Easter and otherwise.
Sometimes it’s just great to be alive–like when real life is better than comedy.
There ought to be a dumb ass hall of fame.
In fact, let’s have one–a Dumb Ass Hall of Fame. For starters, we’ll induct someone every Monday morning. Feel free to put your nominations on the comments section.
And now, without further adieu I give you Prionda Hill, who might want to reconsider that “Jesus is my co-pilot” bumper sticker.
So, I heard a fun joke from an 11-year old yesterday at a swim meet. It’s probably an old one, but I hadn’t heard it. I laughed out loud and told him it was so good it needed to be in the internet. Thus:
A burgler breaks into an apartment and starts filling his sack with valuables when he hears a strange voice in the dark say, “Jesus is watching you!” The burgler shines his flashlight around but doesn’t see anyone, so he goes back to his burgling and stuffs more jewels and things into his bad.
“Jesus is watching you!” The voice calls out again, and the burgler just about jumps out of his shoes. Still, when he looks around him he sees nothing, so he goes back to stealing.
“Jesus is watching you!” Once more the spooky voice interupt him, and this time he looks more carefully and finally reveals a parrot in a cage in the corner. “Jesus is watching you!” The parrot says.
The burgler laughs and says, mockingly, to the parrot, “I suppose you’re Jesus?”
“No,” the parrot replies. “My name is Moses.”
The burgler laughs harder. “What kind of people name a parrot “Moses”?
“Pawwwwwwkk,” calls the parrot. “The same kind of people who name their rottweiller Jesus.”
I’ve been enjoying the current prominence of hipsters–I say prominence in respect to the temptation to write “fad” or “trend” because, unlike a lot of trends, hipsters are not so broadly defined, and much like polygamists and Seattle Seahawks fans they’re always out there, we’re just not used to seeing them in full plumage. I like hipsters because the most fashionable of them wear great hats and the absolute best vintage suits–but mostly I like them for the beards. And, of course, I’m a HIPSTER GOD because I’ve been rocking the whole fuzzy beard thing since, oh, 1986. I’m enjoying the company
I’m not bragging. It’s been lonely. For nearly three decades I’ve lived beneath the tyranny of the baby-faced, listening to peach-faced corporate functionaries drone on about “looking professional” and hearing the sad, fetishisticly fastidious pontificate the virtues of being “clean cut” as if that sort of shorn cleanliness has anything to do with manliness–or if it’s any measure of cleanliness at all. It’s certainly not next to godliness. God had a beard. I’ve seen pictures.
And here’s the thing: simpering suburban worker bees fear the beard, clinging to the notion that “good grooming” is in some way actually “good,” quietly judging–and only the most tremblingly weak may judge, but we judge too. When I look into the eyes of a clean shaven man I assume, until proven differently, that man is not capable of summoning the testosterone necessary to build a better beard. It’s unfair, but I’ve been ask too many times “what are you hiding.” (Answer: my snide sneer.)
Of course, bad-ass rugby guys have been pulling full-bore facial fur for a long time now and nothing says testosterone like a sweaty, mud-covered rugby player.
The list goes on and on. Bearded men are superior. Check out these guys, these bearded bad-ass Pakistani heroes saving the day:
When men shave, they do so in shameful obeisance of an inner force that sings, day and night, of their inadequacy. Ulysses S. Grant and William Tecumseh Sherman didn’t bother with razors. Didn’t need to.
Hagrid had a beard. So did GI Joe, Barbarossa, Leonidas, Robin Hood, The Allman Brothers, and all those Old Testament Dudes. Even Jesus had a beard. Jesus and Santa and Mr. Edwards on Little House on the Prairie. Mr Edwards was the only redeeming quality of that steaming pile–him and Nellie Oleson, that bitch.
You know who didn’t have a beard?
So, you know what, I’ll thrilled as apple pie that so many guys are sliding out from beneath the yoke of middle American homogeneity and daring to live like nature intended. I’m happy to fit in, even if it means sacrificing a little bit of my uniqueness. It’s not so bad, fitting in, when it’s society bending to match me, and I enjoy the company. The brotherhood of beards–we don’t even need a secret handshake. It’s like the turtleneck sweaters I love in the winter–when they come back around, style-wise, I’ll enjoy them while they last, store a few in the attic for the future, and look–for just a few, fleeting moments–like I actually give a shit what someone else (except my wife) thinks.
Just when you think people can’t get any worse, a deeper and more sinister evil oozes out of the black hearts of men.
