight days.

Santa’s Menorah

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The elves wanted to explore diversity and different cultures, so Santa bought a menorah and lit the candles.
“Aren’t you supposed to sing something?” asked Blitzen.
“Shit if I know,” said Santa. “This writing looks like an army of chocolate-covered ants fucking.”
Santa put all nine candles in, the elves sang Christmas carols, and they all went back to work.
“Do you smell smoke?” said Twinkletoes.
Sure enough, the workshop was on fire.
The flames spread to the reindeer barn, the elf dormitory, and Santa’s house.
“Everybody gets wood burning kits,” declared Santa.
And they all froze their asses off.

Heaven and Hell

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John Lennon was half-right.
There is no Hell below us. That’s actually where Heaven is.
But above us, there isn’t only sky. In the void between the stars, that’s where condemned souls wander for all eternity.
Heaven is right under our feet, safe in the dirt. That is why we bury our dead, you know. To send them to their Heavenly reward.
It doesn’t quite work out for those who have led wicked lives. Their souls rise up, up through the clouds and into the cold vastness of space.
They never return, they never arrive anywhere.
Scattered, cast away forever.

Losing Faith

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His Holiness woke up after surgery to find himself watched by his assistant.
“We prayed for your recovery,” said his secretary. “We are delighted that The Lord has seen fit to deliver you back to us.”
The Pope raised an eyebrow. “It was the doctors, not The Lord,” he said tersely.
The assistant left the room to speak to the lead surgeon. “I fear you cut too deep,” he said.
The surgeon agreed. “That region of the brain is strongly tied to Faith. Damage can result in this behavior.”
“Or death,” suggested the assistant. “Make it painless and quick, please.”