RevSpork

Ten reasons I cannot wait for the Rapture

Lemme tell ya, I don't believe in the Rapture, where all the saved get lifted up to heaven while the rest of us losers have to cope with all hell breaking loose.  In fact, I'd like to think the Rapture already happened, that God only saw fit to lift two crazy homeless people and a nun, and nobody noticed. 

However, every once in a while I learn of some new bit of news that makes me really, really root for a full-blown Apocalypse, even though I'm fairly certain I'm not among the chosen.  Because even if I have to endure trials, tribulations, bleeding moons, etc., at least people will turn their attentions away from coming up with bizarre shit like the following:

1. Personalized vagina pendants.  Lookie here, it's truck nuts for girls!  That they can wear around their necks!  Potential purchasers are told to "celebrate their beauty."  Fine, but I'd like to see what would happen if I sported a personalized pecker pendant while walking about town.  On the other hand...no, no I wouldn't. 

2. The continuing persecution of domestic abuse victims.  Get beat up by your boyfriend?  No problem!  Get thrown out of your home, get threatened with arrest, lose your health insurance.  What next?  Branding "punch me" on their foreheads?  Come to think of it, that actually seems kind compared to the other three punishments. 

3. The fact that people actually care about these people more than they care about their own families.  Jon's a slimy moron, Kate's emotionally stunted, and the kids are going to be so fucked up by the time they grow up, they might not even notice Armageddon.  They're already living it.  What these people need is not more publicity, or even less publicity, but no publicity. 

4. Sexy Smurfette Halloween costumes.  Was I the only 11-year old boy who watched the cartoon because he liked the show and NOT because of a crush on Smurfette?  I just thought she was another cartoon character, not the first step towards a serious Jessica Rabbit / Heavy Metal addiction.  And hasn't the costume industry squeezed the "sexy employee" concept dry yet?  What's next, sexy cabbies?

5.  Douching with Lysol.  Yes.  Because douching with Coca-Cola wasn't gross enough.  

6.  This.  The GOP doesn't harbor racists.  Really, they don't.

7. The perils of online dating.  It only took me eight months and 65 rejections to find the lady who would become my second wife online; if I were as paranoid as this woman, I'd still be single, and good for the rest of the world.  You don't want to pass these paranoid genes to another generation. 

8. I can't deny my own beliefs.  Yes, I consider myself a pro-lifer.  Yes, I believe in some restrictions.  However, I also support universal access to birth control, RU-486, Plan B, and allowing gay adoptions.  I don't even necessarily want to see abortion become illegal: I want to see it become obsolete.  Some freaking pro-lifer I am.  So when I read about jackasses like Randall Terry attempting idiotic publicity stunts like this, I want to respond with a "Randall Terry is a Shit-Spewer" YouTube campaign.  Simply blow up a photo of Mister Operation Rescue, cut out his mouth, and attach it to your favorite mammal's rear end so that any fecal matter emerges out Mr. Terry's oral cavity.  Record and pass it around. 

9. Bob Dylan's Christmas album.  The release of this album is well-hidden but very much present in the Book of Revelations.  If Mannheim Steamroller releases an album of Dylan covers, you'll find me reading the Left Behind series very, very thoroughly.

10. The A-Team movie.  Enough said.  Bring on Armageddon!

Burning Questions - Depressed Edition

It's been a while since I've asked you questions.  Why?  Because I have neither questions nor answers for you.  However, I'll ask some questions anyway, depression be damned.

1. Why me?  (Please answer in 800 words or less.)

2. You're a depressed blog.  How would you commit blogicide?

3. Were your grandparents in any way depressed during the Great Depression?  Do you feel recessive during the current Great Recession?

4. Approximately how many suicides would result if Robert Smith of The Cure and Rufus Wainwright released an album of duets?  What if they did Carpenters covers?

5. What is your favorite cide?  If you messily devoured French fried potatoes along with your cheeseburger, would you have committed a cide of fries?

6. Is this the least funny Burning Questions blog entry I've ever done, or what?

Toodles!

Stuff to get off my chest

I have to confess: I've been holding back lately.  I've been too nice, I choose my words carefully, and for what?  Five years ago, I averaged over a hundred visits to my blog daily.  Now it's about fifteen.  How can I offend anyone if there's nobody here to offend?  What's the worst that will happen?  I lose twenty percent (or three people) of my audience?  Screw it.

