The Most Unspeakable Evil

There are many forms of evil in this sad, cold world. But I think we can all agree there is one insidious force that trumps them all. Something so vile, that it can tear apart loving, Christian families, destroy the purity of our children, and release a terror so malignant that it can take on a demonic, haunting life of its own!

And a movie is finally being made that exposes this rotten, stinking scourge on the wholesome, Jesus-fearing American family.

The film trailer opens with the familiar “found footage” style, shaky camera scene depicting a man who apparently has just purchased a digital video camera, “You know, how we talked about before, how we want to document our family…”

First red flag, ladies. You know why your pervert husband really bought the camera.

But wait, amateur bedroom filming may not be the only problem here. The youngest son has been seeing a decrepit, female wraith in the home.

“EXPERIENCE THE TERROR!”

“You let something in. Where there was light, there’s dark.”

“EVIL IS UNLEASHED!”

“The boys are so…infected.”

“A GENERATIONAL CURSE!”

“I’m begging you. You have to stop this.”

“THERE’S NO SUCH THING AS A SECRET!”

“It’s like there’s something both living and dead.

It is not harmless!”

Yes. It’s a haunted box of porn.

No, I’m not joking.

"Harmless is a feature film shot in the popular found footage style. It’s the story about a husband and father and his battle with a box of porn that is found in the closet. Once opened, the box of porn begins to torment the family, much like a poltergeist. It’s sort of a social commentary on how pornography can destroy a family." (from the official site)

So, there you go. Now, flogging your log doesn’t just give you hairy palms. No, riding the great white knuckler won’t just make you go blind. Be warned! Oiling your pogo stick will unleash a lurching, vicious, pale, blood-thirsty haunt upon you and your family who will follow you to the ends of the Earth until you banish the heinous box of porn to the curb!

And you just start watching porn on the internet and erasing your browser history, like most normal people do.

One Year Atheiversary

One year ago today, I had a hair-brained idea to start a blog about what life was like for me as an agnostic atheist in my new small, coastal town on the shores of the Gulf of Mexico. I chose April 20th because all up and down the beach, I was witness to people in prayer groups, standing in the gentle, turquoise waves, holding hands, muttering silent pleas for the recovery of the Gulf, on the first anniversary of perhaps the worst man-made disaster in the history of the United States, the BP oil spill.

With the looming mass of oil slowly drifting toward shore in the spring of 2010, prayer vigils were organized in desperation. Church leaders and their followers vocally implored the oil to stay off their shores. Prayer chains were formed, one stretching twenty-six miles and consisting of thousands of deluded local residents who thought that a human, hand-holding barrier of hope could ward off millions of gallons of American folly. Naive sentiments like the following frequented the local news.

"We're not ones to sit there and take it lying down. Were going to come and fight and this is the way to do it right here."

The [prayer chain] appears effective so far. Despite media reports, Mississippi's governor says very little oil has shown up in his state.

Yet the oil washed over the pitiful, orange, bobbing booms and hit the beaches.

I was angry one year ago. I was sad that people were walking past trash on the beach to sing songs and wave their hands in the air when instead, they could be spending their time on much-needed community reef restoration projects. They could have donated money to my friends who had gone out of business due to the loss of tourism, or volunteered as a oil spotter. Anything, but instead, they chose to show up on one particular day, have their faces seen on the local news, and pretend to make a difference in the name of their God.

After I cathartically cut my BP gas card to shreds and vowed to walk and ride my bike wherever I could from then on, I wrote my first post. 

In one year of blogging, I have made wonderful connections and learned so much about all of you and myself. I have discovered that I love to write. You have reached out to me seeking solace and advice. You, fourteen year old Midwestern teenager ostracized by your devout parents, young mother shunned by her Christian mommies group, gay teen punished by your father and forced to talk to a pastor, and hilarious Southern Vietnam veteran who took the time to tell me you had a laugh at my words.

More than anything, I have been told that I have helped a few of you. And that rocks my socks off.

Even if it was a just a chuckle at a silly kitteh picture or the realization that you are not the only one who enjoys jokes about Mormon boys with unintended erections, I am glad beyond words that I put my pride aside and just started writing. It makes me happy, like dis much!

