descension, I’m offering Christians the following, unsolicited, blanket
absolution of their sins against reason:
Dear Sister or Brother in Christ:
I am secretly reserving in your name a scintilla of the benefit of the doubt, and
accepting that somewhere in the nethermost recesses of your reptile brain one
neuron is saying to another, “I know that there is no God.” (Nurture the synapse
that links those neurons! It is all that stands between you and total insanity, that is,
the inability to recognize and respond rationally to the world around you, to tell the
imaginary from the actual.) You go ahead and talk about how there’s this big old
omnipotent god and he’s your pal. I’m going to give you a little credit in spite of
yourself. I choose to believe that you really don’t believe. And I’m rooting for that
synapse. You are welcome.
Love,
Brother Sam
absolution of their sins against reason:
Dear Sister or Brother in Christ:
I am secretly reserving in your name a scintilla of the benefit of the doubt, and
accepting that somewhere in the nethermost recesses of your reptile brain one
neuron is saying to another, “I know that there is no God.” (Nurture the synapse
that links those neurons! It is all that stands between you and total insanity, that is,
the inability to recognize and respond rationally to the world around you, to tell the
imaginary from the actual.) You go ahead and talk about how there’s this big old
omnipotent god and he’s your pal. I’m going to give you a little credit in spite of
yourself. I choose to believe that you really don’t believe. And I’m rooting for that
synapse. You are welcome.
Love,
Brother Sam
| Annotated by God, through Sam Singleton Atheist Evangelist |
| The Little Things |
One of my beloved sisters was thoughtful enough to deposit on Brother Sam’s men-
tal linoleum the following inspirational message, tracked in from the Web. Instead
of dismissing it like the rest of the nonsensical noxious sludge through which must
navigate the 700-foot seafaring studio and transmitter MV Sister Singleton (from
which broadcasts the 100,000kW pirate station the Voice of the Ozarks) as it plies
God did the actual analysis; Brother Sam just took it down word for word.
The inspirational message (sic throughout) starts out:
As you might know, the head of a company survived 9/11 because his son
started kindergarten.
And God says:
9/11? Whuh? I don’t remember anything major ever happening on any 9/11. Are
you sure you’ve got the date right? Hold up. It’s coming back to me. There was a
fire or something. That guy’s kid was in afternoon kindergarten. He didn’t have to
be at school till noon. And the nanny was taking him anyway. Your bigshot
company head was late because he spent an hour bawling out his Salvadoran
housekeeper (to whom he pays five bucks an hour off the books) because she
omitted the Lilac Vegetol spritz from his 1,200 thread-count Egyptian cotton
sheets. This is exactly the kind of asshole I go in for. That’s why I reward so many
of them with wealth. And why I chose to hang on to this one.
Another fellow was alive because it was his turn to bring donuts.
Lucky for him, I have a thing for Donut Pub crullers. If he’d gotten Krispy
Kremes, that would’ve been his ass.
One woman was late because her alarm clock didn't go off in time.
What a big fat goddamn fib. “Oh! My alarm clock didn’t go off!” I let her live, but
she’s definitely going to hell for lying.
One was late because of being stuck on the New Jersey Turnpike because of
an auto accident.
. . . which I caused. The truck driver that burned to death and the young mother
who was paralyzed from the neck down? They were expendable, mere pawns to
be sacrificed for this more deserving commuter whose name escapes me.
One of them missed his bus.
Because he was out all night messing in stuff he should’ve been leaving alone and
overslept his ass. See: Alarm clock. Hell for lying.
One spilled food on her clothes and had to take time to change.
Same deal. Hell for lying.
One's car wouldn't start.
Goddamn. This is becoming repetitious. Hell. Lying.
One couldn't get a taxi.
This guy happened to be telling the truth. All taxi drivers are all going to hell.
The one that struck me was the man who put on a new pair of shoes that
morning, took the various means to get to work, but before he got there, he
developed a blister on his foot. He stopped at a drugstore to buy a Band-Aid.
That is why he is alive today.
I put that blister on his foot. Later on, just for fun, I put another one on his penis
just to hear him explain it to his wife.
Now when I am stuck in traffic, miss an elevator, turn back to answer a
ringing telephone . . . all the little things that annoy me, I think to myself,
this is exactly where God wants me to be.
No shit? You do that every time you’re in one of those situations? You are a liar
from the pit. When you get to hell, say howdy to the alarm clock woman, the
turnpike commuter, Bus Boy, the messy eater, Mr. My-Car-Wouldn’t-Start, and
the cabbies.
At this very moment . . .
Next time your morning seems to be going wrong: the children are slow
getting dressed, you can't seem to find the car keys, you hit every traffic
light, don't get mad or frustrated; it may be just that God is at work
watching over you.
Fact is, punctuality just kind of pisses me off. That’s why I spared the fuck-ups
and layabouts that showed up late.
