...Or Maybe Barrabas

On the way in to work in the San Francisco Bay area, I often drive past cars bearing a patchwork of bleeding heart bumper stickers, giving lip service to causes from Greenpeace to NOW. Today, however, I saw one that I hadn’t seen before. It read simply: “Jesus is a liberal.”



Next to this bumper sticker were plastered two Barack Obama stickers, which raises the question: If Jesus is a registered Democrat, doesn’t it seem like going with Barack Obama is settling just a bit? Even with the deification that Obama has received in the media, I can’t see him at the top of an Obama/Jesus ticket.

If I were a Democratic strategist, I’d put Obama in the veep slot, although I’ll admit it’s a little chancy putting a Jew at the top of the ticket. Jesus’ age could also be an issue. He’d be the oldest president since Reagan.

If Jesus were Obama’s vice president, I think you’d run into a Bush/Cheney situation, where Obama is nominally in charge, but everybody knows that Jesus is the one pulling the strings. (Except, of course, Jesus wouldn't have to ingest the still beating hearts of baby golden retrievers in order to stay alive.)

People would come to President Obama and say, "Hey, Mr. President, can you turn this water into wine?" And he'd be like, "Sure." And then they'd have to call up Jesus in his undisclosed location and say, "Mr. Vice President, we've got a 4211!" And Jesus would be like, "4211, that's, um..." And they'd be like, "Water into wine, sir." And He'd be like, "I know what it is!" And then He'd be like, "Sorry I snapped at you, Tim. This is a high pressure job, what with that time I had to break a tie in the Senate and that time that I had to bear the weight of sin for all mankind by dying an agonizing death on the cross." And then Tim would be like, "One time Dan Quayle locked himself in his car and had to survive for three days by drinking his own urine."

Also, if Jesus were elected President, you'd have the dicey matter of the Constitutional order of succession. What if Jesus was betrayed by His Secretary of the Treasury and assassinated by the Romans? Would Obama be sworn in immediately, or would we have to wait for three days to see if Jesus snapped out of it? Can you still be President after you've been legally dead for three days? Man, if only John Kerry had been elected, we'd have a solid precedent.

I have my doubts whether Jesus would even get elected. The Republicans would have to counter by nominating someone who is tough on crime, against gay marriage and strongly pro-Israel. The obvious choice would be Jesus's dad, God the Father. That would be a tough race to call, especially if Ralph Nader is running as an independent. And all bets are off if the Holy Spirit enters as a dark horse candidate.

A Jesus candidacy would also complicate things for churches, which would have to remain neutral or lose their tax exempt status. Churches would either have to refrain from making any pro-Jesus comments, or they'd have to modify their services to give equal time to competing candidates. Some songs would have to be altered a bit, for example:

Jesus loves me, this I know
for the Bible tells me so
And at the spectrum's other end
There's John McCain, my Myspace friend

And of course Jesus wouldn't be allowed to speak in church, which would be a little weird. Although come to think if it, I'm pretty sure that rule only applies to Republican candidates. He should probably stick to black churches, though, just to be on the safe side.

If Jesus really is a liberal, a lot of churches probably wouldn't want Him to speak anyway. I mean, maybe if He stuck to the classics, like the Sermon on the Mount and the parable of the prodigal son. But I don't think the Sermon on Carbon Emission Caps or the Parable of the Third Trimester Abortion would go over very well.

No, now that I think about it, maybe Jesus isn't the best choice. Still, it can't hurt to have Him on one's side. Maybe tomorrow I'll hang Him up on my car too.

Listed on humor-blogs.com If you enjoyed this post, may I also recommend: Something Fishy This Way Comes | Blogger of Light(R)

Something Fishy This Way Comes

Some of my new readers may be surprised to learn that I am, in fact, a Christian. I know it's kind of hard to tell, because I don't really believe in pushing my beliefs on people. Also, I'm kind of a jackass.

Maybe what I need is a blog banner with one of those fish symbols on it, like you see on the back of people's cars. You know, like the song says: "They will know we are Christians by the crap we stick on the backs of our cars."

I don't actually have a big problem with the fish insignia trend, but I do wonder how much thought goes into the decision to stick something like that on one's car. First off, why the fish? I mean, I know it's an ancient Christian symbol, but hey, guess what, so is the cross. Everybody knows what the cross means. So why the fish?

Historically the fish was used as a secret sign by Christians to identify themselves to each other, back when being a Christian meant persecution and possibly execution. The last time I checked the local paper, though, Christians weren't being rounded up and burned alive by the authorities in California. So to me, using the fish symbol smacks of a persecution complex. Twenty or thirty years ago, whenever this trend started, not many people would have known what the fish meant. So it was a way for Christians to nudge-nudge-wink-wink make contact with other Christians without the heathens being any the wiser. Isn't it in Luke where Christ commands his disciples to "go and form secret societies within secular culture and communicate in code so that no one can identify you as one of my followers"?

At this point, of course, the cat is out of the bag. The fish is no longer a secret symbol. And yet, it's not universally recognizable either. The fish is like the Chad Michael Murray of religious symbols. Who? half of you say. Exactly.

It also confuses me when the fish symbol has to share real estate on the back of the car with other symbols. What does it mean when you have the fish insignia along with an "I'd rather be golfing" license plate frame and a bumper sticker that says "I (heart) my Labrador"? What's the order of precedence there? Golf, Jesus, Labrador? Is it significant that directly across from the fish symbol there's a Toyota symbol? And has anyone else noticed how satanic the Toyota logo looks in that context?

Just once I'd like to see a car covered entirely with a gigantic fish logo, because that's just how strongly the owner feels about his faith. I laugh at your tiny emblems! Screw resale value! I love Jesus, dammit!

The other day I saw a car that had two big fish and three little fish. The meaning of this was instantly clear to me: The people in this car worshiped two big Jesuses and three little Jesuses. I began to wonder if my lone Jesus was going to be sufficient.

Look, here's how the symbol works: It stands for Jesus, not you and your Subaru Legacy-driving family. Depeche Mode lyrics notwithstanding, we don't each get our own personal Jesus.

In any case, isn't it a little creepy to advertise the supposed religious affiliation of your dependent children? I mean, I'm unabashedly raising my children in the Christian faith, but if you asked me whether my six year old is a Christian, I couldn't give you an intelligent answer. Does Jesus give Nemo and Spongebob some serious competition for coolest guy ever? Oh yeah. But you're going to ask her in a few years if she's a Christian or a Nemoist.

And don't get me started on the whole Jesus vs. Darwin thing. The fish with legs was funny for about the first six or seven hundred times I saw it, but then the Christians, demonstrating both their over-sensitivity and underdeveloped sense of humor, retaliated with a bigger fish eating the Darwin fish. Because, friends, that's really what the Gospel is all about: the ultimate devouring of science by the giant, horrific Jesus-Fish.