• Your baby is ugly.  I'm sick and tired of being told that this baby or that baby is cute.  There's no such thing as a cute baby.  All babies are ugly.  If I had a baby, it would be ugly too.  If babies were so goddam cute, Anne Geddes wouldn't have snorted all that angel dust and dressed them up as vegetables.
• Attention, young black men: retire the saggy, baggy pants.  It's been twenty years now; you don't see white people still wearing Hypercolor T-shirts, do you?  Most of you weren't even born when this hideous fashion started.  If you want people to see your underwear, wear them on your head.  You'd look like less of a moron, and if you didn't - hey, at least it's a new trend, for crying out loud. 
• Immigrants from Mexico: fine, come on in.  Welcome aboard.  But do me a favor: quit flying the Mexican flag at pro-immigration parades.  Your motherland is about two years away from becoming a failed narco-state; it was founded by a combination of crazed human sacrifice lovers and psycho-Catholics with funny-looking metal hats; its favorite sport is soccer, yet the national team is so bad, it routinely gets its ass handed to them by Americans.  Face it: Mexico is Afghanistan without the burkas.  
• Hey, suburban Cubs fans: when you're on the Red Line, at least act like you care whether the team won or lost.  You can tell, for instance, how the White Sox played by the reactions of their fans on the train: they smile, or sulk, or riot.  But these Cubs fans?  You can't tell.  They're smiling like mentally disabled kids on the short bus from McDonalds.  The Cubs could have lost by sixteen runs, and they would still sport the same looks on their faces.  I doubt they even know what the final score was.  If you can't give me some indication of how the Cubs did, then stay off the train.  Real Cubs fans wouldn't even be on the train; they'd be passed out somewhere on Clark Street or pissing on a homeowner's front yard.  

Man, I'm glad I got all that off my chest.  I hope my therapist doesn't mind if I skip my next appointment.

All hail your Emperor, Citizens of Phoenix!

As you read this, I, the Reverend H.L. Spork, have dispatched my well-trained army of lesser Reverends to take over city hall here in Phoenix. I decided upon this course with extreme reluctance, as I believe in freedom, democracy, and all that bullshit. However, in the week that I've resided in this city, I've come to believe that only with a temporary interruption of democratic government can Phoenix save itself from itself.

My mother has lived in Phoenix for a quarter of a century now, and I've dropped by now and again since 1985. Arizona is a very, very strange state, ravaged by flash floods and wildfires (sometimes in the same month), where parts of the state can hit 100 degrees in March while other parts are hit by several feet of snow. Politics here are simply insane, a patchwork of crazy libertarians, even crazier right-wingers, Mexicans, and heat-blasted hippies, all of whom loathe the government. Arizona is a state where authority of any kind is held in contempt, even on occasions when it decides upon a course of common sense. If the state passed a law banning jumping off cliffs, Arizonians by the thousands would immediately form pro-cliff jumping rights groups, lobby the state legislature to repeal the law, and litter the bottoms of cliffs with their corpses, all giving the middle-finger salute.

This year is no different: Arizona, like most states, is facing a huge financial crisis. The state government is struggling to stay afloat. One of the biggest bills getting through the state legislature? A bill that would allow gun owners to take their firearms into bars.

Phoenix, as the state capital, largest city, and financial center of the state, is the epicenter of this loonyness, and in order to save the state from itself, I have taken over the city. As you know, I am a benevolent despot, and I promise to run the city of Phoenix with a loving but stern eye, making decisions based upon what is best for the city. Once I sit myself down at the throne of Phoenix (artificially cooled because of my sensitive hiney), I will enact the following laws. So it is written, so it will be done:

Rule #1: You don't get lawns. C'mon people, this is the fucking desert. Even the grass near sewer pipes is dead. There's barely enough water for bathing, let alone watering your damned lawn. You want a lawn, grow what God intended to grow here, namely cacti, succulents, and rocks. On a related note:

Rule #2: Anyone who owns a golf course within a 50-mile radius of my throne will be hung from the nearest seguaro.

Rule #3: Hanging truck nuts from your vehicle is permissible, but you must trade them in for your real nuts. Only one set of nuts per vehicle.

Rule #4: Any senior citizen who complains about paying taxes for K-12 education will have their scooters taken away. You can crawl to the Hometown Buffet for all I care.

Rule #5: Driving tests will become far more difficult than they currently are. Not only will Phoenix residents be required to read at a third-grade level and drool in no more than one direction, they will have to pass an IQ test. Any prospective driver who fails any one of these tests will not be allowed to drive, but will be issued a recently-confiscated mobility scooter.

Rule #6: All NRA gun nuts who complain about not being able to bring their firearms into kindergartens or unfairly banned from owning a nuclear weapon will be shipped to Afghanistan, where they will undoubtedly find paradise on earth.

