Life is Precious and God and the Bible

Recent studies assuage fears of global warming:

It turns out that global warming is caused by the warmth of Jesus' love. Even now as we speak, Christ's eternal love is busy melting the Ross Ice Shelf, causing tsunamis, hurricanes, and assorted catastrophes.I for one bask is the glow of my Lord's tough love.

For, behold, Jehovah will come with fire, and his chariots shall be like the whirlwind; to render his anger with fierceness, and his rebuke with flames of fire. - Isaiah 66:15

Yaweh has no time for pussies. You'd better make sure that you're ready for whatever he feels like dishing out. Did Job cry like a pussy? No. He never wussed out, and God won his bar bet ($5 wasn't it? Maybe it was only $1 like in Trading Places. What am I, a Bible scholar?) with Satan. I wonder if he bought Job a beer with part of his winnings. That would have been a cool thing to do.

For they have devoured Jacob, and laid waste his dwelling place." - Psalms 79:7

If we want Jehovah to be happy with us, I think we should go back to what we know makes him happy. Really, he's just a big kid who likes attention. Maybe more like a big puppy. Any Bible will tell you what the Big Guy really wants: animal sacrifices.

And he shall flay the burnt offering, and cut it into his pieces. - Leviticus 1:6

And David built there an altar unto Jehovah, and offered burnt-offerings and peace-offerings. So Jehovah was entreated for the land, and the plague was stayed from Israel. - 2 Samuel 24:25

Maybe that Dog Whisperer guy can teach him to behave. He can be a handfull.

Thus saith Jehovah, Behold, I will bring evil upon this place, and upon the inhabitants thereof, even all the curses that are written in the book which they have read before the king of Judah. - 2 Chronicles 34:24

And shall cast them into the furnace of fire: there shall be wailing and gnashing of teeth. - Matthew 13:50

All I'm saying is this: keep your Goddamn God in your own Goddamn back yard, and do something about all the barking. I'm trying to sleep, asshole.

Five Signs That You Suck

5. You have that 70's haircut. I had that haircut in 19-fucking-77. My excuses: I was 8, and it was 19-fucking-77. Your excuse: you're the kind of dumbfuck who'd rock that shag because some TV show that stopped being funny long before it got into reruns told you to.

4. You watch Scrubs. That shit isn't funny. That shit makes the reruns of That 70's Show seem funny by comparison. If you watch Scrubs, stop reading now. You won't get anything that I'm saying here, 'cause you have no idea what funny is, and you suck.

3. You wear those huge bug-eye Paris Hilton sunglasses. They don't make you look good. They don't make you look like your sense of style is up to the minute. They make you look like Paris Hilton, who is a dumfuck. She's also kind of a whore. Hey, if you're a passably cute girl wearing those stupid Goddamn glasses, let me know. I'm single, and you're kind of a whore.

2. You named yourself DJ-something. After Bonebreak did it, it was done. Every other DJ-anything afterward has sucked, including you. If you've named yourself DJ-something, you probably suck too much to know who DJ Bonebreak is. Ask someone who doesn't suck.

1. You play drums for The Eagles. Fuck you, Don Henley.

Zombie Preparedness Tip #1 (In A Series)

I'm told by gun nut friends of mine that .40 S&W is the most bang for your buck in a handgun. You're trading away a few round's capacity that a 9mm has in order to get a lot more stopping power.

It's important to note, however, that stopping power is only important for buying you time while you line up the head shot. Don't be a sucker. Remember that only destroying the brain will kill a zombie.

All zombie movies are documentaries of things that haven't happened YET.
-monkeyhaiku

I have studied all of your religions, and they are all stupid.

About 5000 years ago, some cavemen living in the sand wrote down a brutal mythology about sacrificing oxen, taking slaves, stoning people to death, and magic. This brutal caveman mythology has since been edited and revised to fit the agenda of whichever dictator was in power at the time.