Whatever. I don't really mind if you stick a fish on the back of your car. Hell, duct tape an octopus to your tailgate if you want. All I ask is that you put some thought into what your chosen marine animal signifies to the drivers around you. Personally, I'm sticking with the hermit crab.

If you enjoyed this post, may I also recommend: Blogger of Light(R) | I Pity the Fool Who Tries to Feminize Me Help me Jeebus, it's humor-blogs.com!

All In Favor of a Heliocentric Solar System Say "Aye!"

It always puzzles me when someone talks about the conflict between science and religion. I’m a religious person and I also believe in the value of science, yet I’ve never experienced any conflict. I feel like I must be doing one of them wrong.

As I see it, there are five main systems that shape the Western world. These are: Science, democracy, capitalism, religion, and American Idol. Everybody seems to think that the world is headed toward more of all of these things – all of them, that is, except for religion. Religion, for some reason, is always seen as the runt of the litter, doomed to lose out to its more robust siblings. And yet, if I were to pick the two systems that are most likely to come into conflict (putting aside American Idol), it wouldn’t be science and religion. It would be science and democracy.

Think about it: Science is all about facts. Facts are brutal and unyielding. They are what they are, regardless of how anyone feels about it.

Democracy, on the other hand, is all about opinions. You don’t have to have a shred of evidence to support your choice at the ballot box. And once you vote somebody in, they are in no way bound to act according to reason, facts or logic. They just do whatever feels right to them, based on any number of possibly completely irrelevant factors. It seems inevitable that these two systems will butt heads. The EPA is a case in point.

Where it gets really weird is when people start combining the two systems. For example, when you ask somebody how they know that global warming is a serious problem, they will most likely rattle off some statistic about how many scientists agree that it’s a serious problem. Huh? I thought science was about presenting facts and testing hypotheses. Now we’re favoring scientific theories based on sheer numbers?

It reminds me of the old joke about the kindergartener who brought a puppy to school for show and tell. The class couldn’t decide whether the puppy was a boy or a girl, so they voted on it.

The problem, of course, is that voting doesn’t do a damn thing to change the facts of the situation. If the people voting don’t have any basis for voting one way or another, all you’re getting is a collective guess. Well, hell, I can do that. Who needs scientists?

Remember those Trident commercials about how “four out of five dentists we surveyed recommended Trident for their patients who chew gum”? What a ringing endorsement that was, huh? They preselected a bunch of dentists and basically said to them, “Well, yes, we know gum is bad for you, but if one of your patients insisted on chewing gum, would you recommend chewing sugarless gum, such as, say, Trident?” And they still couldn’t get the fifth guy to buckle! That dentist had some balls, I tell you. In the seventeenth century, four out of five dentists thought the sun revolved around the earth. Too bad the fifth one was a guy by the name of Galileo, bitches.

If we’re really serious about the science-democracy mashup, we should make it into a reality show like, well, American Idol. You start out with ten thousand scientists from across the country, each with competing views on global warming, and gradually eliminate them by, um, denying them tenure or something. We can work out the details later. But the important thing is that the winner will get to determine our policy on global warming. Hopefully it will be someone with a good head on his or her shoulders, who is also cute as a button, much like Kelly Clarkson. But if the winner is the scientific equivalent of William Hung, then we’ll just have to deal with it, even if it means living in aluminum huts and driving coal powered submarines for a year.

Asking ten thousand scientists what to do about global warming is like asking ten thousand lawyers what to do about Roe versus Wade. Where do you even find ten thousand scientists? I think you probably have to lower the bar to anyone who owns a white lab coat to get those kinds of numbers. I mean, there’s no independent qualification of scientists, is there? Anybody who spends their weekends mixing hair gel with silly putty in the garage in an attempt to make Flubber can call themselves a scientist.

Which brings me to my point: These so-called “scientists” have far too much power in our society. We need to level the playing field a bit. To that end, I’m starting a scientific institute called, um, the Mattress Police Institute for the Advancement of Scientific Missions of Awesomeness, also known as MIASMA (the ‘P’ is silent). To work at MIASMA, you must:

1) Own a white lab coat, or intend to buy one when you have the money
2) Believe in the advancement of Science through Scientific Missions of Awesomeness
3) Believe that no list is complete without at least three items

To apply to MIASMA, simply leave a comment below. Once you are accepted into MIASMA, you are considered an official Scientist, and may weigh in on important matters such as global warming, global cooling, and global staying-about-the-same-ing. Together, we can ensure that science gets the injection of pure democracy that it needs in order to keep our interest. I look forward to working with you to make/keep our planet a comfortable temperature.

Long live science! Death to the unbelievers!

(Oh, and I’ve made another banner. You don’t have to use the banner to be a staff scientist at MIASMA, but it will look good on your review. I know, you already have the Huey Lewis banner, the Humor-Blogs banner, the Antisocial Commentary banner and the Grundir banner, but you really need this one too. Because it’s all sciencey and stuff.)

<a href="http://www.mattresspolice.com/2008/06/all-in-favor-of-heliocentric-solar.htm"><img src="http://www.mattresspolice.com/images/miasma.jpg" alt="MIASMA" /></a>

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Blogger of Light(R)

I’ve decided that I need a nemesis.

A commenter recently suggested that His Excellency Lord Monkeyhands could be my nemesis, but I don’t know. It feels like settling to me. Monkeyhands isn’t up to being my Joker or Lex Luthor. Maybe if he, Human Inertia, Stoner, and three of my other worst bosses got together, they could be my Sinister Six, but that’s about as much credit as I’m willing to give them.

A great nemesis can’t be an idiot; he has to be brilliant but twisted – someone who has the power to accomplish great things, but uses that power only for his own demented ends. Someone like Darth Vader or Hans Gruber from Die Hard. Or Thomas Kinkade.

Yes, you heard me right. I have selected as my nemesis Thomas Kinkade, the Painter of Light®.

If you’re not familiar with this “artist,” he’s best known as the man who has produced essentially the same painting 8,436 times over the past 20 years. Kinkade-land is a place filled with cottages almost militantly cozy, a place where it has always just rained, but it never rains. There is no sun in Kinkade-land – only an endless panorama of supernaturally illuminated clouds. It is a place where human beings, if they are seen at all, are represented only in the distance as Ice-Skating Boy or Man on Horse, never as individuals with names or identities. Judging from the freakish glow emanating from the cottages, the people in Kinkade's paintings are probably too busy stoking their fireplaces and lighting the drapes on fire to be seen outdoors.



Let me be clear: Kinkade’s talent is undeniable. If you’re looking for someone to paint a rain-slicked street, he’s your man. But somewhere along the line Kinkade went from competent landscape painter to billion dollar bullshit artist.

Saying that Kinkade has sold out is like saying that the Nazis lost track of what National Socialism was all about. First of all, any artist who comes up with his own trademarked tagline has preemptively surrendered any claim at creative integrity. What kind of artist devises a particular style and then essentially announces that he’s never going to progress beyond that style for the rest of his life? It’s a sort of deliberate artistic retardation, like if the Beatles had decided in 1964 to be the She Loves You Yeah Yeah Yeah Group®. Although maybe Van Gogh would have had better luck if he had marketed himself as Painter of Swirls®.

