It started a couple of weeks ago when I checked my inbox and found:
" i pray that you go to hell. how dare you insult and desicrate the holy bible. how dare you even infer an insult to the one and only jesus. i would not call myself a religious man, but i would say that i enjoy the thought of people going to hell, and in your case i pray to god that you do. you are no man, you are a honorless ass that should be shot and should die slowly. i pray that is what happen to you. the only way to redeme yourself it to ask jesus to enter your heart and beg him to wash away your homicidal and athiestic perversins with his blood".
"Worth a try" I thought, so, with all the sincerity I could muster, I said:
"Jesus, I want you to come into my heart right now and make me a better person. Hose me down with lambs blood if that what it takes"
That's when it happened: a feeling that I'd been hit with a Smart Bomb of love and peace as Beethoven's Ode to Love burst forth in the air around me and a thousand coruscating shafts of Octarine illuminated the room as he accepted the invitation.
"Why me?" I asked, "why not someone who actually believes in you? Why not someone like Mother Teresa?"
"You mean that nasty old bitch who refused to administer anesthetics to her patients because she wanted them to share the pain I'm supposed to have experienced on the cross? The same woman who had $50 million in the bank but wouldn't spend it on food, medicine, or housing for the poor?
The same daft old biddy who called family planning unnatural and denied it to those under her care saying "Abortion is the worst evil, and the greatest enemy of peace..." but was quite happy to let the Mayo Clinic implant a pacemaker in her?
No way! Give me an atheist any day. Most of them have both feet on the ground and are bright enough not to step in bs.
Or do you mean those pseudo-Christians who keep asking "What Would Jesus Do?" They never listen when I tell them that pummelling someone is not an effective means of communication, or that they should turn the other cheek, love thy enemy, thou shalt not kill, give money to any who ask or that they should give up all their worldly goods to help the poor.
They only ask the question to give themselves permission to do exactly what they want to do.
To the more extremist ones I say "accept the certainty of the illusion and hope based on a faulty premise, castrate yourself, dress in your best suit, play with snakes, drink poison and wait for a comet to take you to a better place.
And don't get me started on the Bible. There are so many factual, historical and logical errors in that book that I don't know where to begin making corrections! Besides, what can you do? Dad's copyright on the Bible expired centuries ago and they've been fiddling with it ever since.
Now, I don't know about you, but to me, they seem like pretty good reasons to not even bother trying. So I won't."
It wouldn't be so bad if he'd just stayed in my heart but now he's taken up residence in my cerebral cortex, mentally masturbating over some of my sex, drugs and rock'n'roll memories, especially that wild weekend with the Luton Girls' Choir. He's also found the fantasy section that's devoted to bacchanalian orgies, very often taking over the control of my vocal chords and shouting "hey baby! Take 'em off for the Son of God!", "Strip for your saviour!" or "Get ready for the second coming!"
He keeps saying that he hasn't been laid for 2000 years and insists on searching through chat rooms looking for someone with a combined dendrophilia/taphephilia fetish, pre-Raphaelite features, messy blonde curls and a desire for a three-way with a semi-mythical biblical being.
To hell with spiritual peace, Jesus just wants to get drunk and get laid.
This is a guy who can turn water into wine and feed a multitude at the drop of a bread basket but the cheapskate still sends me out for beer and pizza, has developed a taste for jeroboams of Blue Nun Liebfraumilch and has run up a massive bill on my cable's Playboy channel.
He is useful in the garden, especially with the hedges; any that are too overgrown he just curses them and they shrivel up and die, but I had to be firm with him over the porcine matter, though. The Housing Authority has a fairly lenient pets policy but even they would draw the line at live pigs, full of demons, being driven into the local lake.
Any suggestions on how I can get rid of the bugger now that he's overstayed his welcome?
Anyone know of poison tasting taking place in the Bible Belt? Maybe a snake-handling contest in Alabama for him to attend?