Who Says Jesus Doesn't Like "The Gay?"

Who knew Jesus was a big Village People fan?

Apparently these three people did.

Though I gotta say, Vanilla Ice's brother on the end is making less of an "A" than an "O" shape, but hey, if the J-Man starts a YMCA hand gesture, you stop what you're doing and jump in. No questions asked.

Sadly, just moments (or maybe years) after this photo was taken Jesus was struck by lightning and burned down. Was it God's wrath for Jesus' love for heavily costumed and mustachioed homosexuals or did he ignite in a disco inferno?

We may never know.

Shout out to smokingsection.uproxx.com for the story.

God Hates Grapes!

When I started this blog, I did so with so with some trepidation.

I've worked with Black folks pretty much every day since graduating from college (a Black university no less) and what I've learned is that we take religion pretty seriously. Not that we're all theologists. In fact, when it comes to belief in a higher being (and let's be real, we're talking about Jesus here), its more fear than purely intellectual pursuit. Fear of pissing Jesus off and fear of people who aren't afraid of pissing Jesus off.

I like to think I'm a smart guy and therefore keep company with smart people (not that I don't entertain dummies, in fact, its pretty easy if you have a paper clip and can whistle) and I've seen people with graduate degrees step away from me for fear that my casual atheism might bring down lightning -- cause, you know, Jesus shoots lightning from the bolts in his hands (I'm willing to bet there are some folks backing away from their computer screens after reading that).

Anyway, I say all that to say, Black people are scared of God in the same way I used to be afraid of my pet rabbit. Yes, it was cute and cuddly and I felt great that I had it in my life, but it also had really sharp teeth and had its own ideas as what to constituted "randomly biting the shit out of my finger."

Where am I going with this?

Grapes.

Still confused? You should be.

So, it was roughly 10 years ago and I was working at start up .com company. We were all young, working for shit money and high on the lure of becoming instant millionaires in the ever expanding universe we understood as the digital revolution.

There was this one guy I worked with, Stu (not his real name, like you give a shit) who was some sort of pseudo born-again Christian. I say pseudo because he was also responsible for hiring our first stripper intern. And that's not because he was acting all Jesus-like and mingling with the poor and shunned, it was because he was acting all Diddy-like and hanging out in strip clubs and recruiting "talent." QUICK ASIDE: The intern, who had an ass like a tomato and made the simple act of sitting in a chair obscene, claimed that she was NOT a stripper but a waitress at the strip club. Plausible, yes. But as one good friend said. If Arnold Schwarzenegger told you he worked at the gym but was only a cashier, would you believe him? Me neither.

Anywho, the high and mighty Stu observes me eating lunch one day and remarks -- no shit -- "you know real Christians don't eat grapes."

Now, first of all -- what the fuck!?! Gay marriage, sure. But grapes?

Honestly, I don't think I responded in words just a blank stare of incredulity.

"Yeah, the bible says Christians shouldn't eat grapes. I haven't eaten grapes for years now."

Normally, I would question such a dubious claim. I mean if someone says "You know Latinos fart gold dust," you'd think the very least you'd do is ask for a source. But I knew Stu was crazier than a shit-house rat, so I responded with my own piece of shocking information.

"Well," I quipped as I popped another juicy grape in my mouth, "it's a good thing I'm not a Christian."

BOO-YAH -- My first public admission of what, at the time, didn't really feel like a secret. More like a well-played "fuck you" card. Stu, like the others I've told, was shocked. In his head, there was no space for non-Christianized Black folks.

What I loved about the moment was not the admission, because honestly, it didn't feel like an admission, just a statement of fact. I loved that I pulled all the wind out of Stu's sails. He was looking to set me up, to prey upon my assumed Christian guilt and make me feel one step closer to hell -- which feels like a dick move, no? I mean, what if I was a Christian? What was his goal? Is this how Christians talk to each other?    