You’ll be pleased to know that, because of this blog, I have been offered a deal to write a Hollywood screenplay!

So far, it is the story of a mild-mannered blonde girl, who, by day, masquerades as a Hooters waitress who must stuff her bra to earn tips. She enjoys the sweet, wholesome things in life, like splashing in puddles, watching VeggieTales, and collecting rubber duckies. The picture of innocence and good, she exudes pure Christian values. She never questions authority. She vacuously asks questions like, “If we evolved from monkeys, then where did I put my Hello Kitty t-shirt?” 

But by night, she transforms into a sinister, disgusting godless atheist scourge upon the planet. She drinks the blood of innocent Cabernet grapes, kills the mold on her shower curtain with bleach, dominates her pals on Words with Friends, and eats innocent baby spinach salads! She sheds her blonde, bubbly persona for the devious pursuit of reading books and asking questions. Since she has no moral compass, she freely commits heinous acts such as recycling, feeding stray animals, and donating money to charity! She confronts authority and seeks her own path in life. Oh, the humanity!

So, I guess it’s kind of a Jekyll and Hyde story.

Oh, and I forgot to mention. Her evil sidekick is a kitten in a roller skate.

 

So, anyway, thanks for a great year. Look for my movie, The AtheDitz, in August of 2013 at selected theatres near you.

The Best Sleep

Death.

Somehow death has gotten a bad rap. Death is just a part of life. Hear me out.

Think about it. Were you bothered by or afraid of your own mortality, your nonexistence, before you were born, before you existed? As Mark Twain famously penned, "I had been dead for billions and billions of years before I was born, and had not suffered the slightest inconvenience from it."

I like to imagine death is the best sleep you’ll ever get. Like after a glass of warm milk and a backrub-purring kittens on your feet, electric blanket, wave machine, pitch-dark room, post-coital glow sleep. There is no dreaming, no stirring. There is just blissful nothing.

Humans have a problem with the notion of nothingness, though. You probably picture nothing as blackness, silence, or that ominous, rolling cloud on The NeverEnding Story. But that is still something, isn’t it?

Sure, the death of someone you love is scary. Unthinkable. You may have lived your whole life with this wonderful, supportive person by your side, and it is terrifying to even fathom what life will be like without them. You can’t fathom, but you know it will hurt. Your life will go on, though. 

And when your time for death approaches, you might linger before you succumb. You might fight and thrash and struggle. But that will pass as you do.

No one knows what happens after death. For millennia, humans have invented their own particular fluffy ideas of an afterlife. Is this simply because of the crushing fear of the unknown? Seventy-two virgins, pearly gates, a shiny soul in a new body? Are the legends of heaven, reincarnation, and eternal life there because of the all-too-human need for a cognitive crutch to mitigate that fear?

Perhaps.

All I know is that since I started embracing the wonderful vastness of the universe, and I realized how lucky I am simply to be here, statistically, right now, pondering death with you, dear reader, I became unafraid. Why fear something that is unavoidable and inherent for all living things? Death just is.

I hope to live as long as possible. I take my vitamins, drink plenty of water, and eat leafy greens.

But someday I will die. And that’s cool.

It’s a nice story that someday you’ll be with your loved ones again. It’s a comforting tale to think that if you just say the right words and follow certain rules, you might be rewarded with immortality along side a photogenic divine creator with nice teeth and flowing hair. If you need that, go for it.

I’d argue, however, that the realization-that in all likelihood, there will probably be no glowing clouds, rainbow bridges, angels’ harps, ethereal light, paradise, or reincarnation as a pampered housecat-makes every moment burning, vital, and fleeting.

There is no place for grudges with that realization. No room for pride, cruel words in the heat of an argument, or a guilt trip to get your way. There is only room for kindness, forgiveness, and happiness. If you love someone, you better say so. If you are involved in a toxic relationship, it would behoove you to move on. Have you been hurt? Try to let it go, for your own sake. If you were planning on making a mark on this world, you should probably get to it.

Go, do that now. I’ll wait here.

