Tuesday, September 19, 2006
And Now, a Message from Satan
What up dog? Beelzezzle in the hezzay.
That one always cracks me up; learned it from the guy who wipes my ass every morning, Biggie. Oh come on -- you didn't think that fat fuck was going upstairs did you? He deserved to be damned for no other reason than inspiring Puff Daddy to record that shitty song with Sting. Hey, I'm all about torture, but even I draw the line someplace.
But listen kids, I didn't come here to talk to you about music -- although I do want to make it clear that I had nothing to do with Reggaeton; you fuckers made that mess all on your own.
No, I want to talk to you about God.
Yeah, you see -- I kinda have a confession to make.
He doesn't exist.
Look, I know you're gonna think that I'm fucking with you -- the "religious" folk are gonna start up with that whole Prince-of-Lies-get-thee-behind-me crap. But I swear -- I'm not bullshitting you.
There just is no god.
The truth is that about twelve-thousand years or so ago, you guys were all living in relative peace. I mean, yeah, you'd beat each other over the heads with clubs for food or land or maybe because you didn't have anything better to do on a Saturday night and TV hadn't been invented yet to keep you docile and complacent -- but as for major conflicts, not only did you not have much in the way of organizational skills -- you didn't have much worth fighting and dying over either.
Then me and a couple of the frat brothers decided to go out drinking, and -- well -- things got kinda out of hand.
One of my bros -- we call him Skeeter -- bet me that I couldn't come up with a way to fuck up the Earth for the remainder of its existence. I mean, you guys were looking like you might soon start coming into your own, and maybe the fellas thought that you might start getting a little too high and mighty and that it could be dangerous for guys like us; you might screw up the great cosmic deal we've had since before time was time.
I was pretty drunk, and I figured, what the hell -- no pun intended.
So I came up with this idea that I had to admit was pretty clever: create an ultimate being that all of you would be willing to worship, but none of you could actually prove exists. I wanted something you'd abandon all reason in the name of -- no matter how reasonable you might be in regard to every other part of your lives. I wanted you to act like complete batshit lunatics who'd actually be willing to piss away all the wonder and beauty and variety of life -- the here and now -- in favor of some supposedly great reward after you die; and even better, I knew that you'd become haughty little shits about it -- berating those who you didn't feel were lucky enough to have bought into the great kingdom in the sky. I knew you'd arrogantly try to make everyone into carbon copies of you. I knew you'd try and make everyone into believers.
But here's the best part -- and oh, this one was just fucking genius; man, when I said this, Skeeter practically fell off his barstool.
Not all of you would worship the same god; I'd give you more than one.
So before the night was out, we came up with a couple of silly stories about black rocks and winged horses and burning bushes and assorted bullshit like that, and we started planting the seeds that would inspire your holy books. To be honest, a couple of those seeds went off in the wrong direction and turned into stories about Santa Claus, Jack and the Beanstalk, the Easter Bunny and so on. I really thought at some point you guys would catch on that basically your fairy tales and your gospels were the same fucking things -- but hey, I also figured Hee-Haw wouldn't last a full season, so I guess there's no accounting for taste or intelligence when it comes to you monkeys.
Well, now that I'm showing my hand -- I guess I should explain why I'm doing it.
As Hal Holbrook said in every thriller he's ever been in, It's gotten out of control. It's too big.
This week was just the last straw.
Look, I have no problem with those of you who've fallen for my little practical joke fighting it out with those of you smart enough to not have; that was kind of the idea. But when the two most powerful groups of people who've set aside all logic and reason in the name of "God" begin arguing over whose superstitous nonsense can beat up whose -- and one side tries to furiously defend itself against accusations that it's violent by threatening to kill people -- well, that's when I know that the party's gotten a little out of hand.
I know what you're thinking: "Hey, these two sides have fought in hand-to-hand combat before -- why are you stepping in now?"
The answer is simple dingbats:
That was centuries ago. That was before the Age of Enlightenment -- remember that shit? That really stuck huh?
Jesus Made-up Christ, are you people fucking idiots? You have science and medicine and technology, and if you yearn for something to give your lives more meaning, you have love. I know that sounds insane coming from me, but for fuck's sake -- you're willing to accept that a ridiculous old man in a funny hat and Liberace's cape knows the path to a glorious afterlife; I think it's safe to say you'll believe just about anything.
One more time for the cheap seats; consider it doing you a favor:
Islam is violent and fucking batshit crazy -- and it's completely made-up nonsense.
Catholicism is dangerous and arrogant and stupid -- and it's also completely made-up nonsense.
Biggie isn't really here with me; he isn't anywhere but in the ground.
If you want to save the fragile rock you're all forced to live on from ultimate destruction, you might want to start living like this is the only life you all have.
Because it is.
I've gotta run now; that new Studio 60 show is about to come on. I love all that TV-behind-the-scenes stuff. My kinda people.