Wednesday, January 14, 2009

Look Upon My Works, Ye Mighty, And Despair

Rick Warren's just another hick Amway salesman. The Christian churches are full of these dweebs--they make nothing, invent nothing, generate nothing to help any economy but their own; they do not sow, nor do they reap; they just build pyramids like any ego-driven pharaoh. But theirs are based on air--you don't even get a bottle of detergent for your trouble.

The New Age world and PaganLand have their share of charlatans, but they are fewer, less powerful, and often they actually have to work for a living in addition to plying their woowoo wares. And one at least gets some perspective and insight from many of them--not the recycled Dale Carnegie Warren has built his bestseller and speaking engagement empire out of (and probably the most diligent form of recycling this vaunted "environmentalist" has ever done).

It was hilarious to me that Warren boasted of "giving donuts" to the gay protesters outside his church. That's just so wrong. Gay men don't eat donuts, and the lesbians have so many ethical food issues and obscure allergies that they can't eat them either. (Awww, don't hate me for making fun--I'm just one of those poor bicoastal creatures who just can't make up their minds, remember?)

It's not so hilarious that he sold a shred of integrity to the Syrians in exchange for a photo op on the road to Damascus. Bleh!

Warren's "place at the table" in the Inaugural ceremony could be an indication of how easily Obama is able to be conned, could be a cynical move, or maybe, just maybe, it will show a hateful egoist how real grownups at the big table are capable of behaving toward each other in a civil society. See? Let the Jews and Gays, whom you have proclaimed will not get into heaven, show you how it's done.

Whatever, I'm hoping to be at the table with the witches Monday, making magic for all of y'all.


Anonymous said...

In honor of tomorrow morning's sale . . .

I wouldn’t call it a good year
But the books say it could have been worse
The kids will be out that …
¬— Don’t laugh, it’s not funny! —
I’d die a slow death if he’d only sing ‘Sunny’
It appears we no longer have time
For the loneliest times, that’s our past —
Nothing more
But I can’t think of much that’s forlorner
Than his miserable croon in a half-empty Warner
So, please, answer me, please
In troubling times such as these
We’re holding our wallets
As if holding a sneeze
Is it ok to see Morrissey?

Oh, all you timid women
And all of you boys with your problems
Theatrically clutch at your bosom
And swoon in unison

At twenty I hated my friends
Alone in my room till my heart burst
The kids will be out that …
— Don’t laugh, it’s not funny! —
I’d probably die if he’d only sing ‘Sunny’
It appears we have run out of time
and the days feel shorter than Toulouse Lautrec
Don’t you think we’d feel better
If we again shared his pain
In troubling times
I would crawl through the rain
A gesture of desperate, celibate sleaze
Chastely winging toward your heart
Like birds and the bees
A blue child’s kite now entangled in trees
Please, answer me, please
Obsessions with money
Have replaced our disease
Do we still want to see Morrissey?

Anonymous said...

oops, that's from

-- J.S.