"How long do you have to get hit in the head before you start asking who's hitting you in the head?"

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

Are All Religious People Idiots?

Well, I haven’t met all of them, but

Kathryn Lehan, author of Save Yourself! The Plain Truth, had questions about God and couldn't get a straight answer so she wrote a book full of plain truths about God and how to radically transform your life with one simple prayer. She's not a pastor, a minister or a divinity student. She's just like you and me.
She sure is! Just like everyone else, whenever I have unanswered questions I just pull any old absurdity straight out of my ass and lovingly christen it “the plain truth.”

Here’s a shiny nugget of wisdom from Lehan’s irreproachable tome:

The first time I read the Pentateuch, I remember thinking how all they did back then was kill animals right and left, and I wondered how they had time to do anything else. Luckily God decided this wasn't working so well, particularly for the animals, or maybe the earth was running dangerously low on animals with all the sinning going on, so God stopped this practice. This may be what actually happened to bring about the extinction of the dinosaurs! We'll talk more about how and why animal sacrifice stopped in Chapter 4.
Right on, Kathryn! As written in Matthew 26:73, “Surely thou also art one of them, for thy speech betrayeth thee”!

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Tuesday, May 15, 2007

An Emboldened Tinky Winky Vows Renewed Efforts in Furthering Homosexual Agenda

Now my power will know no bounds! Ahhahahahahaha!

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The Obligatory Falwell Post

My favorite quotation from the Tubby Televangelist:

"Christians, like slaves and soldiers, ask no questions."

So true.


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Tuesday, May 01, 2007

Look On Your Works, Ye Mighty, and Despair!

Editor and Publisher takes a look back at our millionaire pundit class coming in their pants over Commander Codpiece and his infamous “Mission Accomplished” stunt. Here’s a taste, courtesy of Maureen Dowd:
The tail hook caught the last cable, jerking the fighter jet from 150 m.p.h. to zero in two seconds. Out bounded the cocky, rule-breaking, daredevil flyboy, a man navigating the Highway to the Danger Zone, out along the edges where he was born to be, the further on the edge, the hotter the intensity.

He flashed that famous all-American grin as he swaggered around the deck of the aircraft carrier in his olive flight suit, ejection harness between his legs, helmet tucked under his arm, awestruck crew crowding around. Maverick was back, cooler and hotter than ever, throttling to the max with joystick politics.

Compared to Karl Rove's ''revvin' up your engine'' myth-making cinematic style, Jerry Bruckheimer's movies look like ''Lizzie McGuire.''

This time Maverick didn't just nail a few bogeys and do a 4G inverted dive with a MIG-28 at a range of two meters. This time the Top Gun wasted a couple of nasty regimes, and promised this was just the beginning.

Great googly-moogly!

Hey, Maureen: Your boy had another photo op the other day:

Why didn’t you write glowingly about that? It’s not too late, you know. Here, I’ll help get you started:
His large, rough hands, calloused from years of clearing brush, swinging golf clubs, driving pickups, and other thoroughly manly pursuits, skillfully caressed the taut, waiting skin of the drum.

He slowly licked his lips and began to sway those storied jogger’s hips to the hypnotic, pulsing rhythm. He waited for what seemed an exquisite eternity before decisively striking, bringing paroxysms of fevered delight to the spellbound crowd.

As the music swelled, he at last let himself go, beating harder, and harder, and—oh god—harder still.

What do you think: Was that a Dowd-worthy paean to Bongo Boy?

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