Rule #7: Your hockey team has to move. Your team sucks, nobody cares about the sport here, and quit pretending that your city is just too damned big not to have a hockey team. Los Angeles hasn't had an NFL team in nearly fifteen years, and they're doing just fine. If God wanted you to have hockey in Phoenix, there would be naturally-occurring ice here. See any? Next case.

Rule #8: Cox Cable must merge with Comcast and rename itself Asshole Communications.

Rule #9: Maricopa County Sheriff Joe Arpaio must enter an eating contest to see how many green bologna sandwiches he can eat in one hour, then will lead himself in a one-man chain-gang march through the city dressed in pink underwear.

Rule #10: Anyone else cuts my mom in traffic cuts ME off in traffic too. Watch yer ass.

A note to you hot chicks on Facebook

Why is it that whenever I’m on Facebook, there’s an ad informing me that young, attractive women are looking for me?  Letting you down easy hasn't worked, so now I have to bring out the big guns.

Stop it, hot young chicks.  I’m not interested.  If I haven’t responded to your increasingly desperate pleas after six months, that should be a helpful hint right there.  I feel like I’m constantly being stalked every time I’m on Facebook.  It’s getting to the point where I don’t feel like spending my hard-earned free time there in fear I’ll be harassed yet again by you young, hot chicks. 

I’ve held back for a long time, but I finally have to put my foot down: if you continue your search for me, I will have no choice but to ask my wife to go over there and beat the living crap out of you.  And she will, too.  She knows I’m not tempted by your phony siren song, but you’ve become enough of a nuisance that she has to make you cry.  And she will.  And I’ll watch.  Because catfights…mondo meow!

Burning Questions - Sick and Cranky Edition

1. Remember Simon and the Land of Chalk Drawings?  I wonder what he's drawing now?  I worry that the Land of Chalk Drawings is a seriously fucked-up place now.  I'm thinking a mix of Grand Theft Auto and Fritz the Cat. In chalk. 

2. Why does my wife so determined to dig through my family history in ancestry.com?  Is she bored with her family?  I like her family.  She should dig there more. 

3. Why do the most popular shows on Oxygen and WE - both channels aimed at women - feature the most fucked-up, neurotic, mentally stunted women on earth, women who take negative feminine stereotypes to unbelievably ludicrous extremes?  How on earth can these shows be so popular with women? 

4. If I said you had a beautiful body and then vomited in your lap, would you hold it against me?

5. Let us posit (yes, posit!) that when you die, you live your life over again.  Let us also posit (again!) that we carry with us into our next run of life no memory that we had done all this before.  However, let us posit (one more time!) that God got bored and decided to offer each person who dies one minute of their life's memory (in the form of a particularly powerful dream or a strong sense of deja vu) to take with them on their next run, in the hope that one can make an adjustment to their life.  What would that minute be?

6. Have Burning Questions lost its usefulness or interest?

7. Do you think I care?

8. Now go to bed.  NOW, dammit!

Burning Questions - Happy Fucking Holidays edition

1. It is true that, if a woman puts on a sweater with an embroidered teddy bear on it, her husband/boyfriend vanishes and her hymen grows back?  What about an embroidered snowman?

2. You have developed Plasticman-like powers.  How would you force Illinois governor Rod Blagojevich from office?

3. Be honest: when is the proper time people should be allowed to play Christmas music in the workplace? 

4. Name five professional vocalists, dead or alive, who would form the core of a group of Christmas carolers in hell.

5. "Happy Holidays": Communist/atheist plot or a more polite way of saying, "It's December and because society demands it I must say something perkier.  What's your religion?  Christian?  Jewish?  Wiccan?  How fucking awesome.  Happy whatever.  Now go away before I proclaim a holiday that requires me to break this bottle of gin over your head." 

6. What was the worst thing you ever did while sitting on Santa Claus's lap? 

7. Describe how you would use a fruitcake to kill or capture Osama bin Laden.

8. Finally, what do you want for 2009?

"Happy Holidays,"

the reverend.

My letter to a football writer

I want to say I enjoy your articles in SI.com.  I usually do.  However, I must take issue with your hope of seeing the Detroit Lions go 0-16. I understand we're talking about football history, but please hear me out.

You see, I've been a Kansas City Chiefs fan for nearly thirty years.  They won their only Super Bowl eleven months before I was born, and they haven't come close since.  I've suffered decades of either outright mediocrity from my team or times of pure joy and victory before hitting the brick wall in the playoffs.  Tonight I saw gray hairs on my chest for the first time in the bathroom mirror, and it turned my blood cold.  It's obvious I'm beginning to turn the curve in life, and I fear I will never see the Chiefs outdo all others. 