There is no pie in the sky when you die. While Jesus' mom may very well have been a nice Jewish girl, she was not a virgin. Jesus didn't do magic tricks. The bible gives you many examples of incest, but it's still a bad idea, you fucking hillbilly. You shouldn't burn you neighbor at the stake, even though the bible often tells you to. "Adam" & "Eve" were monkeys. Jesus didn't have blonde hair. Nobody in that part of the world at that time did. If there were such a thing as God, (there isn't, but if there were,) he'd probably have a big enough dick that he wouldn't need you to grovel to him so much. You're not going to caveman Heaven, (read Revelations and tell me that that isn't some caveman's idea of Heaven,) or caveman Hell when you die. You're going to decompose. Priests don't really turn wine into blood. The world wasn't created by anybody in any number of days.

Also, there was no Lord Xenu. There weren't any aliens thrown into volcanoes 75 million years ago. Auditing will do nothing but deplete your bank account and give some cult members some blackmail information to use against you if you stop paying. It's pretty easy to make fun of the Scientologists, because their religion is stupid, and was made up by a drug addicted bad sci fi writer who spent his declining years on a boat with a crew of teenage boys.

Your religion was made up by cavemen.

Also, inert balls of gas in the sky millions and millions of miles away from you don't have anything to do with your personality. The lights in the sky can't tell your future. Astrology is stupid. It's a bunch of crap made up by primitive people who had primitive explanations for what they saw around them.

Much like your religion.

Grow up.

I hate The Eagles.

I live in San Francisco now, but I'm not a native. Up until about two years ago I lived in Los Angeles. Right at the corner of Sunset and Vine. In Hollywood. Right on the beach. Right next door to Disneyland. If you know LA, you know the place.

I remember waking up one season-indeterminate morning a few years back thinking about breakfast. I walked outside and looked out at the Baywatch in front of me, and the Magic Kingdom to my left, and my blue-grey view of the Hollywood sign to my right, and considered my breakfast options.

I decided on The Sunset Grill, right next to the Guitar Center. "Down at the Sunset Grill"...I fucking hate that song. I fucking hate Don Henley. I fucking hate Glen Frey. I fucking hate The Eagles. Joe Walsh is OK, but I fucking hate The Eagles. I wasn't thinking about how much I fucking hate The Eagles though, I was thinking about breakfast. It was only a couple of blocks to The Sunset Grill, so I decided to walk.

I sit down at the counter and order the most important meal of the day, and my friend Pete sits down next to me. Pete's kind of an asshole, but who isn't at least kind of an asshole? I hadn't seen Pete in a while, and after breakfast we decide to go get a drink. Its about 11am.

We get into Pete's car and head for The Coach & Horses. Not open yet. The Burgundy Room. No dice. The Frolic Room, The Beauty Bar, even The Drawing Room. No luck. Hollywood is a tough place to get a drink before noon. If you want a few pops at 11:30am in Los Angeles, there's only one place to go: The Valley.

Over the hills and through Los Feliz.

Also through Glendale, to Burbank. The corner of San Fernando Road and Alameda. The Blue Room. The Blue Room understands the needs of the morning drinker.

Pete was drinking rum & Cokes, I was drinking shots of Goldschlager with a dash of Tabasco. It must have been six or seven drinks in when Pete got up.

I should have known right then.

Pete walks over to the jukebox. Its one of those internet Jukeboxes. Pete shoots me a shit-eating grin. I know something's up. Pete starts feeding money to the box. I finish my Goldschlager with a dash of Tabasco.

Then I hear it.

The opening strains of "Hotel California."

I get out of my seat and head toward Pete and the jukebox. There's a fair sized crowd of early afternoon drinkers at The Blue Room that day. It takes me until "On a dark desert highway" to get to Pete. After I give Pete a frenzied savage beating, I pick him up over my head. I throw Pete through the stale air of The Blue Room, over the heads of the stale morning drinkers, and into the internet jukebox. The jukebox explodes into Independance Day sparks as Pete comes crashing into it just before Don Henley gets a chance to mispronounce the word eucalyptus again.

I make my way back to my seat through handshakes and backslaps, and order another Goldschlager with a dash of Tabasco.

I always drink for free at The Blue Room in Burbank now.

I fucking hate The Eagles.