The perfect ending to my relationship with door-to-door Jesus salespeople….

We get a lot of door-to-door salespeople for the lord in our neighborhood. By a lot, I mean at least 3 times a week (that I’m aware of).  Politely telling them I’m not interested doesn’t make them go away.  Lying and saying that I looooove Jesus so so so so much doesn’t make them go away.  Being rude doesn’t make them go away.  Our “No Soliciting” sign doesn’t make them go away.  Nothing makes them grasp the concept that other people don’t need imaginary friends guiding their life just because they do.  I am fed up with these people.

I also feel it is HORRIBLY rude to show up to someone’s house before calling first.  I don’t care who you are.  It’s just proper manners.  If you didn’t call first, you are trespassing.  End of story.

So it’s around 7:30 at night.  I just got out of the shower and am soaking wet- and the doorbell rings.  I look out the front window and see 2 ladies on my doorstep- bibles and pamphlets in hand… and I see red.  You do NOT show up to a strangers house past dinnertime unannounced to try to push your personal agenda onto their life.  You just don’t.

So I grab the machete I keep under the bed in one hand, and my crazy barking little Chihuweenie dog in the other (she goes bonkers at the doorbell).  I throw open the front door, soaking wet wearing nothing but a tanktop and my underpants and say in the loudest, happiest and most crazed voice “HI!!!!  Is there something I can help you with?” while smiling like I’m having the most amazing acid trip ever known to man.

They both look satisfyingly stunned, and start backing away.  My dog, Monkey, is barking like she has rabies at this point, and the ladies don’t know whether to keep their eyes on the psycho dog or on the almost naked lady with the machete.  They pick up speed with their exit, mumble something about being sorry to have bothered me, and get to a near run by the time they reach the end of my patio walkway… as I’m screaming after them, “What’s wrong?  Don’t you want to talk?  I’d LOVE to talk to you!!!”.

I hope that this finally gets my address on their “Do Not Disturb” list.

True story.

(next time, I will sick my little monster Monkey dog on them.  She can be pretty fierce…..

Monkey the Crazy Monster Puppy

Christian Rock may be what finally does me in…

My husband’s favorite pass time is inflicting things onto me that he knows I hate just to see me go through my stages of intolerance.

• Stage 1: passive dislike and disdain.  I quietly hate something, but only bitch about it when asked.
• Stage 2: Openly annoyed.  I’ll complain and mock- but not be hostile.
• Stage 3: Openly angry.  The constant assault of  this thing that he KNOWS irritates me, and by the fact that I’m being assaulted by it BECAUSE it irritates me for his amusement brings open hostility.
• Stage 4:  Hate.  Screaming, throwing objects and insults, and acting like a lunatic.  It takes a lot to get me to this point- and this stage tends to makes my husband laugh the hardest.

Brad has done this with countless things.  Playing Limp Bizkit first thing in the morning while shooting me with an air gun.  Tickling me after I’ve told him literally thousands of times that being tickled makes me want to stab people.  Uncrossing my toes (long time readers know I have to keep my toes crossed at all times).  Standing over me while I’m trying to concentrate on work, and playing Skynard on his guitar.  It’s his own version of Chinese Water Torture- but customized just for me.  He does this because he thinks it cute to annoy me- but then is shocked when after weeks of this, I finally snap and start screaming and acting like I’ve completely lost my mind.

Last night, he discovered Modern Christian Rock music.  And I am now fucked.  Deeply, truly, and sincerely fucked.

Long time readers of my babble on here will know that I had WAY too much Jesus growing up, and it has made me run screaming from him and his fan club.  But it’s not just the scripture that makes me run- but the antics that the J.C. Fan Club creates to “modernize” J.C. and make him more hip to the “sinful youth” of today.  When I was forced to go to “Young Life” meetings in junior high and high school, there were the creepy skits about the sinfulness of premarital sex and drug use, and how both would ALWAYS lead you to either get AIDS or become a dying crack whore.  They would take classic rock songs out of context to make them Jesus-Friendly and the whole room would sing along.  I experienced these marketing tactics on a grand scale when I was sent to the Southern Baptist group home in Branson, Missouri in high school.  They would take us to “revivals” at Silver Dollar City in the hopes of saving our angsty juvenile delinquent souls- and there would be hundreds of teenagers with their arms in the air singing at the tops of their lungs gospel songs that were put to “Pearl Jam” sounding music, and wearing t-shirts that say “Jesus Rocks”.  It was monumentally disturbing.

