SHOULD I POST THIS OR NOT, AWW WHAT THE FUCK.

Some thoughts that could possibly be related to Christianity, which I’ve been saving for a long time on my computer machine, I wrote them a long time ago and never posted them because I realized that they did nobody any good and probably weren’t worth reading, but now I’m feeling happy and slightly less inhibited than normal (Knob Creek) so I posted them, keep reading if you want to be very happy.

My computer is happy and you can be too.

Everything you are about to read is very optimistic and happy, none of it is offensive in any way.

Note: this will most likely be my last post that is controlled exclusively by my seemingly endless bitterness and rage against Christianity. Or maybe not. Hey, at least I recognize the rage. Yes, the rage is there. There it is, right there, see it? Grab it, quick, grab it! Smash it in the face with your whiskey glass! Kill that damn little fucker! Awww, MOTHAFUC–

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THERE YOU sit, surrounded by friends and family at a table piled with comestibles, your narrow little mind of misfiring neurons somehow managing to broadcast electric signals to your shamelessly misinforming mouth, prompting it to yawn open and grant access to a forkful of worldly victuals held by fingers trained to wield religious pens and pencils with all the unseeing fury of an imprisoned beast
– for that is, in fact, precisely what you are, in a metaphorical sense, of course, the fact that you lack metaphorical fangs notwithstanding, you don’t need them, your literal teeth need no such figurative embellishments, as they are often employed in very realistic tearings of throat when not occupied by trinitarian approaches to bodily nourishment.

THERE YOU poise upon a stage of useless m.divs and d.ds, harassing fellow members of a useless society, hacking at the ankles of the righteous, pretentiously insisting that morality must spring from mythology
– there you poise, unknowingly discombobulated, unaware of your own suppressed desire to get sucked off by that smoking hot organist, proclaiming all of your supposedly fresh ideas with a rhetorical violence that masquerades as salvation
– and if we can somehow imagine minds so intellectually stagnant that valleys filled with blood and glory-melted flesh equal justice, then our salvation is nigh, and it shall come when those who lust after whorish apocalypses are flayed and sawn asunder.

Peanut butter. I'm fucking a jar of peanut butter behind this podium.

THERE YOU sit again, heart mourning and full of fervent prayers to your subconscious, worriedly tapping out an email to a man you went to college with, a man who has, as you’ve recently discovered, wandered away from the only source of absolute truth in this entire universe, this universe of billions of solar systems, of galaxies spiraling away from each other at unsettling speeds, this universe of planets and stars and quasars and whirling blobs of voided existence, this universe in which you, of course, represent the capstone of creation, the ultimate thing, around which almighty god cups his holy hands in loving care and protection while simultaneously neglecting millions of starving people who could maybe survive another day on a couple spoonfuls of rice, but instead will probably just rot from the inside out after attempting to digest the richest fares you can offer them on his incompetent behalf
– that sticky gruel you washed from your dick after fucking the decomposed asshole of your precious messiah, christ be praised, amen
– and because of those souls destroyed by your absolute truth fetish, and because of the damned soul of that man you knew in college, your heart is wrenched, ‘t is, your concerned prayers rise up in anguished supplication, anguished, oh how terrifyingly anguished.

Setting people on fire is just so damn anguishing.

