Tag: religion

Vet

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Bo spent two years in Sadr City.
Some bearded fuck was running the place.
The government gave this fuck guns and money to keep the peace, but this asshole used them for all sorts of other shit.
Women suicide bombers. Those were the worst.
Stick a bunch of crazy shit in their heads, put a bomb under their robes, and tell them to shriek like hell if anyone tried to search them.
All it takes is one. Just one.
Bo came back in a bag last week.
The bearded fuck is still there, making women crazy and giving them bombs.

The Golden Pen

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I was suffering a horrible case of writer’s block when The Devil tapped me on the shoulder.
“Use my pen,” he said, and he handed me his Golden Pen.
“What’s the catch?” I asked.
“The usual shit,” he said. “Brilliant artistry for your soul and eternal damnation.”
“Pffft,” I said. “I’m already fucked.”
I shook his hand and he vanished.
Sure enough, when I tried to write, it was out of ink.
Fucker.
Oh well. I wrote anyway, scratching the letters into the paper, and I held it up to the light.
I’m damned, but my work will live on.

The Teacher

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One day, a crate arrived marked TEACHER on the side.
An electrical cord dangled out from a hole.
“Plug it in for 8 hours,” a note said.
So, the principal did.
All of the kids sat quietly while the box hummed slightly.
After 8 hours, the crate was unplugged and the kids left.
Until it was school time again. Once again, kids sat down and it was plugged in.
A dozen kids showed up on Saturday, wanting to learn more.
“Go home,” said the principal.
None showed up on Sunday. They were at church, staring at a crate marked PREACHER.

Armageddon

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Armageddon.
The final battle between Good and Evil.
And here I am, a rifle in one hand and a cell phone in the other, waiting to find out which side I’m on.
Evil likes how I’m a good shot, but Good thinks I’m officer material.
Doesn’t matter which calls. Whatever side I end up on, I’m going to fight.
Phone rings, and I answer it.
It’s one of those automated calling systems, asking if I’ve contributed to the local policeman’s fund.
I hang up and wait.
Looking around, lots of people with guns and phones, waiting.
Maybe this is hell.

The Book Of Roger

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Ladies and gentlemen, please turn your hymnals to Roger Chapter 5 Verse 3.
What? You nay heard about Roger?
Well, I photocopied it up and stuck it in your books, so shut yer traps and read along or yer all going to Hell!
“Two monkeys were fucking on a unicycle the other day, arguing over an ice cream cone.”
What are ye daft? Why are you lot looking at me like that?
Got a problem with the Gospels or something?
This is The Book of Roger. And Roger didn’t mince words like all the other pansies who wrote The Bible.

War of the Gods

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Corn Goddess and the Sky God make war by the ocean.
Wind blows over crops, the people suffer and starve.
Thunder God makes rain, lightning.
Our homes burn.
Coyote the Trickster gives us salt painted like seed.
Fields are ruined, Earth Goddess boils with rage.
We survivors surround the chief.
“Why do we worship these assholes?” asks Runs With Wolves.
The Chief slaps away a bottlefly, courtesy of Insect God.
“Dunno,” says the Chief, handing out brochures. “Let’s pick new religion.”
As we discuss and reason with each other, the chaos subsides.
Their power came from faith. Withheld, it wanes.

Dripping

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Three angels were meditating upon a leaky faucet in God’s kitchen.
The first was inspired to write a symphony based on the dripping of the water and the violence of it crashing against the basin.
The second painted a wonderful painting, capturing the essence of how the light reflected off of the droplets and the passage of each droplet through the air.
The third captured a droplet and brewed a marvelous potion, a taste that was refreshing and soothing.
They presented their creations to God, who howled in rage.
“Why didn’t any of you idiots call a plumber?” He yelled.

Drummer Boy

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I played my drum for him.
I played my best for him.
Did he like it? Did he smile?
No. He cried! He cried like a shrieking pig!
Why the hell was I playing a drum for a kid in a barn, surrounded by goats and camels and rats?
You don’t play drums for babies… you shake rattles. You pluck strings. Or play a flute.
You make goo goo noises in their faces until they clap and laugh and smile.
Stupid baby.
Probably won’t survive the night, anyway.
Hey, nobody’s watching the gold that old fart brought.
It’s mine! Sweet!

The Miracle

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The Temple was theirs again.
After much celebrating and giving thanks, it was discovered that there was only enough sacred oil to light the lamps for 1 day.
Somehow, that oil ended up lasting eight days.
Yeah, that’s the Hanukkah Miracle.
Ever tried using an oil lamp instead of candles or electric lights?
If you haven’t, well, it’s a steep learning curve.
Getting those wicks soaked just right, and then finding the right level of oil… sheesh!
Wanna know what the real Hanukkah Miracle is?
Lighting the damn things and keeping them lit all night long.
Now that’s a miracle!

The Parts Are Greater Than The Sum

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The Trillionaire’s Wife rinsed off the regeneration jelly.
She knew perfection was waiting in the mirror. Again.
The automatic surgical tank began to speak, but she ignored the report. She didn’t care anymore.
But her servants did. And they told the Chief Rabbi, who paid her a visit.
“The body is a gift from The Lord,” he said. “It must be buried whole.”
The Trillionaire’s Wife disagreed. Those discarded organs and acres of skin were morally no different than fingernail clippings.
But her cautious husband quietly kept them all.
She waits for death, soaked in formaldehyde, a thousand times over.