For thousands of years the ruling class has perpetuated the myth that mortal suffering is rewarded by eternal life in heaven. But they aren't standing in line for a sip from the Cup of Suffer, are they? With worker's retirement accounts squandered and jobs shipped to overseas kiddie-slave labor, you'd think the CEO's of these companies would be worried for their eternal souls.
How did the myth get started? Imagine that a long time ago you were a landowner with roughly a hundred indentured servants. You'd probably worry that one day your slaves would rise up as one, storm your castle, rape and eviscerate your wife, disembowel your children, and cut you into pieces that can barely be seen by the naked eye. The solution: "Oh sure, life squats down and blows a colon-tini on you fuckers every single day, but you'll be rewarded in the afterlife." It's like if you said to a friend, "I'll pay that twenty bucks I owe you the day after you die."
Unfortunately, the poor believed it because it was hope, which is more addictive than crack; and just like crack, it makes people behave in ways they normally wouldn't.
This isn't an anti-religion rant; there may very well be an afterlife. I just don't think you should have to be a human biscuit in the circle-jerk of life to get there.
I Left the House for Something Besides Work!
On Friday a bunch of us went to the New York, New York Casino to a dueling piano bar. It was a nice enough place but crowded (the L.V. Strip crowded on a Friday night, how odd); and the place was just lousy with guys. I was thinking, "Okay who ordered extra sausage on my party pizza?" Also, it was hot and moist in there, like I was starring in the Disney film, "Honey, I Just Shrunk Todd and Stuffed Him in My Pants." I didn't see any recreational lesbianism, but I did see a girl flash titsky to her flamboyantly gay male friend. What should I call that? Ironic Heterosexuality?
After an hour or so of sweating like Michael Jackson at Scoutarama, we went to a lounge at the Bellagio, where I had the best margarita I've ever tasted. Did they give these drinks away, you might ask? No, I might answer, they were FOURTEEN DOLLARS APIECE. Oh, well, I had two; if they had been seven dollars I would have had four. No big deal.
Can Someone Confirm This?
Today at work someone told me that after Stevie Wonder sang the national anthem at the NBA finals, President Bush waved at him. Let me repeat: Our president directed a non-verbal gesture at the most famous blind person ever. I didn't see it, but I hope to god it's true. This could be worse than his "ask Christopher Reeve to tapdance" gaffe of a few years ago.
How did the myth get started? Imagine that a long time ago you were a landowner with roughly a hundred indentured servants. You'd probably worry that one day your slaves would rise up as one, storm your castle, rape and eviscerate your wife, disembowel your children, and cut you into pieces that can barely be seen by the naked eye. The solution: "Oh sure, life squats down and blows a colon-tini on you fuckers every single day, but you'll be rewarded in the afterlife." It's like if you said to a friend, "I'll pay that twenty bucks I owe you the day after you die."
Unfortunately, the poor believed it because it was hope, which is more addictive than crack; and just like crack, it makes people behave in ways they normally wouldn't.
This isn't an anti-religion rant; there may very well be an afterlife. I just don't think you should have to be a human biscuit in the circle-jerk of life to get there.
I Left the House for Something Besides Work!
On Friday a bunch of us went to the New York, New York Casino to a dueling piano bar. It was a nice enough place but crowded (the L.V. Strip crowded on a Friday night, how odd); and the place was just lousy with guys. I was thinking, "Okay who ordered extra sausage on my party pizza?" Also, it was hot and moist in there, like I was starring in the Disney film, "Honey, I Just Shrunk Todd and Stuffed Him in My Pants." I didn't see any recreational lesbianism, but I did see a girl flash titsky to her flamboyantly gay male friend. What should I call that? Ironic Heterosexuality?
After an hour or so of sweating like Michael Jackson at Scoutarama, we went to a lounge at the Bellagio, where I had the best margarita I've ever tasted. Did they give these drinks away, you might ask? No, I might answer, they were FOURTEEN DOLLARS APIECE. Oh, well, I had two; if they had been seven dollars I would have had four. No big deal.
Can Someone Confirm This?
Today at work someone told me that after Stevie Wonder sang the national anthem at the NBA finals, President Bush waved at him. Let me repeat: Our president directed a non-verbal gesture at the most famous blind person ever. I didn't see it, but I hope to god it's true. This could be worse than his "ask Christopher Reeve to tapdance" gaffe of a few years ago.
10 Comments:
I searched for this online and only found a few blogs talking about it. Can't confirm anything yet. Let's see what Dave Letterman has to say.
I drank like a fish at the dueling piano bar, then talked my sister into walking down to the Bellagio because it was only "a couple of blocks away". Right. Then we walked back to the MGM. All of this drunk and post-midnight. Fortunately, we hit the McDonald's on the way back!
It's moments like these that I like to gloat that I DID NOT VOTE FOR DUBYA! I need a bumper sticker that says, "Now you're thinkin' the Dixie Chicks were right, right?"
Five stars on the "colon-tini," a phrase I would have liked to hear in the alternate-universe version of Sex and the City.
Rant on.
Amen brother; nothing like feeding the poor a line about a reward in heaven (which in some sense I believe) but to use that to justify suffering is a load of crap. I've often said that the saying "Money can't buy you happiness" is a load of shite as well. Give me the money; if I ain't happy, I'll give it to a good charity!!
I think the sausage ref. is hilarious. Most of the bars here in Ohio are almost always a sausagefest.
We all know Bush would do something that stupid. We just need to evidence to prove it.
Fourteen dollars for a drink? What do you suppose they would charge at the afterlife afterparty?
I did see Stevie in the crowd and I screamed at the television, "Could someone drive Stevie home, please? He's a musical genius, don't just make him sit there listening to that squeaky-shoe-on-hardwood sound with his heightened sense of hearing."
it is completely possible i love you. your brilliant
After Chris Reeve's head died, no joke was sacred. Let's stomp him.
And =kudos to Bush on providing the nation with some much-needed comic relief.
Dena, you went on a comment rampage. I love it. I'm addicted to your comments. More please.
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