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Those Cheeky Christians on Facebook

20 Oct

What’s my favourite Bible verse? Other than that one about the woman lusting after her lovers who have schlongs to rival donkey porn stars and the ejaculating potential of sperm whales, I love the one about Jesus turning water into vodka. Wait, brandy? Maybe it was a very nice Cabernet, I don’t remember. But it was booze and that makes him super awesome. And then I also really love the one where good Christian people are told to turn the other bum cheek. You know, to not get all fucking angry and pissy every time shit doesn’t go their own way.

Like today. When Facebook nearly exploded with all the comments about Woolworths making a “business decision” to no longer stock religious magazines. It was the most excitement our local social media has enjoyed since that Pigfucker dude decided to use Twitter to alert motorists about speed traps and road blocks and flying pigs.

Christians took to using the devil’s very own tool forged in the fiery pit of hell — Facebook! The Woolworths fan page was buzzing with angry tirades about how God was going to fuck up the retailers if they didn’t put all those Christian magazines no one reads back on their shelves. But they forgot that other lesser-known Bible verse that teaches religious people not to piss in the wind. Simple fact: you’re probably going to piss yourself. Moron.

Piss was flying all over the place, to tell you the truth. Plenty of it in the general direction of all the bent-out-of-shape Christian folk who want to buy expensive food and read all about God’s love for the poor and hungry while they wait in the check-out line. There was also a lot of pissing against the metaphorical wall of the retailer’s fan page, probably because it’s fun to try to pee-write your name against a wall when you’ve had a few. Take this person’s comment for example: “Jesus listens … to Slayer!” Right on, but not quite on point, you silly fucker.

And then this smart-ass joins in with “as a hotblooded male with natural urges I demand Hustler and Loslyf [naked chicks showing the world what the good Lord gave em] to be stocked on Woolworth’s shelves!” Very fucking mature. I bet he reads this blog.

If you’ve always wanted a forum on Facebook where Christians tear their neighbours a new one in the name of Christ and then their faithless hellbound friends just use the much bigger hole to crap all over them, your prayers have been answered. And there must be a God, because Woolworths has retracted their decision and made another business decision to once again sell those magazines that no one reads. But not Hustler. Sorry for the dude who would like his wanking material close at hand when he waits to pay for his overpriced goods. But maybe he’ll finally discover the internet.

There you go. Hot under the dog collar over nothing really, while real wars continue to be waged and children die of hunger and morons continue to reproduce. I think I’ll go and quaff some Merlot while I page through my latest subscription copy of Hustler.

Aliens and the End of the World

10 Oct

we-are-not-alone

Some people think there is something special about numbers. Take the number ten for example. Thousands of years ago the Mayans supposedly predicted the world would end in 2012. But just so we would not be completely caught off guard when the world suddenly ends, they apparently also wrote some prophecies possibly using llama dung (that shit lasts forever) telling us that 10.10.10 would be, yes, just another day the earth continued its orbit around the sun, but also a special day when we’d all say to each other: Fuck! The world is going to end in 2012. If we don’t get right with God / pass a bill banning crocs / invent another calendar that somehow fast-tracks the world to a date after 2012 thereby fooling the universe and letting us off the hook for another 100 years, we’re all fucked.

The world somehow keeps on turning despite all the morons that live on it. Probably long after 2012. And morons keep on coming up with batshit ideas to understand why it does and when it may stop or who the fuck invented crocs. And just in case all those Mayan prophecies and mystical numbers and pyramids in the desert are actually the diabolical work of aliens, the UN has appointed an alien ambassador — or more specifically, space ambassador for extraterrestrial contact affairs. I llama-shit you not. It’s all hush-hush and no it’s not Will Smith. I’m as shocked as the rest of you. Our point person if the little green men from outer space visit us is Malayasian astrophysicist Mazlan Othman. It’s not a dude. It’s a woman. I think that’s a very clever move by the UN. Men only fuck things up. We’d either want to fight those little green fuckers with all the nuclear arsenal at our disposal and lose anyway because they have lasers or if they turn out to be gorgeous green women with perky tits, we’ll just want lap dances and stop worrying about 2012. We all lose again in that scenario, although we die with hard-ons.

Why the hell do we need an alien ambassador? According to this Othman chick, “someday humankind will receive signals from extraterrestrials. When we do, we should have in place a coordinated response that takes into account all the sensitivities related to the subject.” Exactly. Like whether it’s star wars or lap dances we should expect. Fuck me, is this woman wandering around the UN building with her cellphone fully charged hoping the aliens will give her a missed call just before they land in the parking lot? For all we know aliens would be far more interested in conversing with insects. After all, creepy crawlies rule the planet if we’re talking about sheer numbers here.