Kinkade found something that works, and is sticking with it. I’ve never seen a Kinkade painting of a bowl of fruit or Madonna with child. I’m not sure he could paint a portrait of a human being if he had a gun to his head. Can you have no desire to push yourself, to learn or produce anything new, and still call yourself an artist? I don’t know, but you can make a hell of a lot of money.

At this point Kinkade is a cottage industry (ha!) that is almost entirely independent of the creation of original paintings. Kinkade “originals” are turned out at a rate of nearly 500 a day at a factory in California. His paintings are digitally photographed, transferred onto a plastic-like surface and glued onto canvas. Each print features a nominal contribution by “highlight artists,” assembly-line workers who add a dash of color here and there. This unique touch allows Kinkade to charge up to $10,000 for what are essentially Xerox copies of original paintings. Prints that have had Kinkade’s signature mechanically etched into them – complete with DNA sample – go for quite a bit more.

I frankly don’t begrudge his selling insanely overpriced carbon copies of mediocre paintings by the horse-drawn buggy-load. If I could take a dump in a paper bag and sell it to morons for $10,000, I have to admit I’d be sorely tempted.

What galls me about Kinkade is the way he equates his greeting card sentimentality with Christianity – thereby elevating his cynical, manipulative, greed-driven business practices to the level of “evangelism.” God knows what luminescent cottages and glittering cobblestones have to do with the gospel, but to Kinkade it’s all one big fuzzy package. Go to the Lighthouses wing of Kinkade’s online gallery and you’ll be greeted with the message:

The power of a towering lighthouse, the unforgiving force of the storming sea, and the bravery of a sailor’s perseverance, all remind us of God’s strength.

If you’re like me, you vomited a little in your mouth when you read that. For starters, it reads like it was written by a fifth grade girl. The first sentence, if you remove the modifiers, reads “power…reminds us… of strength.” Yeah, I wonder why that is. Maybe because they’re synonyms? “Bravery of… perseverance” is a phrase devoid of any meaning. And then there’s the intellectual laziness of postulating that every element of the painting symbolizes the exact same thing:

“Jimmy, can you tell me what the lighthouse signifies in this painting?”
“Ummm... God’s strength?”
“Very good! And the storming sea?”
“Errrr... God’s strength?”
“Excellent! And how about the –”
“God’s strength?”

Way to go, Jimmy. You could write copy for the Thomas Kinkade Painter of Light® website, telling the adoring public exactly what each of Kinkade’s paintings make us feel. So far I’ve learned that God is brave, powerful, stormy and unforgiving. Man, who needs the New Testament when you’ve got the gospel according to greeting card art?

The best art, in my opinion, is the kind that asks no questions and creates no uncertainty. True art is about creating graphical representations of objects calculated to provoke a specific, predetermined response.

Wait, did I say ‘art’? I meant ‘pornography.’

Thomas Kinkade isn’t an artist. He’s a purveyor of pornography. And the worst kind of pornography, at that: the kind without any naked people doing it.

Thomas Kinkade and Michael Bay have each had exactly one original idea – and it’s the same idea: to make a billion dollars off the way light refracts off pavement. But at least there’s no Michael Bay gallery at the local megachurch, and at the end of a Michael Bay show a lot of shit blows up.

I won’t even bother to go into what a complete ass-hat Kincade is on a personal level. You can research that yourself. Suffice it to say that Kinkade once said that Picasso “had a talent but didn't use it in any significant way.” Presumably Picasso wasted too much time trying out new things, and never bothered to come up with a catchy tagline, like “Painter of Cubes®.”

Painter of Light®, my ass. Thom, you’re the Painter of Light Porn®. Hell, you don’t even rise to the level of Michael Bay. You’re the Shannon Tweed of oil painters.

F--- you, Thomas Kinkade.

If you enjoyed this post, may I also recommend: Vincent Van Gobot | I Pity the Fool Who Tries to Feminize Me Humor-blogs.com has talent, but has never used it in any significant way.

Noel, Noel, Noel. What Were You Thinking?

Everybody loves Christmas carols. Christians love Christmas carols. Jews love Christmas carols. Even Satanists secretly love Christmas carols. The only people who don't like Christmas carols are Communists and people named Carol who are going to smack the next person that asks them if they are a Christmas Carol because it's just not funny after the bazillionth time, ok?

One of the most enjoyable Christmas songs to listen to is "The First Noel," the lyrics of which were presumably written as some sort of prank by a guy named Noel. The tune is wonderful, but the lyrics are ridiculous. He works his name into the song like 87 times, for starters.

Noel wrote a song, Noel Noel
Noel Noel Noel Noel
It's my song so suck it, Noel Noel
Sing Noel Noel Noel Noel
Noel Noel Noel Noel
Born is the King of Israel whose name is Noel!

If it weren't for "Hey Jude", old Noel would still be on the hook for Most Needless Repetition of a Name in a Song.

Ok, ok. That's not really how the song goes. In reality, the lyrics are far, far worse. If you don't believe me, you obviously haven't had to try to sing the song lately. Sure, it sounds great piping gently through the speakers at Starbucks, but at my church they actually expect us to sing the song, and let me tell you, it's damn near impossible. That song has the most godawful awkward lyrics I've ever tried to wrap my lips around.

Let's take the first stanza, shall we?

The first noel the angels did say
Was to certain poor shepherds in fields as they lay
In fields where they lay keeping their sheep
On a cold winter's night that was so deep.
Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel
Born is the King of Israel!

First of all, a "noel" is a song. So this is a song about a song. If you were to update the refrain of this song to modern English, it would be:

Song, Song, Song, Song
Born is the King of Israel!

Which, if it weren't redeemed by the second line, would be the worst refrain ever.

Next, you don't "say" a song. You sing it.

Then there's the pointless redundancy: "in fields as they lay/in fields where they lay." That's just lazy. And what the hell are the shepherds doing lying in the fields? Shouldn't at least one of them be awake? And if they're asleep, how are they "keeping their sheep?"

Then there's the little fact that Jesus was most likely not born during the winter. And even if he were, what exactly makes a night "deep"? What the hell is that supposed to mean? I'll tell you what it means. It means somebody couldn't think of a word to rhyme with 'sheep.'

Ok, so we've established that this song is confused, repetitive, factually inaccurate and banal. And we still haven't even touched on the fact that it's virtually impossible to sing. It's like the lyrics were written for a completely different tune.

The-uh fir-irst no-o-el the-uh angels did say
Was to certain poor shepherds in fields as they lay
I-in fie-eelds wheretheylay kee-ee-eeping their sheep
On a cold winter's ni-ight that wa-as so deep.
No-o-el, No-o-el, No-o-el, No-o-e-el
Born is the Ki-ing of I-Isri-el!