As the wise Homer Simpson once said to his son, Bart, before tucking him into bed for the night, “Don’t let Krusty’s death get you down, boy. People die all the time, just like that.

Why, you could wake up dead tomorrow…”

…Well, goodnight!”

Holy Heckler

I deleted an old friend on Facebook today. I finally had enough.

I had known this man since eighth grade. Let’s call him Percy, shall we? He was one of those Facebook friends who you sometimes feel tempted to add, because hey, you sat next to that guy once in math class, or you used to be neighbors, or one time he dated your friend. Let’s tell it like it is-a friend of convenience, because you were initially embarrassed when you joined Facebook and had only seven friends.

But, after a rough time in my life, Percival gave me some advice and attention. This then turned into romantic, opportunistic interest on his part, which I politely declined.

Ever since that time, however, he turned evangelical on me. Somehow my disbelief had come up, and Percival Puffypants reacted with shock, dismay, and incredulity. He began pestering me constantly with all those typical things you hear from the most fervent of believers, such as, “How can you possibly not believe in something other than yourself?”

Le sigh.

But then, it just kept getting worse. I don’t know if Persimmons Poopyhead had decided I was his personal pet project and he was determined to convert me, or what. I actually began avoiding showing my online status when I logged onto Facebook, because I could expect a popup chat window almost every time otherwise. Yes, I was hiding from him. I just wasn’t usually in the mood for salvation, unless I had some wine in me and I was feeling like engaging in the unavoidable argument about my evident moral weakness that night.

In those months that I still tolerated Perianal’s incessant nagging and moaning for Jesus, I began taking notes-knowing full well that someday I could use this shit.

Here are some direct quotes:

“I feel sorry for you. You must be pretty empty inside.”

“What keeps you from just going out and killing people?”

“People like you are the reason behind the decline of this country, in my opinion. Don’t take that the wrong way.”

“I pray for you constantly, even though you have told me you don’t want me to.”

“I know someday you will learn the Truth. You may just be a late bloomer. You always were as a kid LOL.”

“The world is too perfect and beautiful to be chance. You have to be capable of understanding that, or are you so wrapped up in yourself that you are blind to it?”

“I am a very intelligent man. I have several degrees. I’m not delusional. I know I’m right and you are very, very wrong, my friend.”

“You are pretty cool. Too bad you are going to hell.”

“I was once disillusioned like you. But then I grew up.”

“Gosh, you must be depressed if you think like that. Are you?”

“You look sad in your profile pic. I wonder why. LOL!”

“There is more out there than you will ever imagine. The facts that I have children and know that Jesus is Lord are two things that you will NEVER have. And for that, you are very weak.”

Women, are you reading this? Yes, that last one right there was the final straw. I could handle the subtle sanctimonious, ignorant, judgmental, delusional, sexist bullying. After all, he was kind of like a lab rat. I was studying a patriarchal, pious, fickle, closed-minded asshole under clinical conditions. It was occasionally fascinating, between the badgering about Jesus, his stories about how he came to be “saved,” and the "miracles" that had befallen him since, including his thriving business and his vacation cabin in the mountains, which Pursey Peepot bragged about constantly. But his stab at my at-the-time raw post-divorce, childless status? That was it.

When you were a kid, did you spend long days in the pool like me? Remember that time you were just playing in the water with your friends, and you heard this buzzing sound, only to look up and realize a giant horsefly was circling your wet head? And then the mutant fly lands on your hair and you freak out because you don’t want to get bit on your scalp? So you dunk yourself under water, stay down as long as possible, and when you break the surface, there’s that damn fly, just waiting for you! He lands again. All your friends are laughing at you now. You flail your arms and splash that son of  a bitch, but he’s just not giving a shit about that chlorinated water. He circles you and is on your head again. By now, your friends are in stitches, and all you can do is keep going under, gasping for air, helicoptering your arms around, until you give up and that little bastard runs you out of your own pool for good, your bathing suit firmly wedged up your butt and your friends pointing and cackling with laughter at your soggy defeat.