They’re at it again. Last week I ripped the state of Kansas after it’s House of Representatives passed a bill that, if it becomes law, will bring institutionalized bigotry to The Sunflower State. The good news, however, was that so many good, angry people are putting so much heat on Kansas’ Governor and State Senate that passage of their bill in it’s present form is not likely to pass–not if the Republican incumbents have any hopes of an easy re-election.
Now, only a few days later, similar laws have raced through both the Arizona House and Senate, leaving that state teetering on the edge of a full-blown, retrograde, hate-fueled Jim Crow reality. The question is: who, in present day, twenty-first century America, thinks like this?
It’s rhetorical question, of course–I’ve already pointed at the Westboro Baptist Church, and that
Dick Duck Dynasty yahoo made a splash not too long ago spouting his own noxious ideas for revision of The Declaration of Independence and, sadly enough, a small but loud minority of Americans, most of them lazy Christians either too lazy to read what Jesus actually said about treating other people, or too filled with fear and anger to care. Not that he had anything at all to say about gays.
I suppose that it is natural and expected that bigots push back against the progress our nation has achieved in the past few years, both in securing equal rights in many states, and defending those gains, but I have a hard time taking it. For most of my life, I was largely ambivalent to the political aspects of sexuality, accepting but not particularly invested, but the older I become the more angry I become, the more annoyed by the inanity of it all. What is more small and petty than targeting an individual for social and political exclusion on the basis of who they happen to love? Why can’t people keep their hate to themselves, mind their own business, and get on with their own lives?
The justification is ridiculous–it would be laugh-out-loud hilarious if it weren’t so awful. According to the fiends responsible for these attempts to undermine the constitution, requiring Christians–or anyone who adopts a religion or belief that hates homosexuality–to treat gays as actual human beings and citizens, is tantamount to religious persecution. So, in essence, the vast Christian majority of the USA is supposedly being discriminated by the small percentage of people who are gay. I’d honestly had no idea that the faith was perched on such tenuous ground.
On the plus side, these backwards-assed redneck regional political assaults on liberty won’t go unnoticed on a national scale, and while they’ll undoubtably find support in aging, rural fundamentalists the Republican party–which just can’t seem to catch a break despite a train wreck of recent Presidential missteps–is going find itself guilty by association with young voters, most of whom don’t see what the big deal is, but will definitely wonder why so much time and effort is being devoted to the persecution of a tiny segment of the population, when young people are facing some of the worst economic realities in recent history.
Before you read further and get all indignant, let me remind you I’m a big fan of Jesus–my upbringing in the bosom of the Methodist Church formed the framework for much of my morality–and, of course, my cynicism, my expectations of inevitable hypocracy and, ironically enough, my deeply sentimental conviction that there is good in the world (maybe not a lot, maybe not enough, but enough to be foolishly hopeful.) The thing I would have liked to hear more about in church was Badass Jesus, Defiant Jesus, Superhero Jesus, Jesus tearing up the temple and putting the crooks on their asses, Jesus the Original Left-Wing Troublemaker, Jesus sticking it to The Man, Jesus fighting the system like Robin Hood, like the Dukes of Hazard and, ultimately, Jesus taking a metaphorical bullet for talking too much and shaking up the power class, like Bobby Kennedy, MLK, Malcolm X. I’m pretty sure Jesus would have been a cool guy to sit down with, have a beer, and talk about those crazy Occupy kids and our favorite episode of My Name Is Earl–I mean, Jesus was a tradesman, at the end of the day, a carpenter. And a guy like that, you can bet he had a sense of humor.
Too funny not to post.
Why is this funny? Because Kelly recently set the record straight regarding people of color who dared to think that Santa might possibly look more like them that he is traditionally portrayed. Kelly wasn’t hearing it.
“For all you kids watching at home, Santa just is white.” She said. Of course, she couldn’t just stop there. Overcome by a sudden attack of foot-in-mouth disease, there were a few other concerns Ms. Kelly, who was obviously hired at Fox for her unfathomably awesome intellect, set everything–er–right. “Jesus was a white man, too. It’s like we have, he’s a historical figure that’s a verifiable fact, as is Santa, I just want kids to know that. How do you revise it in the middle of the legacy in the story and change Santa from white to black?” I found her words to be deeply reassuring.
I’ve always been a little unsettled by the fact that Jesus came from the Middle East, where all the Terrorists come from. I had read an article a while back in Popular Mechanics about a forensic artist who gathered all the data he could find about Jesus and his worldly ancestors and attempted to create a reasonable approximation of what a carpenter from Nazareth might have looked like–and the result looked NOTHING like me. This guy to the right, except for the Woodstock hair style, is much more appealing.