Maybe the syllable breaks make sense if you're a world-class stutterer or something. And in case you think, "Well, that's just the way those old songs are," take a look at the first stanza of "Hark the Herald Angels Sing":

Hark the herald angels sing
"Glory to the newborn King!
Peace on earth and mercy mild
God and sinners reconciled"
Joyful, all ye nations rise
Join the triumph of the skies
With th'angelic host proclaim:
"Christ is born in Bethlehem"
Hark! The herald angels sing
"Glory to the newborn King!"

Hey, the syllable breaks actually match the notes of the tune! Other than stretching "sing" and "mild" into two syllables and creating the contraction "th'angelic", you start a new syllable every time you hit a new note. It's a Christmas miracle! "Joy to the World," "Silent Night," "O Come All Ye Faithful" -- they all match their respective tunes almost perfectly.

You would think that once a lyricist has given himself license to depart from historical accuracy and go off on tangents about farm animals, he might have a chance of finding some words that actually go along with the tune, but old Noel had no such luck. In fact, the song actually gets worse in the later stanzas:

They-ey loo-ook-ed up a-and sa-aw a star
Shining i-in the Ea-east beyo-ond them far
And to-o the-uh earth it ga-a-ave great light
And so it continued both da-ay and night.
No-o-el, No-o-el, No-o-el, No-o-e-el
Born is the Ki-ing of I-Isri-el!

Ok, I need to stop trying to figure out where the syllable breaks are before I develop a case of Turrett's. For the record, according to Luke the shepherds saw no star. The shepherds were "nearby," and if they needed a star to find Bethlehem, they were some pretty piss-poor shepherds. Oh, and if they had attempted to follow a star "in the east," they would have found themselves in the Dead Sea.

The next stanza is my favorite.

This star drew nigh to the northwest
O'er Bethlehem it took its rest
And there it did both pause and stay
Right o'er the place where Jesus lay.
Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel
Born is the King of Israel!

Is there a more drawn out way to say "The star stopped over the baby Jesus"? I especially like the fact that the star "did both pause and stay" -- a phrase which is painfully redundant even without dragging it out over 37 syllables.

And now, the moment you've been waiting for: the historically inaccurate and syntactically disastrous inclusion of the three wise men:

Then entered in those wise men three
Full reverently upon their knee
And offered there in His presence
Their gold and myrrh and frankincense.
Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel
Born is the King of Israel!

Ah yes, the famed Wise Men of the Southeast, who arrived on the heels of the shepherds. Historians have, of course, disagreed about the number of wise men. The standard interpretation is that there were three, based on the fact that there were three gifts. Revisionists, however, point to the fact that they all evidently shared a single knee.

Oh well. At least the intrepid vocalist is rewarded for his persistence with a single coherent, semi-singable stanza to close the song.

Then let us all with one accord
Sing praises to our heavenly Lord
That hath made Heaven and earth of naught
And with his blood mankind has bought.
Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel
Born is the King of Israel!

Couldn't have said it better myself. Merry Christmas, everyone.


I'll probably take the next few days off, but I'll try to whip something up for the caption contest on Friday. See you then.

This post did both pause and stay at humor-blogs.com.

Our Wonderful Glands

These days we can be thankful that every primate with opposable thumbs, not to mention Tucker Max, has a blog. Today I can simply open the lid of my laptop and read no less than 800 million stories about absolutely adorable and completely interchangeable cats. I can also read sports commentary by armchair quarterbacks, navel-gazing by armchair philosophers and upholstery tips by the chair of the armchair armchair-makers society.

But what did people do in the Olden Dayes, back before armchair technology guru Al Gore invented the Interwebs? How did people find out that their cats were, in fact, no different from everyone else's cats? Where did they go to find throngs of like-minded idiots with whom to commiserate regarding the alarming decline of their own particular brand of idiocy?

Well, my friends, I have stumbled upon the answer. A few weeks ago I ran across a box of yellowed booklets at an estate sale, most of them written by one Joseph McCabe. Maybe you know the name; I didn't. Apparently he was a well-known "freethinker" back in the day, which is what they used to call people who were free to think anything except that there might be a God of some sort. If you stumbled across that particular belief, you were kicked out of the club. It was a very open-minded sort of club in that way.

In any case, this Joseph McCabe was what passed for a blogger in the 1930s-40s. He seems to have been a pretty smart guy, if a bit of a crank, and he wrote on EVERYTHING. The first booklet to catch my eye was something entitled "Our Wonderful Glands." It's about, well, our wonderful glands. Then there is "The Nature, History and Uses of Aphrodisiacs," "Television -- What It Is and How It Works" and "How the Talkies Talk." Despite his wide range of topics, Mr. McCabe did not, as far as I can tell, own a cat.

"Television and How it Works," penned in 1937, begins:

Thirteen years ago, I wrote a popular manual of physics in which I told my readers that when certain processes that were then in their crude infancy were perfected we should be able to sit an arm chair* at home and see what was at that moment happening in 42nd Street or at the baseball ground. A scientific weekly condescended to notice my book but warned me, on a note of high superiority, not to put such dreams before the public.

Joe's prognostication was so uncannily accurate that he can be forgiven for using the term "baseball ground."

Mostly old Joe seemed to be concerned with spreading the gospel of atheism and exposing the evils of the Catholic Church. (Joe spent ten years in a monastery, but it evidently didn't take). For a while there was even a Joseph McCabe Magazine (later modestly renamed to Appeal to Reason Library), which seems to have been written almost entirely by old Joe himself. One volume of Appeal to Reason Library is made up of articles like "Catholics and Crime, or Why the Catholics Fill the Jails," "How the Roman Catholic Church Gets Wealth and Power," and "Celibacy, an Unscrupulous Policy." In 1937 old Joe wrote a nice 32 page pamphlet entitled "Vice in German Monasteries," in which he unfortunately bases much of his case on the rantings of Goebbels. Tough luck, Joe.

Another issue of The Joseph McCabe Magazine promises In This Issue that "Science Conducts God to Its Frontier -- Atheism Advances Despite Absurd Cavortings of a Few Scientists Who Speak Up For God." Come on, Joe, tell us how you really feel. (By the way, is it just me, or does absurd cavorting sound like a pretty good time?)

Joe's disgust with the clerical bias of the editors of the Encyclopedia Brittanica prompted him to write "The Lies and Fallacies of the Encyclopedia Britannica -- How Powerful and Shameless Clerical Forces Castrated a Famous Work of Reference." (Castration being a particularly tragic fate once one has been schooled in the mysteries of Our Wonderful Glands.) Joe got so mad, in fact, that he beat Wikipedia by 60 years in writing his own alternative to the esteemed encyclopedia. That's right, I have in my hands Volume 2 of Joseph McCabe's The Encyclopedia of Essential Knowledge. Evidently there was a lot less to know in 1948, because all of Volume 2 (D to H) is slightly larger than the instruction booklet for the George Foreman grill.

