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Thursday, December 21, 2006

Everything’s been sold to others’ revolutions

Yes, I am the person you’ve seen picketing at the car factories in Detroit. And at the rubber-glove factories in Malaysia. And at the security-harness factories in Taiwan. I have been getting quite a lot of press about my signs that call for the president to cut federal funding to these industries and the sinful, sinful groups that buy their products. I figure that it worked for the AIDS funding we used to send to Africa to promote condom use, so it’s worth a try.

I am vehemently opposed to car bumpers. So is everyone else who goes to my church. Bumpers encourage bad driving. For proof, you need look no further than my car: When a stranger rear-ended me, which part of the car do you think he smashed into? The bumper, of course! He damaged his own front bumper and my back bumper. Clearly, he saw that we both had bumpers, and he decided that he could drive recklessly on our icy roads. And what did he learn from the experience? Nothing, of course! His car wasn’t destroyed, as any God-fearing car without a bumper would have been. He is probably out there having indiscriminate car accidents, leaving a trail of heartbreak. What a terrible story. It could have been avoided if neither of us had bumpers. Then we could have removed his DNA from our gene poo – I mean, we could have mourned this beautiful, created being, fully secure in the knowledge that we are much better than he is.

Rubber gloves are a sure ticket to hell. They encourage people to touch other people who are possibly infected with God only knows what. In MY day, we threw stones at lepers. We certainly didn’t touch them, and nobody gave us rubber gloves to “protect” us. I’m telling you, if people are sick, it is because they are supposed to be that way. It is all part of a plan that is so huge that your puny mind can’t comprehend it. Don’t touch these people. For goodness’ sake, don’t put on rubber gloves and think that you will be safe. I won’t allow rubber gloves anywhere near me, and I don’t recommend that you wear them, either.

The company that owns my building is doing repairs to the outside. This requires the use of scaffolding. I’m completely in favour of scaffolding, especially when used in the execution of atheists whose degenerate lifestyles have encouraged them to lead lives of crime. But in this case, the scaffolding is being used to allow the workers to reach the second floor windows. That’s OK; I’m willing to accept that. What I can’t accept is the fact that they wear safety harnesses. SAFETY HARNESSES. That’s an oxymoron if I ever heard one. These harnesses are tools of the devil. They make people think they are safe. I bet that the people who wear them are actually LESS safe. They are probably more willing to take risks than the God-fearing workers who can be certain that they are risking their lives by stepping too close to the edge: “No need to worry about me! I’ve got my safety harness on! AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” That sickening crash you hear is the tear forming in the Lord’s eye. People with crushed skulls aren’t allowed to enter heaven. The Lord saves those whose spirits are crushed, but I don’t recall anything about crushed skulls. Sucks to be you. Obviously, the way to avoid eternal damnation is to stay away from safety harnesses altogether.

I hope I’ve made you think about the horrors of your own deviant life. While you’re at it, pull out your checkbook and donate money to the president’s abstinence-only AIDS programs.

2 comments:

Meaghan said...

"gene poo"!? Little Miss Know-it-All just screwed up! And I caught it! I win!!!

Steve & Megan said...

No, no. That's Little Miss Know-It-All ALMOST falling into the trap that is evolution. What a godless theory, and I stress the word THEORY. If you catch yourself before the word is completely out of your mouth, this sort of momentary lapse doesn't count. Therefore, my seat in paradise is still secure.

You, on the other hand, continue to vex the Lord with your sinful acts. He will wipe your city as one wipes a dish. Don't say you weren't warned.