Ironically, it was after this moment of clear PWN-attitude that I retreated into my heathen cave, like a scared turtle.

PS: Stu was not just talking shit. Right there in the bible, Numbers 6:2-3 it says: 'If a man or woman wants to make a special vow, a vow of separation to the LORD as a Nazirite, he must abstain from wine and other fermented drink and must not . . drink grape juice or eat grapes or raisins.'" 


Sonofabitch!

Uh, What? Um, Okaaayyy . . . .

Unlike like the rest of the civilized world, I do NOT have HBO.

I haven't always been without it. In fact, I've had HBO longer than I've been having sex, seriously. But, with the advent of Netflix and the invention of credit card debt, I had to make some hard choices over the last several months including the cancellation of my near and dear friend, HBO.

One of my weekly pleasures has been watching Bill Maher's Real Time mostly because he's the only prime-time atheist who says a lot of things I think. Though, I have to say he has a venom in him I don't always understand.

Nevertheless, I now troll for Real Time clips on youtube and podcasts and I bumped into this amazing piece video of a fellow atheist who has more in common with Sarah Palin than Richard Dawkins. Enjoy.



Amazing, no?

So on one hand, I am totally in Bill's corner that our media (be if liberal or FOX News) is not critical enough of religion. As an atheist/agnostic, I know that American society is generally a faithful one. Now, the media seem critical of parts of religion -- especially those parts that lead to murder, incivility and molestation -- but overall its all in when it comes to believing.

On the other . . . you know what, I don't agree with old girl at all. I was gonna give her props for thinking outside her atheist box and note media bias, but Bill's point is stronger. No one in media, or anywhere else for that matter, questions the need or validity of supernatural faith.

However, there is one thing she apparently believes that I DO think is true. I believe President Obama is an atheist. But that is for another post.

Goodnight Sweet Rodent

Death has struck again.

Last Thursday night, as I was dutifully picking up Potbelly sandwiches and chips for the whole family, I received a distressing phone call from home.

"Daddy," my eldest daughter says, "I have really, really, really bad news to tell you. Spotty died."

Spotty is one of our two guinea pigs. Of the two, she was the oldest. Fat and lazy, she was the rodent equivalent of what I imagine Ernest Borgnine is like. A little ornery but really just too tired to do anything about it. While Bobbi (the other guinea pig) still runs from us every time we approach the cage, Spotty barely flinched. After agreeing to letting my daughters take Spotty out of her cage to play, I would often find her, in an empty room, perched on the second level of a Barbie dream house, with just the saddest look of humiliation a rodent of her size could muster. I mean, on one hand, Spotty seemed relieved the children had gone. And on the other, her beady eyes seemed to be saying "Really? This is my life? Could someone just put me back in my fucking cage so I can hide in peace?"

Well Spotty, your days of humiliation are finally over. Unless, you consider being buried in a Cheddar Harvest Sun Chips bag humiliating, in which case your days of humiliation are still plenty (or at least until the nifty compostable bag disintegrates).

However, what surprised me most were my daughters' reactions to Spotty's demise. They both cried. A lot. The eldest's tears seemed genuine. I mean she loved that pig and I guess I sort of underestimated that. Spotty was not our first guinea pig to die and her reaction to the first one's death was no more remorseful than mourning the end of an episode of "Two and a Half Men." But this time was different.

My youngest daughter, on the other hand, was caught in this strange limbo between morbid curiosity -- playing pint-size funeral director and peering intently as I slid/stuffed Spotty's cooling corpse into the snack bag -- and mimicked grief which ebbed and flowed depending on her proximity to her sister.

After putting Spotty in her "coffin," I hurried outside to dig a small grave in our back yard (mind you, it was dinner time and my turkey and cheese wasn't getting any warmer on the kitchen counter). And here's where it got interesting.