In fact, it's significantly shorter than my book, Antisocial Commentary, which is currently on sale for the absurdly cavorting price of $9.95 with free shipping. To be fair, my book does not contain a section on Thomas Edison which reads, in its entirety:

Edison, Thomas Alva (1847-1941). The famous inventor read Gibbon and Hume before he was 10 and was an outspoken Agnostic all his life. In his later years he, like Lembroso, dabbled in spiritualism but does not seem to have gone beyond inquiry.

Sadly there are no illustrations, but I'm hopeful that a revised edition will soon be released with Thomas Edison thinking Great Agnostic Thoughts. If only there were some universally recognized symbol that could be used to indicate that Edison was thinking brilliant thoughts. Maybe a thought bubble with an oil lamp in it.

The Encyclopedia of Essential Knowledge also surprisingly omits Novelty Testicles and The Incredible Hulk -- mistakes I was careful not to repeat in my own book.

Some of you, I suspect, are still agnostic regarding my thesis that the cranky pamphleteers of the mid-20th century were the bloggers of their time. To you, I submit the fact that the final pages of the Josesph McCabe Magazine are filled with letters -- which is to say comments -- by readers on previous essays, and ads for other booklets (cough, cough, blogroll) that the reader might enjoy. Finally, there are the somewhat questionable ads for various products filling out the remainder of the pamphlets.



In case you can't read it, there are ads for pamphlets titled "The Treatment of Impotence in Man and Woman," "The Latest So-Called Miracle Cures for Gonorrhea" and (my personal favorite): "When are Girls Promiscuous? Love's Physiology for the Virgin and Her Sister." (Original Title: "Frank Talk About Sex for the Virgin and Her Sister, the Filthy, Filthy Whore.")

It is a tragedy that these valuable writings have virtually disappeared, surviving only in a few dog-eared and yellowing copies ignominiously offered for sale for a few pennies at an estate sale. I am proud to have done my part to immortalize these works by blogging about them. At least this very small fraction of Joseph McCabe's works will be accessible for eternity to all of humanity via the miracle of the internet. Along with 800 million posts about cats.


*I swear I didn't know the "arm chair" reference was in there when I started writing this post.

The virgin and her sister hang out at humor-blogs.com.

Mixed Fruits and Metaphors

EXT. GARDEN OF EDEN. DAY.

Adam is busily scribbling on a piece of paper with a pencil when God quietly walks up beside him.

God: Hey Adam, what's up?
Adam: Oh, uh... hey, there, God. I was just, you know, coming up with some more animal names.
God: I thought you named all the animals already.
Adam: The Mediterranean animals, yeah. But I figure that you've got a lot of animals in other climates that still need names.
God: What's a 'polar bear'?
Adam: Geez, I don't know. A bear that like poles? You don't have to use it if you don't want.
God: No, no, it's a good name. I'll come up with something. Ooh, I like this one. Kangaroo. Sounds like something you could put in your pocket. Speaking of which, I noticed you're wearing trousers stitched together from leaves.
Adam: Oh, that. Yeah, I was feeling a little self-conscious with all my, you know, parts hanging out.
God: Did you eat from that tree I told you not to eat from?
Adam: Ummmm... Actually that was the woman.
God: The woman? You mean Eve?
Adam: No, the other woman. Of course Eve.
God: Don't get smart with me, mister. You've got a lot more ribs.
Adam: Ok, sorry. Anyway, Eve said the snake told her it was ok...."
God: The snake? Eve is listening to snakes now?
Adam: She goes a little crazy for a few days around this time of the month.
God: Man, I knew talking animals were a mistake.
Adam: You mean the animals really can talk? I thought Eve had gotten into the happy mushrooms again.
God: That's it, no more talking animals. Also, the snake is going to have to crawl around on its belly from now on.
Adam: As opposed to...?
God: Well, walking on its legs, of course.
Adam: Snakes don't have legs.
God: Of course they do. Four stubby little legs.
Adam: You're thinking of a lizard.
God: No, I'm pretty sure it's a snake.
Adam: No, the ones with legs are called lizards. Remember, you wanted to call them all "snakes" but I said that I thought we needed a different name for the ones with legs. So I came up with "lizards."
God: Oh yeah. It's too bad in a way.
Adam: What?
God: I was really looking forward to pulling its legs off.
Adam: Maybe just remove the wings?
God: Yeah, that'll learn it. No more winged snakes. Oh, and one more thing: I have to kick you out of the garden.
Adam: Oh. Because of the fruit thing?
God: Yeah. Rules are rules.
Adam: Ok. It was getting kind of dull in here anyway. What's it like out there?
God: To be honest, most of it is kind of crummy compared to this.
Adam: What? Why? Didn't you create everything perfect?
God: Inside the garden, yes. Outside... not so much. And now that you've sinned, you have to go out there.
Adam: Wait a minute. You deliberately created a shitty world all around this garden so that just in case we screwed up you'd have a place to exile us to? Nice.
God: No, it didn't get screwed up until you ate the fruit.
Adam: Wha...? I took one little bite of a piece of fruit and a I screwed up the entire world? This doesn't make any sense. Things look fine to me.
God: Inside the garden, yes. But not out there.
Adam: But shouldn't the garden be the place that got screwed up? Does the screw-up radiation just skip right over the garden?
God: Er, no, the garden will start to go to pot pretty quick too.
Adam: So why can't we just stay here?
God: Well, there's also the matter of the Tree of Life.
Adam: Tree of Life? So there are two magic trees in the garden? I thought there was only the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Not So Good.
God: Evil. It's called evil. You can stop pretending that you don't know what it's called.
Adam: Evil, huh? It's got sort of a wicked sound to it.
God: Yeah, anyway, there's also the Tree of Life. It's the one on the other side of the tool shed.
Adam: Really? I thought that was an apricot tree.
God: No, it's the Tree of Life. And I can't have you eating from it, because then you'll live forever. Which sounds like a good thing, but now that you've been corrupted you're going to have to die.
Adam: But I've already eaten some of that fruit.
God: Yeah, but not after you ate the fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. Eating from the TOKOGE counteracts the effects of the Tree of Life. But if you eat from the Tree of Life after eating from the TOKOGE, you'll be evil and live forever.
Adam: What kind of twisted mind comes up with this stuff? Are there any other magic trees I should know about? Maybe one that'll make me shit diamonds?
God: Look, don't make this any more difficult than it has to be. Ok, here comes Eve. When she gets here, tell her you want to go for a walk and head down that path to the gate. The angel with the fiery sword will see you out.
Adam: "See us out"?
God: He's going to guard the gate to the garden so you don't get any ideas about coming back for your couch or anything.
Adam: Is there going to be a wall around the garden?
God: Of course.
Adam: Is anybody going to be going in or out after we leave?
God: No.
Adam: Then why do you need a gate?
God: Ok, enough questions. Mysterious ways and all that. Just leave quietly, ok? Don't make a scene.
Adam: This sucks.
God: Hey, I told you not to eat the fruit.
Adam: Here's an idea: Next time, build the wall around the Forbidden Tree. I mean, what the hell is up with the cobblestone path and park benches?
God: I thought it made a nice sitting area.
Adam: Well it would have if the Fruit of Evil wasn't hanging over our heads!
God: Ok, here's the deal. I'm going to tell you something that might freak you out a little, but hopefully things will start to make a little more sense to you.
Adam: Um, ok.
God: A lot of times when I say an "angel" is going to be doing this or that, it's not literally an angel. Sometimes the phrase "the angel of the Lord" just means me. But primitive minds have a hard time comprehending someone doing so many things in so many different places at once.
Adam: So... you're not really sending an angel to guard the garden?
God: It depends what you mean by "really." Maybe you should come up with another word for when we're going to use concrete terms to refer to abstractions like good and evil and sin and heaven and grace and perfection.
Adam: Hmmm. How about "metaphorical?"
God: Excellent!
Adam: So you'll be putting a metaphorical angel in front of the gate?
God: The metaphorical gate, yes.
Adam: Are the trees metaphorical?
God: It kind of sounds like it, doesn't it? If they weren't, this whole garden scene wouldn't make a lot of sense.
Adam: So maybe the entire garden is....
God: Yes, yes. Now you're starting to see why I thought this would freak you out. Just keep in mind that none of this is any less "real" just because it's metaphorical. You just have to remember not to push the metaphor too far, or the whole thing starts to sound absurd.
Adam: So Eve and I....
Eve: Hey guys, what's the deal with the angel at the gate?
God: He's here to escort you out of the garden.
Eve: He's what?!
God: Adam will explain everything.