Fellow morons, eat, drink and by merry for tomorrow we may be visited by aliens.

Namaste

PS Thanks to my good friends the barefoot Mountain Man and his lovely veggie-eating partner Madam Marketing for the heads up about the alien welcoming committee. I would have been pissed if I woke up to find green people in my garden and didn’t know who to call.

PPS Let’s do this again next year on 11 November.

Dung Facials, Donkey Dongs and DIY Eye Surgery

14 Aug
donkey

True story: once upon a time in the Bible, a donkey talked. And then we got Shrek

Do you believe that every single word of the Bible was spoken by Morgan Freeman God in a deep but soothing tone and that each of these words should be obeyed to the letter or else your ass is going to eternally roast as Lucifer holds your writhing impaled body over a big braai? You need therapy We should have a beer.

Chris Juby, a worship director in the UK, is undertaking a tweeting venture that will excite the jocks socks off the Pope. And maybe knock his silly hat off, too. Joyful Juby is going to tweet the entire Bible over a three-year period. He’s already making speedy progress through Genesis. You know, the first book in the Bible where we learn that God took all of six days to make the bazillion galaxies that make up the universe and was so exhausted by the effort of proving Darwin wrong (who wouldn’t be) that he took a day off.

I’m quite disappointed in this Chris dude. I was fully expecting him to do the admirable thing and tweet every single solitary inspired word of the Bible, even if it took him thirty years. But oh no, Chris the worship dude is going to summarise one chapter per day into a 140-character tweet for us. He probably means well, but seriously, unless you’re special like Moses or St Paul or the Dalai Lama, don’t assume you have the divine right to dilute all the good stuff into itty bitty bite-sized tweets.

I’m not saying the Bible is not an important part of literature. But I do think people need to know that among all the tedious instructions about when to have sex and who not to have sex with (get it wrong and you’re going to be fucked up by the Devil), there are also some frisky, crazy, scare-the-bejesus-out-of-you bits that don’t exactly make for cute Sunday school lessons. Or snappy tweets.

“I will corrupt your seed and spread dung upon your faces.” Malachi 2:3

Actually, that’s quite a snappy tweet. But giving people shitty facials and doing unmentionable stuff with sperm? Anger management, people, anger fucking management.

And you probably think the Psalms are all zen-like poetry possibly written by Deepak Chopra, don’t you? Unless of course you wake up in the morning with a hangover and want to kill the neighbour’s kid for blowing his vuvuzela. In which case, fuck those happy psalms. Go with this one:

“Happy shall he be, that taketh and dasheth thy little ones against the stones.” Psalm 137:9

There were obviously no good therapists around when David was playing his harp and fucking up giants. And speaking of doing naughty things with your junk, this woman may have been the very first porn star:

“There she lusted after her lovers, whose genitals were like those of donkeys and whose emission was like that of horses.” Ezekiel 23:20

After reading that verse, you need to jump right into the New Testament and do this:

“If thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out!” Matthew 5:29

I may be proven wrong three years from now when Chris the Bible Twitterer has come up with some awesome summaries of the more violent and salacious chapters of the Bible. He may even single-handedly start up a few more religious wars. Or possibly reignite the porn industry that is prophesied to die out with the rest of us in 2012. But hopefully he will inspire all his Twitter followers to read the whole Bible and then agree with me … that Stephen King is probably God.

Namaste, morons

Shrek’s Vuvuzela Ears

8 Jul

Have you seen Shrek Forever After yet? Me neither. But I did watch the clip below and experienced a what-the-fuck moment: Shrek and his green ogre buddies have mini-vuvuzela ears!

Unless you have perfected the art of lodging your head very far up your own ass (an unusual talent you should not be ashamed of) you must have heard about the FIFA World Cup and the annoying horn called the vuvuzela, if not actually had someone blast the fucking plastic instrument of deafness in your unfortunate earholes. But it’s all in good anarchic fun. And FIFA were right to ignore the wankers who wanted a ban imposed on the noisy thing. Humans like to blow things.

The vuvuzela is crossing over. One day, Wimbledon and the US Open will be far more exciting sporting events with spectators blowing their vuvuzelas and possibly each other. Tiger may even wear his favourite golf shirt with his favourite tagline boldly printed on his manly chest: ‘blow my vuvuzela, beeyach’. Speaking of which, it won’t be long before the vuvuzela makes it into the adult film industry. You have an imagination. Use it.

The vuvuzela has become a cultural icon, a trending topic, it may become a fascinating porn prop and it has joyfully entered pop culture, as this Cyanide & Happiness strip confirms. And, thanks to Shrek, the vuvuzela is here forever after. Maybe invest in those ear muffler things.