As you may know my father died almost a year ago. And instead of a burial and what not, we had him cremated and threw a memorial party in his memory. While it was great for us adults, my children never got to say good bye to him. He was just gone one day and I'm not really sure if they've recovered yet. And since we keep it real heathen-like in my house, we have neither confirmed nor denied the concept of heaven so their grasp on life after death is tenuous at best, I regret. So, as we tearfully eulogized Spotty, my youngest, said "and also good-bye to Pop Pop."

Aww man. That almost killed me. But I patted down the earth and kept it moving, somewhat relieved that she had a chance to say what she needed to say.

He's Just Not that Into Me

So I called him.

Akeem. The man who only a couple of months ago deemed me the "winner" of a bible. The man who wrote his name and number in it and everything. I called him.

And you know what? He didn't have a fucking clue who I was.

Sucks, right?

I mean, here I was, thinking I was special. A bright, articulate heathen who had caught his eye that morning in February. But as he repeatedly asked how I knew him, it was clear I meant nothing to him. I guess he goes around handing out bibles all the time.

After recounting our time together, he said "oohhh yeah" in that way that made it clear he still didn't remember me but didn't want to be a dick.

Nevertheless, I didn't let this rejection stop me. I had questions for Akeem and I wasn't going to hang up until I got them.

"So, I'm calling because I wanted to know why, out of all the houses you surveyed, I got the bible?"

"Well, I belong to a 7th Day Adventist Church in the area and we were doing out reach and helping people out. We gave it to you because we wanted you to check it out. Not to win you over. You can check out our church. We respect your beliefs."

First off, 7th Day Adventist? I didn't know they did house calls. And here I was assuming he was a Jehovah's Witness. Seems I don't really know Akeem at all.

Second, while his statement seems disingenuous -- if you respect my beliefs (or lack thereof) why convince me that I "won" a bible with the hopes that I will "check it out?" -- he didn't seem all that concerned with me either.

I mean, maybe Akeem's up to his neck in heathens and I'm just one more on the pile. But something tells me he just wasn't all that concerned with converting me, which, kinda pissed me off. Since I started with this whole dating analogy, I'll stay the course with an even creepier analogy. Let's say I've got big tits. Really, nice big ones that look like heaven in this low cut shirt I just bought. Now, some guy waves and doesn't even acknowledge the heaving masterpiece below my neck. Is it flattering that at least ONE guy didn't start his conversations with my cleavage? Yes. Am I a bit suspicious and put off that he didn't sneak a peek at my bountiful bazooms? You damn skippy.

I say all this to say, I like tits. Wait, no. I'm saying this because while I don't want to be singled out for my lack of religion, if you're gonna look at it (and give me a prize for it), than shit yeah, I wanna talk about it. Don't give me the "wow, I didn't even see your gi-normous breasts falling out of your shirt." It's dishonest and I won't stand for it.

Anyway, Akeem eventually invited me to a class about prophecy, but you could tell he was totally half-assing it. You know, if I went he'd be all "oh hey, glad you came" and then giggle with his Jesus-buddies "Oh my god, I can't believe he came. I'm out of here."

Dude, I need to take a nap.   

The Visit I've Been Waiting For

Not five minutes ago, I saw an older Asian man and a tall, younger African guy approaching our door.

"Jehovah's Witnesses," my wife said almost dissmissively, as if she'd seen this movie before. And to be fair, she has. Like, a million times.

Nevertheless, if two men approach my door, I like to be there to open it.

"Hi, I'm David" the Asian guy offers his hand. "And this is [Joe]." In actuality his name was something more African but I can't remember it.

David explained he was here to do a survey and asked if I had time for it, which, I said I did just HOPING this had something to do with Jesus.

"Ok, do you and your family currently belong to a church?" (YAHTZEE!)

"No, we don't."

"Do you believe that world would be a better place if we all followed the word of the Bible?"