I forbid you to eat the fruit of humor-blogs.com.

May the Force Be With Me

Occasionally in my periodic journeys across the blogosphere I will run across a particularly erudite blogger decrying what they refer to as "organized religion." Now as you'll know if you've been around here for a while, I am a religious person. On the other hand, as you'll know if you've had a chance to inspect my sock drawer, I'm no advocate of organization. The solution to my plight would seem obvious, but I have as yet failed to locate a denomination that is sufficiently disorganized to meet my spiritual needs.

Certain charismatic sects are fairly disorganized and things can get a little out of hand at some of those black baptist churches, but such mildly informal affairs are still a far cry from the unmitigated spiritual chaos for which my soul yearns. Why, for example, must we always go to church at 11am on Sunday morning? What's wrong with 2:37pm on the third Tuesday of every month whose name has a numerological value that is prime? And why the same rituals every time? Maybe some day we could play Hungry Hungry Hippos and beat each other with soup ladles rather than sing songs and pray. And what I wouldn't give to just once walk into a place of worship and have absolutely no idea who I'm going to be worshiping that morning. I'd be like, "Really? Kenny Rogers? Cool." And then I'd join the rest of the congregation in a stirring rendition of Coward of the County. Or maybe I wouldn't. Because who's going to make me?

I've also heard that more wars are started over religion than anything else. This troubles me deeply, because I have not ONCE been asked to serve on our church's religious wars committee. I mean, I've probably played more Risk than just about any other member of our church. Does that count for nothing? I could advise them, for example, not to make Europe their power center because of all the borders you have to defend, and to avoid retreating to Australia unless you really want to spend the next three days on the losing end of a war of attrition. You might outlast the Presbyterians with that strategy, but you do NOT want to try that with Jesuits or Shiite Muslims.

No, instead I have to serve on committees that are concerned with unbelievably dull things like making sure needy people have adequate food, shelter and medical care. Occasionally I make a motion to start a war, and I just get blank stares. Last time I moved that we declare war on the Quakers. They're pacifists, for crying out loud. We could kick their asses, confiscate their oats, and be home before dark. But nobody would even second the motion. I don't get it. What's the point of being religious if we're not going to start any wars?

Disorganized people don't start wars. Well, occasionally they start them, but they never finish them. Frankly, disorganized people don't finish much of anything. It's part of their charm. Hell, sometimes they'll start a thought

If we were to eliminate organized religion, we would eliminate the number one cause of war. Of course, we'd still have the number two cause, which would then become number one. I wonder what that would be? Land? Food? Oil? The desire for power? Freedom? I'd say we should probably eliminate them all to be on the safe side.

It surprises me how few wars are fought in the name of evil. I think Darth Vader is the only one who ever stood up and said, "Hey, we're going to be the bad guys in this war. Oppression, cruelty, suffering, that's us. I'm going to hire gaunt lieutentants with clipped British accents, put the word 'Death' in the name of our headquarters, blow up peaceful planets for giggles, and wear an outfit that would make Satan shit his pants. Who wants in?"

Using the Dark Side of the Force must have about the same effect as eating paint chips, because those guys were none too bright. If I were the Empire's marketing director, I'd have made a few little changes that would have gone a long way toward improving their image:

OLD	NEW
Galactic Empire	Democratic Federation of Free Planets
Storm Troopers	Customer Service Representatives
Star Destroyer	Nuclear Fusion Cleanup Vehicle
Dark Side of the Force	Look! Ewoks!
Death Star	Moon o' Fun
TIE Fighter	TIE Fighter (What, it's just not very threatening-sounding)

In fact, if you were really clever, you could probably find a way to convince people that the Dark Side of the Force was really the Light Side, and vice versa. You'd use the language of the Jedi order to promote your own nefarious purposes, and people would get confused and not know which side to support. And the really great thing is, even if you lost the war, you'd have convinced a lot of simple-minded people that Dark = Light and Light = Dark and that these Jedi bastards are just a bunch of troublemakers.

Anyway, nothing of that sort is likely to happen here on earth, where the world's religions continue to cause untold problems. Sadly, I think I'm about to give up my quest for a truly disorganized religion. The problem is that as soon as you involve other people, you have to start worrying about schedules and doctrines and people who refuse to see things your way no matter how hard you explain it to them. In the end, my religion is nobody's business but mine and God's -- and He'd better watch it, or it's going to be just me pretty damn quick.

Harvard to Settle Question of God's Existence

Officials at Harvard University today announced a bold experiment designed to settle once and for all the question of God's existence.

Recently Harvard has come under fire for rejecting a recommendation that all undergraduates be required to take a class in religion. Critics argue that religion is a fundamental aspect of what it means to be a human being, and that by allowing its students to avoid studying religion Harvard is producing graduates who are ignorant of one of the key psychological and sociological forces that has shaped human history.

Now the university has released a statement that attempts to clear up the confusion regarding the policy. In the statement Dr. Harold Emmets, the Harvard Dean of Reason and Objectivity, states: "At Harvard we value the principles of Science and Reason. When we are faced with an unproven proposition that is believed by billions of people, it isn't our job to simply dismiss it outright. That would be a clear sign that we're being just as biased and irrational as those religious wackos (not that there's anything wrong with that)." Emmets goes on to clarify the intention behind Harvard's policy.

