This Unholy Mess

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Lament of the Unbeliever

LAMENT OF THE UNBELIEVER

Alleluia, sisters and brothers, I come among you now most grateful for your fellowship and willingness to bear witness to my words. For I am a sinner and in need of much forgiveness. Or at least a stiff drink.
In the wake of the recent judgement rendered by the Almighty Public, we have all been called upon to unite, yea, and to speak as one voice. We are required to put aside the things of an adult now that we are become childish. Even unto turning a complete blind eye to recent history, we are told to renounce our outrage and become as lambs returning to a fold we would not have joined any sooner than, say, Scientology.
Amen, amen, I say to you most solemnly: I cannot.
I will choose instead to be tossed into outer darkness, where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth, yes, but also at least a modicum of sanity. Yea, I refuse to lie down with the lion, knowing that he will certainly make of me a mess of lamb carpaccio.
I do not make these judgements lightly, brothers and sisters, but instead hearken to the scriptures for my proof. For I ask unto you, verily, is it meet that the Almighty should ask us all now to unite with the Anointed One, in the fellowship of harmony, peace, and happy pills, when the Anointed has clearly told us, “Knock the crap out of ‘em, and don’t worry, I’ll cover your legal bills”? When he hearkens back to the Good Old Days, in which voices crying out in dissent would be “carried out on a stretcher”? Nay, and again I say to you because I am given to repetition, nay. Though I be exhorted to do so by the greatest among the Evangelical Elders, I cannot drink from the sacred kool-aid chalice.
Oh, wait. I see now before me these same Elders, exhorting me just as I predicted in the above paragraph. These are the towering figures whose godly, televised ministrations extract fifty, yea, one hundred dollars a month from the Poor in Spirit, thus rendering them poor in other ways as well. Elders who, for lo these many months, have sacrificed themselves on the altar of hypocrisy located in a magnificent temple/country club/golf course complex called The Whited Sepulchre, at the corner of Political Expedience Boulevard and Shameless Street. Though betimes they seem to be speaking in tongues rather than in any kind of comprehensible English, I gather they are insisting that I come together with them to fulfill their vision for America, lest I be lost forever in the fires of Gehenna.
I’ll take “Fires of Gehenna,” thanks. If it will free me from viewing State of the Union speeches for the next four years, I’m calling it “Salvation”.
It is only through a powerful mystery of faith that the Elders endorse the Anointed One, insofar as his personal life makes David and Bathsheba look chaste, yea, even unto Ward and June on Leave It to Beaver. Again, to quote from scripture: “When you’re a star, [women] let you do it. You can do anything. Grab them by the p****, you can do anything.” Wise words that do praise and honor to former presidents, from George Washington and Abraham Lincoln to Ronald Reagan and Ted Nugent. Oh, that’s right, sorry: Ted has not yet received the sacred call to the presidency, but how far behind can he be?
As a sinner, I can also feel free to tell you, in the fellowship of truth, of my rejection of the scribes of the kingdom, most of whom contributed mightily to the judgment of the Almighty Public. They did not anoint the head of the Chosen One with oil—since they noticed there was already a bounty of oil there–no, but they did provide him with gifts more valuable than gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And those–praise be to the highest ratings–were legitimacy, a more-than-level playing field, and plenty of oxygen for his Holy Message.
So peace be unto you all, as you continue on this march to the biblical city of Shibboleth. But I, a sinner, regret that I cannot join you because of my previously-referenced commitment to sanity.
Even as the lightning shines from the east unto the west, from Atlantic City to Las Vegas, you come now as a people possessed, seized by the powerful spirit of hucksterism, shining for all nations to see, a great beacon of wonderment and mirth, yea, even unto a laughingstock. Amen, amen, I say to you: hold onto your loaves and fishes, because, like the Good Book says, there are bigger deals to come. And the Anointed One is nothing if not a wheeler-dealer.



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