"No, not really." Now, to be honest I DO think the world would be better if everyone followed the golden rule. But that's like one paragraph in a sea of fairy tales and troublesome passages -- killing menstruating women and what not. I would feel socially irresponsible if I thought the world would pick that one nugget out the shit pile AND get it right. Besides Christianity has been around for thousands of years and followed by damn near a third of the planet and, for my money, haven't proved to be such a great deal.

I really got to give it to David and Joe, they didn't visibly flinch though I bet almost everyone who answered that particular question says something in the neighborhood of "yes." Even for the heathen, you cannot escape the thrill of blasphemy when saying something so contradictory to the American faith narrative. I almost didn't say it, but I hate lying more than appeasement.

The big question: "What religion were you raised with, as a child?"

"None," I said (my chest almost perciptablly puffed out with heathen pride). That's right Dave, you're not dealing with some run-of-the-mill "spiritual/non-religious" Johhny Six Pack. This is the real McCoy.

This time David, did do a slight double-take, followed by a refrain.

"So, no religion?"

"Right."

"Well, is there anything else I can do for you? Pray with you or pray for you?"

An odd question, no? I mean, if someone told me they were a vegetarian I'd either have to be hard of hearing or convinced otherwise to then ask them if they wanted to share a cheese steak.

"Nah, I'm good." I said, rather pleased with myself.

A couple handshakes and the two were back on their way, off to knock on more doors. Me? I felt satisfied that two of God's errand boys were witness to the civility and NORMALITY of the neighborhood heathen.

And that was it . . . or was it?!?!

I shit you not, 30 minutes later (yes, it's taken me that long to write this entry), there's a tentative knock on the front door. I rush downstairs, hoping to see the snow-delayed mailman with our Netflix movies for the long weekend.

No, it was Joe.

"Hi, we finished our survey and we determined that you were the winner of the free bible." And dude hands me a black, New King James bible.

I said "Thanks," as he skipped off with lollipop dreams of me sitting down in the kitchen and being instantly converted in his head.

What I SHOULD have said, was "Oh, no thanks, I've already got a copy." Which is true. I have a New International version in the guest room. I even marked the funny parts in yellow highlighter. Alas my tongue was so quick.

So now what? Am I really the biggest heathen in this neighborhood? I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm flattered, just shocked. Do I get to wear a scarlet H on my shirt. Ooh, what if there's a tshirt: "Two out of Two Jehovah's Witnesses Agree That I'm Going to Hell."

Sweet.

PROLOGUE: I actually opened the bible and saw the dedication page. Apparently, the bible was gifted to a guy named Michael from his mom and dad.  "He gave you his own bible," my wife said with the tears almost falling off her tongue. Admittedly, the sentiment took all the cynical wind out of my sails. If "Joe" was really Michael than I would feel really bad. Good thing he wasn't. I flipped to the back of the Bible and saw another name handwritten there -- "Akeem." THAT was Joe's name. I knew it was something more African sounding. I guess Michael donated his bible to Akeem to pass out to random heathens. Who knows? Point is Akeem is the one who gave it to me and, what's more, HE LEFT HIS PHONE NUMBER! I just got booked evangelical style. Thing is, I WILL call him. I've had plenty of true believers reach out, but this time I'm going to take up the gauntlet. I'm going to call Akeem. Like, in a couple days. Not immediately, I don't want him to think I'm some sort of spiritual slut.

I'll keep you posted 

Why Gay Marriage Should Be Legal

Before you behold this most holy spectacle, may I submit that this man is not at all interested in kissing the bride. In fact, the thought of locking lips with his blushing bride seems to make him throw up in his mouth. I further submit that his religious fit is just a cover-up to the complete misery he's imagining his life will be for the next 20-30 years as he alternates nights swallowing back bile as he "makes out" with his wife and nights where he lets his hair down at the local watering/glory hole.

I'm not a gambling man, but I bet dollars to donuts (a tasty wager) that this guy is a choir director (if you know what I mean) who's marrying this lovely beard to avoid those nasty rumors.

Enjoy!