"Our motivation is quite simply to test scientifically the hypothesis of God's existence. The plan is to remove all vestiges of religion from Harvard and see if God goes medieval on our asses in retribution. If the campus is subjected to a series of disastrous plagues, we'll know that there is a God after all. Once it is agreed by the executive committee that the hypothesis has been confirmed, we will repent of the evil that is in our hearts and institute mandatory religious indoctrination for all students.

"If, however, Harvard continues to remain plague-free, we will require all students to take a class called "'Why Harvard is More Powerful than God.'"

Either way, Emmet notes, once the experiment is complete all students will be required to take a class dealing with religion.

In response, fundamentalist leader Pat Robertson immediately called for all "true Christians" to begin praying for the immediate and gruesome destruction of Harvard. "Break out your weenies," Robertson told a cheering crowd of several hundred enthusiastic listeners who had camped out just off-campus, "Because there's gonna be a fire."

Robertson said that God told him the exact time and date of Harvard's destruction, as well as the method the Almighty would use. "I think He said He was going to send a ball of fire from the pits of Gehenna. But He might have said 'boys choir from the city of Vienna.' Unfortunately, my hearing hasn't been so great since God visited His retribution upon me for listening to Pat Boone on my iPod a few weeks ago."

Despite the lack of certainty regarding the exact manner of grotesque punishment God would use, the crowd was on the verge of ecstasy anticipating the imminent destruction of the belligerently secular university.

One spectator who was particularly excited was Josh Beeman, an Atlanta businessman and real estate mogul. "When the fire goes out and the German kids leave, I'm going to rush in and plant this on Harvard yard," Beeman said, holding a small flagpole bearing a hand-made flag with felt pictures of Jesus, the cross, and the Bible glued to it. "Once the land has been reclaimed for God," we're going to open a theme park called Conversion Land. We're going to have a swimming pool that can handle five hundred baptisms at a time and an authentic working replica of Heaven."

Harvard officials seemed frightened and confused regarding the gathering. "What do they want?" asked a bewildered physics professor. "Should we give them food?"

Visiting anthropology professor Jamaresh Hwarindi theorized that perhaps the protesters were "realizing the manifestation of the meta-societal dialectical process expressed in the collective recognition of the existential threat of the other."

In an uncanny parallel to Hwarindi's statement, Robertson suggested the Harvard faculty were "possessed by a legion of demons from the blackest pit of hell."

Hwarindi admitted that he was puzzled by the protesters' behavior. "I just can't figure out what's motivating them," he said. "All of their material needs seem to be met, and yet they are clearly angered by something. Man, it's times like this that I wish I had taken a class in that, whatayacallit, re-li-jun."

As of midnight Eastern time, the two sides had made no progress in the stalemate. Their only point of agreement was that neither side should make any attempt to directly engage the other in meaningful dialogue. Protesters burned copies of Harvard's statement without even reading it. "You don't need to lift the manhole cover to know the sewer stinks," said one.

In stark contrast, a statement by the protesters was greeted by the Harvard faculty with great enthusiasm. First the statement was ridiculed for its poor grammar and usage, then deconstructed in the light of a feminist Marxian framework, and finally recycled into rolling paper.

One department chair, who asked to remain anonymous, was heard to exclaim, "Whoah, that's good dogma."


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Harry Potter and the Inevitable Slide into Satanism...

Before I became a parent, I was frequently amazed at the over-protectiveness of some people regarding their children. I don't mean parents who make their kids wear helmets while riding their bikes or solving a particularly difficult geometry problem; I'm talking about parents who won't let their kids read Harry Potter books or listen to music inspired by the devil. What, I thought to myself, are these parents afraid of exactly? Is there some kind of natural progression from J.K. Rowling fan to goat-worshiping cultist? Where does one turn in one's copy of Black Sabbath's Born Again for a black robe, ceremonial dagger and engram audit? Wait, that last one may be Scientology. I can't keep my evil religions straight any more. Anyway, you get the point. I just couldn't see how kids went from dabbling in occult-inspired media to being full-fledged Satan worshipers. Or hell, even half-fledged. Half-fledged Satan worshipers are almost worse in a way, because they've got a chip on their shoulder and are just itching for a chance to earn their fledge.

Now that I'm a parent, I've realized the necessity of keeping certain books, movies and music away from my children. I don't like the idea of censorship, but no matter how much my kids beg they are not going to be allowed to listen to "Fergilicious" or read Eragon. I'm sorry, but I believe the children are our future.

Neither of my children (aged 5 and 7) have come home toting a Black Sabbath record yet, so I've dodged that bullet so far. But in anticipation of my seven-year-old bookworm eventually asking whether he may read Harry Potter and the Nominative Phrase, I decided to peruse one of these books to determine for myself whether there was any real danger.

I was shocked at what I discovered. In the back of the book was the following ad, reproduced here in its undoctored entirety. Click to enlarge.



I mean, can you believe that? I don't want my kids getting their hands on this. Now where did I put those stamps?


Mattress Tags: Harry Potter Satanism Black Sabbath Humor
Listed on humor-blogs.com

I Pity the Fool Who Tries to Feminize Me

So I started out with the intention of giving a shout-out to this guy, because the powers that be at the church associated with the Christian school where my wife teaches recently cancelled his Modesto show because he encourages people to engage in unseemly behavior such as the public confession of sins. I'd post more of my thoughts about this, but one thing about retiring at 36 is that you're very dependent on your wife's health insurance. So I'll stick with ripping on Galactic Invertebrates.

In any case, it would be a little hypocritical for me to suddenly proclaim myself a big Brad Stine fan, as my initial reaction to hearing that a "Christian comedian" was going to be performing at the church was to roll my eyes so far back in my head that I could actually see my brain thinking about how lame that sounded. I know, I know. I'm sure that there are super-duper funny comedians who are Christians, just like there are great writers and musicians and lawyers and porn stars who are Christians. Well, probably not lawyers. Anyway, the problem is that when someone puts the adjective "Christian" in front of a noun, it's usually for the same reason that they resort to a modifying phrase like "your mother's." As in, "Aren't you going to try any of your mother's broccoli soup?" No matter how much that broccoli soup tastes like burnt tires, you can't say no to that question.

In other words, if I mention to you at a cocktail party that I'm a plumber, you can take that as an indication that I'd appreciate it if you would give me a call the next time your daugher flushes her My Little Pony down the toilet. If, however, I mention that I'm a Christian plumber, you can take it to mean that if you don't call me, then you're probably not much of a Christian yourself and My Little Pony is going to rot in septic hell for eternity, God bless you. It's a marketing gimmick. A lousy, cheap, cynical marketing gimmick.*

Don't tell me you're a "Christian" plumber/artist/comedian/writer/hitman. If I can't tell from the way you plumb/draw/joke/write/kill people, then it doesn't friggin' matter, ok? And if I can tell, then you've wasted both of our time telling me something I already knew. Just do your job.

