You know how to tell that the book selection at a rummage sale is going to suck? Because, when you’re walking up their driveway you notice that the people having the sale look stupid. You can’t always judge a book by its cover, or a person’s brain by the empty-headed look on their face, but often it is a good indicator that you’re going to get nothing but formulaic romance novels, Michael Jordan biographies, golf guides, or religious self-help books.
It’s arrogant or pure-ass mean thoughts like this that are going to bring me the “thumbs-down” from St. Peter someday, not the fact that I drink too much, don’t go to church, or that I broke a commandment or two in my younger days. Further examples of thoughts that will bring about my downfall:
–When I see the late-night commercial wanting mesothelioma sufferers to join in the class-action lawsuit against asbestos manufacturers, I immediately start singing to myself (vaguely to the tune of 2 Live Crew’s “Me So Horny), “Ah, me so thelioma, ah, ah, me so thelioma.”
–I think all religious rituals are voodoo. All of them. Catholics fingering rosary beads while repeating the same prayer over and over, Jews not wanting to eat pork, Hindis worshipping cows, Muslim people kneeling and praying 5 times a day, Protestants (like I was raised) chanting the same “And also with you” or some such thing back to the minister 16 times or whatever, people putting ashes on their foreheads at the beginning of Lent, it’s all crap based on someone’s interpretation of some book that may or may not have been inspired by some Supreme Being 2000 or more years ago, back when people were sacrificing goats and virgins to the gods to ensure a successful harvest, while worshipping a golden calf. None of it is of any more value, or is it going to get anyone any closer to an idyllic afterlife, than me superstitiously knocking on wood is going to prevent harm to me and mine. Don’t get me wrong; if your religion, as you see it, mainly means that you are tolerant, you follow the Golden Rule, you help those less fortunate, and you don’t rob, kill, rape, or dismember others, or force others to watch reality TV, or to listen to politicians or rap music or Lady Gaga, your religious beliefs are a good guiding force in your life. But all the day to day or week to week little rituals of each and every one of the religions? Pure crap. Just be good people. That’s all that any Supreme Being would want.
–God, as taught in the Bible, is a jerk. I find it pretty hard to believe in any Supreme Being that is supposedly decent and all powerful, but yet allows brutality to occur on an ongoing basis. How did allowing Ted Bundy to rape and kill unmolested for so many years advance the cause of Christianity? How did allowing the Holocaust to go unchecked, until superior military forces stopped it, advance Christianity? It didn’t. Bad things happen; we get that. I don’t believe in a Supreme Being who is supposedly all-loving and all-good, but who thinks we keep needing object lessons in suffering, and in how to fear him (or her or it). Has God not noticed that we can read history books? I can’t believe in a Supreme Being who is a dickhead.
–Even if religious people are correct, and there’s some sort of glorious afterlife, I find it impossible to buy into it being any better than any number of wonderful days on Earth. When I hear someone talk about someone who died and is now “in a better place,” I want to ask “Are you 12 or something?” or “Were you kicked in the head by a rambunctious calf when you were 6 and were visiting your grandpa’s farm?” Even if I were to buy into the idea of me being able to meet my dear sweet mother again someday, and buy into the idea of her having a mind that wasn’t addled by Alzheimer’s, I don’t see it being nearly as much fun as having a bowl of ice cream with my mom, or as delightful as swimming with my sweet little daughter, or nearly as pleasurable as the smile of a willing woman beckoning me to come and plunge into her yielding body. Even a rainy Saturday with me alone at the kitchen table looking out the window, with a cup of coffee and a book or crossword puzzle on the table in front of me, sounds better than floating around in some heavenly stew of loving grace of my ancestors and descendants as bodiless entities, forever loved but never able to celebrate that love with any earthly pleasures. Not my idea of a big thrill.