THERE YOU perch, walker of a narrow road, follower of a first-century anti-establishment radical, subscriber to an establishment the ascetic natures of which you do not seem to realize
– there you perch, enshrouded in attire fully appropriate for such a sanctified setting, yet fashionable enough to win the approval of surrounding sufferers, your thoughts unnaturally bedazzled by that which tends to naturally bedazzle in sundry other settings, your emotions triggered by artistic expression, your heart in tune with that of a divine personality whose apparent bipolarity can only be explained in light of mankind’s own mistakes
– there you perch in worshipful ignorance, transcending this existence, this suicide-inciting angst, this hollow ennui, this unholy heaven
– while conveniently unable to transcend your cute little tabernacle of unreality, your joyous sepulchre, your sand-foundationed house, which, as you will later be informed by an upstanding member of your congregation, who views pornography in the evenings and receives head from young boys in the church offices
– which, he will inform you, is in desperate need of financial assistance, as the accounts must be attended to by man immediately, and not by almighty god, seeing as almighty god has recently liquidated his assets and transferred the proceeds to the christ, who had successfully met all requirements of the crucifixion contract, and hence was entitled to his demands that almighty god provide large amounts of capital to fund the building of heavenly mansions for each of his discipled billions, the bloody compotationers, the jesus eaters, the holy flesh ingesters and evacuators
– there you perch, your profile backgrounded by a scenic stained glass window worth a thousand meals for widows and orphans, a mind-altering drug the only thing preventing you from snapping out of these illicit dreams of purpose, a drug administered by fiery frontmen, who coax its potent gases from the faded ink of crumbled pages preserved in ancient quires
– this joyful drug, this gas that slithers its way through pews and aisles, this gas that one day comes into contact with a single stray spark, just one godforsaken spark, from a sermon delivered by a misguided preacher
– this gas that suddenly, spiritually, inflates into flaming billows of scorching realization, incinerates an entire building that is, after all, only a building, and balloons outward in a searing concussion of heat and sound that eternally transforms one man’s lonely, repressed existence.

Pictured: God providing for his church.

THERE YOU gather, counselors extraordinaire, vacation bible school organizers expert, teetotalers confusedly united, relationship mentors most masterful, broccoli casseroles in hand, bibles in hand, sweet iced teas in hand, notebooks in hand, conservative commentaries in hand, everything but something useful in hand
– there you gather, proffering your personal view of scriptures in support of or opposition to someone else’s personal and most likely inferior view, handing down judgment upon those who deserve judgment according to your skewed interpretations of what an ancient judaistic cult thought about judgment, exonerating the guilt of those who repent according to your standards of repentance and presuppositions about guilt, condemning every other wayward bastard that fails your ridiculous religious inquisitions, stirring embers and stoking fires beneath the feet of those who smash through the fragile glass globules of your godly comfort zones
– there you gather, your falsely concerned faces oh so candidly concerned about the selfish falsehoods that have obviously overtaken young selfish minds, your underdeveloped brains straining to click with concepts of sexuality far beyond the realms of cognizance ever attainable by those of your intellectual immaturity, your lives accused by the very accusations you choose to impose upon others, your attempts at tough love rejected by the hapless botheration that the religion you espouse leaves no room for love, unless your ability to express blissfully ignorant hatred is qualified as a form of love.

Sure, I'll listen to your advice. If I also get to suck on your boobs for awhile.

THERE YOU stand, misleaders of impressionable youth, brainwashers of our future leaders, proponents of naïvete, destroyers of rational society, trapped within your own assumptions of what might otherwise pass as professionalism in any movement not so admirably violated by crooked dick philosophies
– for that is exactly what has happened, your godforsaken penis scabbards were fucked by a twisted terror masquerading as enlightenment, and you bore a child without even realizing that the worthless whining retard in your lap
– yes, the one that now sucks every drop of nourishment from your divinely dry tits, and probably should have been aborted
– is, in fact, the child of an adulterous relationship, a relationship that you lusted after, a relationship founded primarily on the attractive size of your retarded lover’s genitalia and thirst-quenching semen emissaries
– there you stand, the blood of countless suicides upon your sorry heads, the confusion of countless graduates upon your hands, graduates who entered the real world with a completely obsolete worldview fucked into place by your selfish members, students who trusted your truths only to find that truth was not, in fact, embodied within the whirling strokes of your fantastically outdated reality portraits, students who were then forced to start asking questions, and quickly noticed that questions were apparently not meant to be asked at all, that questions led to condemnation, that making use of the minds with which almighty god had blessed them was unacceptable in the event that such use opposed almighty god’s 21st-century commandments…

Sweet, now we know which way to go. It's the one marked "insanity."

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all your religion bullshit kind of pisses me off. even though you’ve helped me in the past, i’ll not shed a single tear at your funeral. actually, i probably won’t even be there. not to sound overly harsh or anything but