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A Modest Proposal

“If the apparent tenets of the KKK (and most of the others) these days, is to keep their activities quiet and to themselves, why the fuck does Jerry Springer get first dibs whenever these folks can get their laundry clean enough to venture into public?”

If there’s one sector of the American public I’d like to antagonize out of their cloistered shell more than the Mormon’s, it’s the white supremacists/KKK. Now, before I begin, I’ll warn all you monosyllabic, inbreeding bastards who are too stupid to retaliate with anything other than violence, that I’ve opted to voluntarily enter the witness protection program. Basically, I’m so afraid of how you might retaliate that I wanted to get a jump on things. On a final preliminary note, in case any of those who take offense to my words can conjure the intellectual brawn to respond rationally, I promise to print it in its entirety (of course I’ll spell check if first).

As I understand it from your “spokespeople” (yes, I watched Geraldo today), God said that “mongrel” races were lesser human beings. Now, I’m sure God didn’t say “put ‘em on the gallows,” but then, God was trying to be a nice guy, right? A nice white guy I guess. I suppose if his champions decide to skip the logic ahead a little bit, there’s really no harm in that. Right?

I just need one question answered: If the apparent tenets of the KKK (and most of the others) these days, is to keep their activities quiet and to themselves, why the fuck does Jerry Springer get first dibs whenever these folks can get their laundry clean enough to venture into public?

Last weekend, a close friend of mine compared me to Adolph Hitler when I began to suggest that society might do well to begin policing itself by preventing stupid, racist, and generally hateful folks from procreating. I’ll admit that my suggestion has the ring of social engineering, but I’m certainly not suggesting we kill anyone. Nor am I suggesting that we unduly violate anyone’s rights simply because of their skin color or familial background. Actually, I’m not even advocating a palpable violation of people’s rights simply because they are dim. What I’m suggesting is that we encourage our dimwitted fellow citizens to pursue an education. To provide an incentive for this, I’m recommending that we deny them the privilege of bringing a child into the world until they might prove themselves capable of raising and nurturing a conscientious, thinking member of society. This isn’t social engineering, it’s social consciousness. I’m not hurting the cause of humanity by suggesting this approach, I’m telling you what you know has to be done. It’s just good fucking common sense. Sensible people don’t want their children in school with the kids of bigoted white trash. Actually, I wouldn’t want to leave out all the other bigots of every other race and creed, so expand that a little (I’m just particularly sensitive about white trash because one woman and her overlarge family have taken to doing laundry in the facilities at my apartment complex).

This is all GOD’s fault! I couldn’t give a shit about God, but those motherfuckers who wrote that freakin tome in his name gave every one of these bigoted morons a beautiful piece of nicely ambiguous literature upon which to base centuries of hatred and ignorance.

I’ll get around to all this in more detail some other time, but the bottom line is that we need to reform religion. We need to get somebody out to Arlington and declare God DOA. And I’ll tell you what, I want a fucking autopsy on the “holy” corpse too. I want to know why this fucker’s been around for so long and received so much adulation without ever making a tangible impact on the world. When everything you do in life to pursue goodness and morality backfires into the morass we’ve got here today and everyone lauds you for it, you’ve got a recipe for success my friend. If you could bottle that flair for bullshit, you’d have a flock of sheep the size of the Catholic Church wiping your ass seven days a week too.

About a year ago I mapped out a plan to rid the U.S. (to begin with) of the plague of the stupid. It’s a simple thirty year plan that utilizes a combination of testing, education, and a little hard-nosed incredulity to accomplish a goal that could truly make this world a better place. I won’t delude myself and wait by the phone for the politicians to draft me for a career in “societal improvement,” but I’ll email you the full plan if you want it. If I might too, I’d like to volunteer right now to give the eulogy for God when we bury his ass - of course I’ll post it up here for you sick fucks first.

On a final note, I suppose I’ve gotten off track with the white trash, inbreeding bigots a little bit - GOD just has a way of distracting me. By the looks of it, I might get more response from angry religious zealots than dimwitted KKK members. So just in case y’all feel a little left out, here are some final words of advice: I know the idea of inbreeding doesn’t seem like a bad thing when you’re blowin your wad, but trust me, those white sheets should really be flannel. It ends up looking like one more goddamned reason to question your judgement. That satin stuff just looks so friggin tacky. Join the fuckin twentieth century before it’s all gone will ya!