–I’ve never physically hurt anyone in my life, except through raw clumsiness, but I’d like to kick, in the crotch, any or all computer software designers, just on principle, for all the annoyance they’ve caused me to put up with over the years. Here’s an example: I’ve done nothing, I’ve changed NO settings to my wordpress account, yet, in writing this and recent posts, sometimes I’m typing blindly, underneath the viewing area of the post editor. WTF, wordpress? Or, at work, the “Numlock” will go off and I’m not really typing in my employee number or other vital information, resulting in maddening error messages. What the hell program doesn’t default to having the numlock on? Facebook posts jumping around while I type sarcastic comments in, the “back” button not really taking me back to the previous web page, the backspace key on my keyboard occasionally taking me back to a previous webpage (???), and a myriad of other WTF moments, all make me want to abduct some random software designer and throw him under the trailer with a bucket of lime on top of him. Here, right now, I’m getting maybe a third of each typed character on the line in front of me; whoops, now the next line disappeared completely. Pretty soon I won’t even be able to see the cursor move on the computer screen, a quarter inch below where it should show up inthe viewing are of the post, until and unless I manually click in the viewing area and move the whole paragraph up. Shoot yourselves in the head, thanks.
–Speaking of shooting yourself in the head, and getting back to religion, I do, wholeheartedly, agree with the part in the Bible where it says that it’s easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than it is for a rich person to gain access to the kingdom of Heaven, or some such thing. Rich people suck and should be hunted down. Donald Trump, especially. Not only has he been bailed out more than once after bankruptcy, but he’s a hating, disgusting, evil creep. The real winner was when he stated that he would have liked to be able to date his daughter. Yes, she was grown at the time, so it’s not like he was talking about an immature or physically undeveloped person, but still, when a heterosexual, physically able to perform, man talks about wanting to date a woman, he’s eventually hoping for sex with her. So that’s a total creepazoid remark by Mr. Bad Hair. Rich people are all about having more and more and more money and things and fame and glory for themselves, and denying it to the rest of the world. Greed is evil, pure and simple. I want money; I want just enough so that I don’t have to work outside the home the rest of my life, not to buy a Manhattan apartment and flaunt my superiority.
–Modern mainstream music is a wasteland, pandering to the dull. Rap is misogynist shit about ho’s suckin’ dicks and my ride having the coolest rims. Country music is about “me and my buds” drinkin’ long-necked beers on dirt roads. Pop/rock/electronic is just catchy beats with trite words and no soul. Truly talented people are on the fringe, making a dollar or two here or there, while Lady Gaga or Lil Wayne or Jason Aldean could buy and sell entire counties. Occasionally a truly entertaining, musically interesting song will be a huge hit, like Adele’s “Someone Like You”, will demonstrate interesting dynamics, but those are the exception, not the rule.
–If I ran a company, I would never hire anyone who claimed to give 110 percent, because I’d want employees who weren’t liars and who could do basic math.
–Unless he’s changed lately, Stephen King can’t write any more. I respect him greatly for his body of work (Aside: as I was typing, my fingers fudged and “I respect him greatly for his bod” showed up on the screen; I have no idea if he has 6-pack abs or not), but a few books I read of his several years ago soured me pretty badly. He gets great horror ideas, starts them well, then just sort of “plays out the string” on his typewriter, bringing the book to some sort of conclusion that loses me maybe a third of the way through. (I think it was called) “Desperation” is a prime example. The cop at the beginning, who was actually some sort of demon thing, is yapping some sort of thing to the people he has put in the back of his patrol car, and in the middle of his monologue he slips in “I’m going to kill you.” This is interesting and horrifying and makes us want to keep reading. But eventually the whole thing just degenerates into Stephen King just repeating the word “Tak” over and over again, and other nonsense, and we (well, me for one) just lose interest. “The Shining” was great, (most of) “The Stand” was great, a lot of his tales that were made into movies have made for fun entertainment, but maybe he should quit. The book (“Black House”) that he wrote with Peter Straub was unreadable.
–Speaking of “The Shining”: All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, and all work and Shelly Duvall’s one-dimensional acting makes Jack want to stab her in the neck. Other than bashing him in the head with the bat and locking him in the walk-in, all she did was flutter her head around in baffled fright. I still love the movie, though, even though I didn’t like it when I went to it, just because it didn’t follow the book to the letter. Some of my favorite movie quotes are from it: “When my wife tried to stop me from doing my duty, I corrected her too” and “Heeeeere’s Johnny” and, of course, who could forget “Redrum, REDRUMMMMMMM.”