That’s how this situation felt. No matter what I did, the bullying continued, even by private message.  Perez P. Invisipenis even told me that he said a prayer, in front of everyone at his church, for me to find my way to Jesus. And he named me by name.

Percy was a bit like that heckling horsefly. And I feel like he ran me out of my own pool.

The Lure of Anti-theism

Live and let live, I always say. Sure, sure, I vent on my blog. That’s what the blog is for-not to change anyone’s views or “convert” anyone to my ways of thinking. It is a place for me-to dump my occasional frequent frustration about living in a town where I see commercials for local political candidates who say, “I’ll uphold the teachings of the Bible and the Constitution,” and don’t even realize they just contradicted themselves and proposed a violation of the First Amendment…of the Constitution. Sigh.

One of my fun hobbies is watching televangelists. I also greatly enjoy tuning into Fox News. I like to frequent the talking heads there and just marvel at the alternate universe they apparently live in. Did you know that our president wants to do away with Christmas and all religious holidays? Yes. It’s true. Soon, hard-working, honest to God Americans won’t be able put up a simple Christmas tree in their homes without having to pay socialist commie taxes to do it!

So, I know that snake oil salesmen have been around since the beginning of humanity. First they were the shamans who drilled holes in our skulls to banish evil spirits. Then they were the priests who sold us indulgences to absolve our sins for money. Now they are the greasy polyester suits who hock one ounce of olive oil for twenty-five dollars at 2:00 a.m. on TBN.

I recently read that the founders of this travesty of television dedicated to profiting off of ignorance and desperation were again being investigated for…wait for it…

“financial impropriety.” Fraud.

I know, right? Who saw that coming?!

The other day, while I was making a yummy baby sandwich for my boyfriend, he flipped on TBN. The audience was full of crying people, and a man was telling them that they needed to send in one thousand dollars to “plant a seed, to expect your harvest” from Jesus. “Are you suffering financially? Physically? Plant that seed, and expect your bountiful harvest from Jesus. Show him your commitment. Send that thousand dollar, er um, ‘gift,’ and your problems will be solved,” the man with the microphone slimed.

So let me get this straight. You give us “practical” advice which consists only of metaphors such as “open your heart,” “love and honor your King above all else,” “give up control,” and “plant seeds,” then you promise us that our foreclosed home, our dying father, or our pancreatic cancer-our serious fucking problems-will be resolved?

Hey, are you broke? Send money.

My boyfriend’s face turned red. He snarled, “This is criminal. It’s like selling thousand dollar lottery tickets for a jackpot that doesn’t exist!” When I saw the expression on his face, I suggested that he should change the channel. It really was causing him distress.

As it should. These people who lie about the blind man in the audience who left with perfect sight, do not believe they are helping anyone. They know, unlike perhaps your small-town preacher or traveling missionary, they know they are hurting and manipulating people and taking them at their weakest. 

Yet the lines to get into the healer shows, to write checks to the charlatans, to send money for a vial of healing prayer oil or a mug with Pat Robertson’s face on it don’t end. They keep coming back for more.

And so I slid a little further into anti-theism this weekend-toward the realization that religion, though many of you say, “What’s the harm in what I believe?” can be truly harmful.

It is the moderate approach toward religion that allows the most radical and dishonest practitioners of snake oil promises to keep on doing their thing. Somehow, the special place that religion holds in our society makes it exempt from criticism. Fraud is illegal, right? If you went on television and sold a bottle of water as a cure for cancer, you’d get in some legal trouble, I assume. What is the difference in selling prayer cloths? Where is the fucking small print? Where is the, “Results not typical” disclaimer?

There is no disclaimer. They get away with it, don't they, simply in the name of the precious “freedom” of religion.

Where do you draw the line on blatant fraud in the name of God?

To accept money from someone begging for their child’s lymphoma to remit is not just fraud. It is cruel. When I see a grandmother who receives her food from Meals-on-Wheels writing a check for one thousand dollars to TBN, a corporation that rakes in billions of dollars every year, to build a giant, gaudy Holy Land theme park in Orlando, buy private jets and thirteen mansions, and whose founders have a separate $100,000.00 mobile home dedicated just for their toy, purebred dogs?

I get stabby.