Monday, March 28, 2011

Jesus Yelled At My Hotrod

Repent, brothers and sisters!

Repent, for you do the Devil’s handiwork every time you raise those unholy fingers in the sign of the horns!

REPENT, for Jesus cannot love you if you do not love him! Even though Jesus loves everybody. Except fags. And liberals. And/or those who cannot bring themselves to vote Republican in the next election.

Repent, for the music of Satan will only plunge you further into the depths of hell! And that hell is HOT, brothers and sisters. It is fiery and merciless. It is fierce and unforgiving. The flames will scorch your flesh and blacken your very soul. And then your soul will be blacker than it is right now, at this moment, as you blast that Satan music from your car full of illegal immigrants and hoist your middle finger in what you imagine is defiance. Blacker than that indeed, brothers and sisters! And blacker still, until there can be none more black. Do you hear me, my wayward lambs? NONE! MORE! BLACK!

REPENT, I say! For I have spoken with your spokesperson, a certain Mr. … Lant. Yes, Conrad Lant, from Newcastle-upon-Tyne, which I’m told is in some faraway place called Europe. And it has not been a reassuring conversation, brothers and sisters. No! It seems this illegal foreigner has some ideas of his own about the spiritual needs of this fragile human enterprise and its relationship—or lack thereof—with a higher power. Indeed, many of Mr. Lant’s illegal comments and sentiments were decidedly un-Christian. He made several references to my unmentionables, for example. But I suppose I should not be surprised, not with the unruly state of the great unwashed that stands before me today, what with your unkempt beards and your abortions and your heavy metal. What’s next? Drugs? Oh, but I imagine you’re already into those—the uppers, the downers, the all-arounders! And what about anal? Yes, ANAL, brothers and sisters! Be it between a man and a man or a Muslim and his dog, it is BLASPHEMY. But I can already smell it on you. I can smell it like I can smell the poop in your pants when Jesus comes to judge you. How will thee be judged? Harshly and swiftly, I should think! HARSHLY AND SWIFTLY!

REPENT, for you are unknowing and ungrateful! The almighty JEEEEZUS will have no use for you. Not now, not ever … UNLESS! Unless you kneel down before Him and beg his forgiveness and the forgiveness of Glenn Beck and swear upon your heart that tax cuts for the ridiculously wealthy are the only way to ease our earthly woes! Yes, prostrate yourself before Christ! I beseech you to beseech Him! It is the only way to absolve your filthy, homosexual, heavy metal abortionist lifestyle in the eyes of the Lord! ABORTION! HOMOSEXUAL! FILTHY!

Repent, I tell you! Do it now or suffer the consequences on Judgment Day! Because that day is coming soon, you dirty gaylords. And punishment will be worse than anything described in that Devil music you listen to, worse even than the bloody, half-formed fetuses you throw in the trash can after having all that hot gay sex out of wedlock and smoking crystal meth for three days with unwed mothers and heavy metal. REPENT! REPENT! REPENT! And write to your senator to tell him that God HATES “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.” It is then and ONLY then that JEEEEZUS can forgive you! He is the only way out of the darkness and into the light! Tell your senator that unemployment benefits are for COMMUNISTS! Tell him to give that money to the corporations and giant banks that NEED IT! Tell him you believe in the trickle-down economy and that you will believe in it until you freeze to death in your own bed come February, bloated from starvation! Tell him you want more predatory loans! Tell him that women belong in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant! GET THEM SHOES OFF, BEEETCH! Tell him that all brown people should be shipped back to ESS-PAN-YOL! Ask him, does he realize that the president is A BLACK MUSLIM FROM AFRICA? Do it now, brothers and sisters, do it now! HOMOSEXUALS! HEAVY METAL! ABORTION! REPENT! REPENT! REPENT!

This bullshit originally appeared in the February 2011 issue of Decibel magazine.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

Couch Trip

From the transcript of a free psychoanalysis session requested by an unnamed patient and conducted by his childhood friend, Dr. Kenneth Noisewater, April 21, 1984. Reprinted with severe reservations.

Unnamed Patient: “My spirit animal came to me in the night. At least I think it was my spirit animal.”

Noisewater: “What was it?”

“A jackalope.”

“Fuck off.”

“That’s a little unprofessional, don’t you think?”

“Sorry, but you expect me to believe you had a dream about a jackalope? Just consider my chain yanked and let’s move on.”

“It was a man-size jackalope. He was riding a white horse. And he was wearing a denim vest with a Motörhead patch on it. And I think maybe one of those Metallica ‘Metal Up Your Ass’ patches.”

“What’s a motorhead?”

“You know, like a tweaker. A speed freak. One of those amphetamine people with the scabs and green teeth and whatnot.”

“Why would a jackalope have a patch of that?”

“It’s also a band.”

“Oh. Any good?”

“The best.”

“So what happened?”

“With the jackalope? He gave me a sword.”

“How do you know it was a he?”

“I don’t know. I just sensed it. He seemed very masculine.”

“Then what happened?”

“I think he wanted me to cut his head off. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t kill my new friend because he was an awesome jackalope and I just wanted to hang out with him and maybe pound some brews or whatever.”

“Why do you think he wanted you to cut his head off?”

“I have no fucking idea, man. But the whole thing just felt weird, like he was trying to tell me something that I could only find out by chopping off his head. For a second I thought maybe the idea was that he’d grow a new head that would tell me something important. Like the second head had all the secret info but was being suppressed by the first head.”

“I see.”

“Could you move your chair like three feet further away from me? I can smell your breath. What did you eat for lunch, a can of pickled assholes?”

“Smoked salmon, actually.”

Shmoked shalmon, actually.”

“Why are you being such a dick?”

I’m being a dick? I told you in all earnestness that I had a dream about a jackalope—my spirit animal—and you told me to fuck off.”

“I think maybe the problem is that…”

“Look, I know what the problem is. But what the shit can I do about it?”

“Wait, what do you think the problem is?”

“The problem is that I need to figure out a way to re-enter my dream so I can cut off the jackalope’s head and find out what the second head needs to tell me.”

“I thought you said you didn’t wanna do that.”

“I know. But I think I need to. I think it’s crucial to my development as a human being.”

“Since when did you care about that?”

“Fuck you, Kenny. I’m serious.”

This bullshit originally appeared in the January 2011 issue of Decibel magazine.