The other thing that kills me about Brad Stine's Godmen concept is that despite being a supposed "alternative" to Promise Keepers, it suffers from the same problem. PK and GM are both about encouraging men to be "manly men," let loose their testosterone and reject the feminization that is turning American men into "nice guys." And how are they going to do that? Well, they're going to all get together and talk about their feelings, and hug each other, and get all weepy and shit. Give me a break with this already. You want to prove you're a real man? Go over to your mother-in-law's house for Sunday dinner and eat her broccoli soup and play nice with the family. If you still have your testicles when you get home, congratulations, you're a man. Now shut up and act like one.

*BTW I should note that Brad Stine's website refers to him as "America's Conservative Comedian," which is pretty dumb, but not nearly as offensive as "America's Christian Comedian" would be.

Laughter in Heaven

Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh.

Luke 6:21


When I woke up on Tuesday morning I thought the most momentous event of the day was going to be the delivery of our new 56 inch TV. It turns out God had other plans. My wife called in the middle of the afternoon with the news that her sister’s husband had died in an accident at work. We spent most of the rest of the day at their house alternately hearing or speaking the phrase “if there is anything I can do….”

When we finally went home and got the kids in bed, I set about hooking up the TV – more because the box was taking up most of our living room than out of any overwhelming desire to watch TV. After I had scratched my head over the various connections for a few minutes, my wife said, “This is when we would normally call John.”

Actually we probably wouldn’t have, as John was always being pestered to help with things like that. I assured her, without in any way dismissing John’s mastery of all things electrical, that I thought we could manage this particular crisis without his help. My morbid sense of humor being my defense against anything unpleasant, I was tempted to say something really inappropriate, like, “That John will do anything to get out of helping somebody hook up a TV.” But for the hundredth time that day, I bit my tongue. Remarks like that are charitably called “gallows humor,” and less charitably called “in really bad taste.”

I’m pretty sure John would have appreciated the joke, though. John loved to laugh, particularly about silly little jokes like that, poking fun of him or someone else.

I’ve thought a lot lately about what it is that makes people laugh. I believe it's the recognition of unity in the absurd, the mind's delight in the reconciliation of paradoxes. Humor is the mental equivalent of jujitsu -- chanelling the momentum of the painful and incomprehensible into something elegant and fitting, if not entirely comfortable. It is the release of tension brought about by the deflation of the revered and the glorification of the wretched, the satisfying of expectations in an unexpected way.

I believe that we are wired to find joy in such things. I think God made us this way, probably because God Himself has a sense of humor. After all, He made a shy, stuttering man the leader of His people. He overlooked all the great men of Israel to crown a lowly shepherd boy King. He spoke through an ass, a burning bush, and a still, small voice. He made fools of the prophets of Ba'al without breaking a sweat.

I believe, in fact, that God orchestrated the greatest joke of all time. I mean no disrespect to my non-Christian readers (nor to my Christian readers), but this is what I believe: I believe God made the Infinite into the finite, the Immortal into mortal, Divine into man. And this man, Jesus Christ, brought down the mighty and exalted the meek and poor in spirit. He turned everything on its head. The first were made last, the last first. He satisfied the expectations of the prophets in a way no one could have expected. He made a mockery of humanity's quest for money and power. He even ridiculed man’s attempts to try to live a righteous life. To the rich young man who insisted he had kept all of God's commandments, Jesus said, like Columbo asking for "just one more thing:"

Go, sell everything you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.

“Oh, so that's all you want?” You can imagine the young man saying. “Everything? Well, I think I have somewhere I need to be. Nice talking to you!”

Jesus made a mockery even of death. Having overcome every obstacle thrown in His path by every power on hell and earth, He was finally given over to the ultimate punishment, humanity's greatest fear. Oh, that? He said (I’m paraphrasing here). That will take a bit longer. Give me three days.

Whether or not you buy this story, you have to admit that it's pretty funny. Thousands of years of plotting by Satan and his minions, and Jesus kicks all of their asses over a long weekend. And how? By being humiliated, dying and coming back to life. It’s perfect and perfectly absurd. Horrific and wonderful.

These are my words, my thoughts. Not Johns’s. John and I had different ways of looking at things. But John was my brother-in-law and brother in Christ. I don’t pretend to know what heaven is, but if anyone is in a better place, it’s John. I take comfort in that knowledge.

Some part of me also wonders if maybe John had learned everything he needed to here on this plane, so God called him home for some greater purpose. But what could possibly be so important that God had to pull him away from his duties as a husband and father? Here my reason fails me and my imagination takes over, trying to put together the pieces that don’t seem to fit:

I see John walking through the pearly gates, and God is there to greet him.

God says, “Welcome home, John!”

John replies, “Thanks. It’s wonderful to be here. Really, it is. But can I ask you a question?”

God says, “Sure, John. What is it?”

“Well, I kind of thought that I had more to do on earth. There were a lot of people depending on me….”

“I know, John. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of them. I just really needed you up here with me.”

“Really? Because I got the impression I was needed quite a bit down there as well.”

“You did a lot of good down there, John, but now I’ve got something else in mind for you.”

“I understand,” John says. “So what is it?”

“Well, you see,” God says, “I just got this new TV….”

I know, it’s a bad joke. But it’s all I’ve got.

Goodbye, John

First of all, thanks to everyone for your prayers and encouragement. Please continue to remember the family, as this is a loss that will continue to be felt for a long, long time.

I feel a little strange posting this before I'm sure that all of the family has been notified, but I wanted to give you at least a little more information than I provided in my sketchy post yesterday.

My brother-in-law, John, died yesterday in a work-related accident. He apparently died from head injuries caused by a fall. From what I can gather, it sounds like he most likely did not suffer much pain. He is survived by his wife and three sons, the oldest of whom is in middle school; his mother; and two brothers. He was 37. He was my wife's sister's husband, so he was not related by blood to either my wife or myself, but he has been part of our family for a very long time. The family should be more-or-less ok financially, but of course this is going to make things tougher for them.

John was a special person. If I had to sum him up, I would say that he was full of love. He loved God, his family, and pretty much everyone around him. And everyone loved him. He embraced life wholeheartedly, was full of joy, and always had something kind or encouraging to say. He will be greatly missed.

Everyone always wants to know if there's something they can do. Well, right now I'm sitting at home wondering the same thing. Is there something I can do? No, not really. I can pick up my kids from school so that my wife can spend time with her sister. And I can pray. That's about it. Praying is all anyone can really do at this point.

Goodbye, John. We will miss you.

------------------------------------------------------------------

I don't know how to make this transition (does the dotted line help? Is that all it takes to separate tragedy from ordinary life?), so I'll just do it:

I will post an update regarding my reading list "contest" soon. If you were planning to recommend a book, please continue do so. Before this happened, I was really looking forward to seeing what you all were going to pick. As there isn't much else I can do, I could definitely still use some reading list suggestions to occupy my time.

Thank you and may God bless you. Hug someone you love today.