[ Topic Religion, Ridiculosity | No Comments ]

Bowling

“I tried not to think of the large, saggy asses that had sat where I was sitting. I tried not to think of the butt-cracks this chair had seen. “

He woke me at 4 a.m. to go bowling. I really didn’t want to go. I argued. He threw me in the car. It was 4:30 and we were there.

I stood at the mouth of a yawning bowling lane, ball in hand, trying to focus my bleary eyes. Somehow I think I was the only one in the alley wearing pajamas. I told myself I was making a fashion statement. I sighed deeply and vigorously swung my arm backwards and forwards. Then I swung the arm holding the ball. I swung it again for good luck. Then I let go. I knocked down all of the pins. In the next lane.

I turned around on the heel of my well-worn regulation saddleshoes. They were hideously ugly. I noticed that He didn’t have to wear them. He got to wear sandals. Although, speaking of fashion statements, He was prancing around in some kind of toga. I secretly hoped that people were laughing at him, even though they’d burn in Hell for it.

As I drowsily watched Him walk up to our lane, I lay my head on the dirty Formica table, and tried to get comfy in my orange and brown striped chair. I tried not to think of the large, saggy asses that had sat where I was sitting. I tried not to think of the butt-cracks this chair had seen. Posterior ravines belonging to people named Al and Marge and Buddy.

Meanwhile, Jesus bowled a strike.<img src=”http://www.painkiller.org/graphics/bowling_ball.gif” align=right>

I watched Him put His hair in a ponytail. I wondered if people yelled “hippie!” or “faggot!” from passing cars. That seems to happen a lot to long-haired men. Although, I’m guessing that the car full of people would be struck down pretty damn fast. I mean, you can nail Him to a cross okay, but yelling things from cars just isn’t kosher.

I approached the lane with some trepidation. I mean, I obviously couldn’t win, but I didn’t want to completely embarrass myself. Okay, so being in a bowling alley in your pajamas meant it was a little late for that. Let’s just say that I wanted to knock at least a few pins down.

I was surprised that He didn’t have His own customized, divine monogrammed ball, but I realized that He could probably customize any ball just by laying his holy hands on it. I tried to select a “good” ball from the ball return. I didn’t know if I’d gotten one, but I took it to the lane anyway. I threw the ball cleanly and evenly right into the gutter. It made a loud smacking noise as it fell off into oblivion. Shit.

Back in my chair, I nodded off.

I dreamt that Jimmy Swaggert was telling me to open a Bowling Alley Brothel. That God willed it and I was a sinner if I disobeyed. Then he morphed into a giant hot dog, and chased me. I yelled, “I rebuke you demon wiener!”. Then I woke up. I looked at the scorecard. Jesus had bowled a perfect score. I had no points whatsoever.

It was my turn again.

“Aim for the middle pins”, He said, “and pray very, very hard.” as I staggered forward. “Yeah, yeah,” I said. “Smart-Ass.”, I thought. Sometimes you just need to know when to bite your tongue. Although, I doubt it helped any in this case.

I felt that I needed a running start to properly launch my shiny ball onto its path to glory. I focused on the ball. Then I focused on the ten pins, arranged so orderly at the end of the lane. I ran forward and swung and released the ball in one smooth, sinuous motion.

I did not know that the lanes were waxed daily. I had no idea how slippery they really were until I stepped out onto them. As I fell on my back, my line of vision flew up, and my eyes were transfixed by the bright, pulsing fluorescent lights that lined the ceiling. I felt mesmerized. I wondered if I could hypnotize myself into doing weird things like barking every time I heard a bell. I wanted to sleep there forever. Just stay on that lane in blissful solitude. I could have stayed there forever. Except for the fact that He was threatening to bowl His ball at my head. So I got up, went to my seat and wept.

Jesus laughed.

[ Topic Fiction & Snobbery, Short Fiction | No Comments ]