May God continue to bless you with all those annoying little things. And may
you remember their possible purpose. Pass this on to someone else if you'd
like. There is NO LUCK attached. If you delete this, it's okay: God's Love Is
Not Dependent On email! (that's the cool part)
Amen
Thanks. Goddamn. You’re something of an annoying little thing yourself. As your
maker I’m pretty goddamned impressed with myself for whatever it is you do,
which, in this case, I take, is somehow related to thinking. And despite your
limitations, you’ve managed to get the whole 9/11 thing exactly right. All those
children and parents and siblings and friends and rescuers who died because they
were NOT where I wanted them to be? That’s my little joke; since they couldn’t
help but be where I wanted them. Too bad. And too bad for everybody who lost a
loved one, or a means of support, or their sense of safety and security, or their civil
rights. Amen.
tal linoleum the following inspirational message, tracked in from the Web. Instead
of dismissing it like the rest of the nonsensical noxious sludge through which must
navigate the 700-foot seafaring studio and transmitter MV Sister Singleton (from
which broadcasts the 100,000kW pirate station the Voice of the Ozarks) as it plies
God did the actual analysis; Brother Sam just took it down word for word.
The inspirational message (sic throughout) starts out:
As you might know, the head of a company survived 9/11 because his son
started kindergarten.
And God says:
9/11? Whuh? I don’t remember anything major ever happening on any 9/11. Are
you sure you’ve got the date right? Hold up. It’s coming back to me. There was a
fire or something. That guy’s kid was in afternoon kindergarten. He didn’t have to
be at school till noon. And the nanny was taking him anyway. Your bigshot
company head was late because he spent an hour bawling out his Salvadoran
housekeeper (to whom he pays five bucks an hour off the books) because she
omitted the Lilac Vegetol spritz from his 1,200 thread-count Egyptian cotton
sheets. This is exactly the kind of asshole I go in for. That’s why I reward so many
of them with wealth. And why I chose to hang on to this one.
Another fellow was alive because it was his turn to bring donuts.
Lucky for him, I have a thing for Donut Pub crullers. If he’d gotten Krispy
Kremes, that would’ve been his ass.
One woman was late because her alarm clock didn't go off in time.
What a big fat goddamn fib. “Oh! My alarm clock didn’t go off!” I let her live, but
she’s definitely going to hell for lying.
One was late because of being stuck on the New Jersey Turnpike because of
an auto accident.
. . . which I caused. The truck driver that burned to death and the young mother
who was paralyzed from the neck down? They were expendable, mere pawns to
be sacrificed for this more deserving commuter whose name escapes me.
One of them missed his bus.
Because he was out all night messing in stuff he should’ve been leaving alone and
overslept his ass. See: Alarm clock. Hell for lying.
One spilled food on her clothes and had to take time to change.
Same deal. Hell for lying.
One's car wouldn't start.
Goddamn. This is becoming repetitious. Hell. Lying.
One couldn't get a taxi.
This guy happened to be telling the truth. All taxi drivers are all going to hell.
The one that struck me was the man who put on a new pair of shoes that
morning, took the various means to get to work, but before he got there, he
developed a blister on his foot. He stopped at a drugstore to buy a Band-Aid.
That is why he is alive today.
I put that blister on his foot. Later on, just for fun, I put another one on his penis
just to hear him explain it to his wife.
Now when I am stuck in traffic, miss an elevator, turn back to answer a
ringing telephone . . . all the little things that annoy me, I think to myself,
this is exactly where God wants me to be.
No shit? You do that every time you’re in one of those situations? You are a liar
from the pit. When you get to hell, say howdy to the alarm clock woman, the
turnpike commuter, Bus Boy, the messy eater, Mr. My-Car-Wouldn’t-Start, and
the cabbies.
At this very moment . . .
Next time your morning seems to be going wrong: the children are slow
getting dressed, you can't seem to find the car keys, you hit every traffic
light, don't get mad or frustrated; it may be just that God is at work
watching over you.
Fact is, punctuality just kind of pisses me off. That’s why I spared the fuck-ups
and layabouts that showed up late.
May God continue to bless you with all those annoying little things. And may
you remember their possible purpose. Pass this on to someone else if you'd
like. There is NO LUCK attached. If you delete this, it's okay: God's Love Is
Not Dependent On email! (that's the cool part)
Amen
Thanks. Goddamn. You’re something of an annoying little thing yourself. As your
maker I’m pretty goddamned impressed with myself for whatever it is you do,
which, in this case, I take, is somehow related to thinking. And despite your
limitations, you’ve managed to get the whole 9/11 thing exactly right. All those
children and parents and siblings and friends and rescuers who died because they
were NOT where I wanted them to be? That’s my little joke; since they couldn’t
help but be where I wanted them. Too bad. And too bad for everybody who lost a
loved one, or a means of support, or their sense of safety and security, or their civil
rights. Amen.
| Sunday, September 14, 2008 |