–Weed. Marijuana. Dope. Whatever you call it, the U. S. needs to wake the fuck up and quit outlawing it. As has been stated time and again on FB and elsewhere, it’s a gateway drug, a gateway to Cheetos and sweatpants, to cake and Netflix, not to harsh, soul-stealing drugs and wife-beating and teeth falling out of your head and picking imaginary scabs off your arms. For-profit prisons may or may not be full of morons who didn’t know how to hide their weed use from authorities, I don’t know. But, if so, they don’t belong there, unless they committed some actual crime. What especially grinds my gears is the idiots in the world of pro sports. Players get suspended for, what, a year, for testing positive for weed? Here’s a news flash for the NFL: weed is NOT an unfair performance enhancer, dumbasses. Back in the ’80s, the most powerful basketball teams year after year were the Celtics and the Lakers. Robert Parish of the Celtics was a good center with a soft touch to his shot, but he always seemed to be about a half-step behind everyone else, to me as a fan, anyway. So I laughed my ass off later when I heard “The Chief” had been arrested for dope possession. “Oh, so that’s why he always looked like he was thinking ‘Oh, I’ve been passed the ball; maybe I should do something with it’ when he was playing,” was what I thought. As a football fan, I’d love it if all the players on the other team were off chasing butterflies when they should be intercepting my team’s passes.
–Almost forgot: Tattoos–I just don’t get ‘em. Before you hate, let me expound a bit. Though I don’t understand the need to ink oneself with all manner of stuff, and though I want to say to people “Oh, your generic tribal armband tattoo is so unique–it’s unique in that it’s fading at a slightly different rate than the next guy’s generic tribal armband tattoo,” I think three things about people’s tattoos: a.) They’re none of my business. b.) They’re absolutely none of my business. c.) People with tattoos are like football fans (I’m specifically talking American football here). I’m a fan of the SF 49ers (yeah, let the hating begin), and have been since I woke from a drunken nap in January 1982 just in time to see “The Catch”, the famous touchdown pass from Montana to Clark. I was a Minnesota Vikings fan before that, but I eventually gave up on Santa Claus and the Vikings. Jerry Rice was one of the 49ers’ primo players and was magic in motion, capable of scoring with every catch, it seemed. To my way of thinking, he WAS football, and for anyone to claim to be a football fan, but not be a fan of the team that Jerry Rice had his biggest success with, would be like declaring oneself to be a Christian but somehow hating Jesus. Anyway, when they pan through the crowd at any 49ers game, or any game with any teams, inevitably there will be a rabid-looking fan who looks so endlessly stupid that you think all the fans of that team are the dumbest people on the planet, and (if said fan is wearing a 49ers jersey), I want to run out to the firepit and burn my Jerry Rice t-shirt, in protest of being somehow aligned with such a moron. All of this is a long-winded way of saying that, like fans of one’s favorite team, tattoo wearers come from all walks of life. Some are smart, some are stupid. Some are nice. Some are evil. Some have talentless jailhouse tats. Some have elaborate, multi-colored, beautiful designs. Some tattoos say “Tattoo” and some say “Amanda.” I don’t “get” them, but they’re your business.
Well, I could go on, and on and on, about thoughts that will probably get me the thumbs-down, and of course, since I’m not a logician and I often make no sense, much of what I’ve said here is just my rambling and not necessarily fitting into the category of “evil stuff that I think”, but does that really matter? No, it doesn’t. I wrote something. I created. I deserve a lollipop. Or a beer, maybe. Being Freshly Pressed would be nice, but that won’t happen ever. And, you know, it (Being Freshpressed) hasn’t seemed to bring fame and fortune to some of my favorite bloggers yet, so who cares?
One more thing about religion: Maybe I’d go to church once in a while, maybe look for a mate there even, if the damn music didn’t suck so much. There are a few good religious songs, you know. “Amazing Grace” is a great song. “Softly and Tenderly” is a great song. All I ever hear in a Lutheran church is toneless, tuneless crap. Step it up a little.