But this year's Chiefs give me hope.  They are on a pace to achieve their worst season ever.  They're 1-19 in their last twenty games.  To maintain that level of ineptitude, week in and week out, is almost miraculous.  Unfortunately, the Lions have not only matched the Chiefs game for game (also 1-19 in their last twenty), but they actually exceed the Chiefs in terms of complete futility.  It is quite conceivable the Chiefs could finish the season 1-15 and not even be the worst team in the NFL; their worst season ever not meriting more than a footnote in the history of losers.  I shouldn't be surprised; the Chiefs have broken my heart more than once, and it only seems natural for them to be so bad, they can't even be number one in badness. 

I have two hopes: one, the Lions beat one (preferably two) of their remaining opponents; or, if I can't have that, the least the Chiefs could do is beat the Broncos two weeks from now.  If the Chiefs finish 2-14 but sweep the Broncos, I'd be very satisfied.  I am, after all, a Chiefs fan. 

I wish you (and the Detroit Lions) the best of luck in the future.

Regards,

The Reverend.

Burning Questions - warm & fuzzy Thanksgiving edition

You have been hired by the universe to build Heaven.  You do so, but given your budget, it's a pretty small one; the number of souls is limited to ten. 

1. Select five already-deceased persons you believe should be in Heaven.
2. You're going to keep five slots open for five living folks you believe should go there when they pass on.  Name them. 
3. Again, this is a pretty small Heaven.  For example, there's room for only one soda machine.  There are five slots; fill them with the beverages of your choice.

It's almost Turkey Day.  Hooray! 

4. What dish(es) do you insist on serving every Thanksgiving, dishes nobody else you know would ever think of serving?
5. Football, music, or car bombs: what makes for more suitable background noise during a Thanksgiving dinner?

Thanksgiving, Christmas, or New Years Day: What's the best day for:

6. holiday sex
7. muffins
8. breaking out the bong
9. 70s rock
10. giving birth

Have a happy Thanksgiving!

The need for a new holiday

...for a new national holiday: National Primal Scream Day.

Given the tension of the election and the collapsing economy, Americans have all this stress built up.  They could blow at any time.  We need a release and soon.  What Americans need right now is to walk outside and scream at the top of their lungs for at least 60 seconds, or at least until they pass out. 

Now, we can't go too far on this: we can't have Unrestrained Panic Day.  As fun as it would be to watch, that would lead to needless fatalities and destruction of property.  Our economy is already screwed up enough as it is.

You're obviously asking yourself, "When should we observe National Primal Scream Day?"  That's a good question, Steve.  In order to properly publicize the holiday, we need to park it when there are no other holidays around to compete with it.  Unfortunately, that leaves August, when it's too hot to scream, or anything else.  You promote a screaming holiday in August, and you'll probably be met with massive indifference.  (In fact, "National Indifference Day" would be a perfect August holiday.)  Other areas of the calendar with sparse holidays are late July (nah), late January (who wants to go outside and scream in the middle of winter?), and...the middle of November.  Yes.  Perfect.  Squeeze that sucker between Veterans' Day and Thanksgiving, when it's not too cold to go outside, and when the holiday season is pressing in on us.  As for day of the week, I'd go with Monday, when people are sufficiently refuelled from the weekend to put their hearts into screaming.  For this year, this gives us Monday, 17 November. 

The next obvious question is, "What time?"  Should we all scream at once at a predetermined time, or whenever we feel the need to scream?  As my political quiz indicates, I'm a liberal with some libertarian leanings, so as much as I'd like to experience an all out scream-fest at the crack of noon, that sounds too fascist for my tastes.  Scream whenever the heck you want.  Earplugs will be made available at your local Walgreens. 

There should be some general rules for National Primal Scream Day, so as not to lead to the aforementioned loss of property and/or lives.  Screaming should be conducted outdoors, and you cannot scream directly into someone's ear.  Playing a Primal Scream CD, or blasting Yoko Ono, does not count.  You yourself must do the screaming.  If you are mute, you may select a screamer from among your friends or relatives.  If you are mute and have no friends or relatives, you may hire a proxy to scream for you.  (And yes, you may write off the expense on next year's taxes.)  Please do not scream cursewords; in fact, your screaming should be limited to your basic "AAAUIIIGGHHH!!!," although "ARGH!!!" or "WAAAAAH!!!" are also acceptable.  Other screaming variations must be cleared by the Office of National Primal Scream Day, which is me.  For approval of your scream, please have your alternate scream e-mailed to me no later than Friday, 7 November. 

I think I've covered all the holiday bases.  If you have any questions, you may e-mail me or, better yet, scream it at me on the 17th of November.