So last night I’m sitting in bed watching a movie, and I hear “Rape Metal” coming from his office (Rape Metal= Limp Bizkit, Puddle of Mud, Slipknot, etc). ..and Brad is laughing hysterically.  He calls me in, and I comply.  And it just sounds like bullshit rape metal to me… until I listen to the lyrics.  They’re singing about the love of the lord.  And my stomach turns to ice.  And the massive shit-eating grin that Brad had on his face while watching my reaction to this music solidified the fact that I wasn’t going to be able to shake this.  This new little gem that Brad found was going to be living in our house for a very long time.

The difference between the creep-show of Christian Modern Rock that I grew up with and what Brad discovered is this:  what I grew up with were bands that were desperately trying to sound like popular music but they wrote original songs; the new Christian Modern Rock bands now take already famous songs but change the lyrics.  Same song exactly, singer is a low-rent version of the original song’s singer- but with anti-abortion, anti-sex, anti-drug, and “I love Jesus” lyrics.  They took the Pearl Jam song “Alive” and changed the title to “A Lie” and it’s all about how evolution is a gigantic scam.  Do you get it?

Brad downloaded ALL of it.  Hundreds of songs.  He blasted them all last night and all morning long- laughing and laughing and laughing.  And yes… this music is so horribly, painfully, bone-chillingly pathetic that it sincerely is hilarious.  Christian Rock realized that they just can’t make good music- so they have to steal from Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Limp Bizkit, and every other chart buster out there.  It really is amazing.  But the moment I realized what I was listening to last night; the moment it dawned on me what Brad had discovered, and what was now going to be my new roommate- I regressed 20 years.  My brain spiraled back to being a 15 year old, sitting in an outdoors Inbred-Land auditorium settled in the middle of some bullshit hick amusement park with my arms crossed and a scowl on my face, surrounded by 2000 born-again Christian youths, waving their arms over their heads in sync to the music, crying with joy, and singing “Rocketown” by Michael W. Smith in unison (while I’m getting screamed at the whole time by my counselor for being disrespectful to Jesus for not standing and weeping and being filled with the love of the lord… and then having to go back to the group home and dig up tree stumps for hours because of my disrespect).  Brad’s in tears laughing, and all I can think is “NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!!!!  IT’S FOLLOWED ME HOME!!!  IT’S IN MY HOUSE!!!  IT’S GOT MY HUSBAND!!!  FFFUUUCCCKKK YYYOOOUU JESUS FAN CLUB!!!!”.  20 years of vigorously scrubbing off The Blood of the Lord and thinking I was finally clean- and an online list of MP3′s brought all the icky bad God-feelings right back, making me dirty all over again.  After 20 years in the witness protection program, God not only found me, but has set up camp happily in Brad’s ipod to be with us at home and wherever we may travel.  Brad is SO amused with this that I know it’s not going away for a very very very long time.

A few weeks from now if you see images of me on the news covered in blood and being hauled away in handcuffs by the police- you’ll know I finally cracked and had to kill Brad because of this music.  And it’s all Jesus’s fault.

Make no mistake… the gods are toying with us

First off today, most wonderful Amy sent me this link that you should all click on and giggle:

PETA offers money to Octomom to put sterilization sign in front yard

Now, normally, I don’t like PETA.  Their shock tactics and misguided efforts in Alaska (among hundreds of other situations) make me really mad.  They are the evangelical Southern Baptists of the humanitarian movement, and have made all of us who support animal rights look a little nutty (and I REALLY resent the ads that Kathleen Hanna did for them saying “Ya know, I really really like bunnies- so we shouldn’t, like, kill them and stuff…  right?”.  Maybe it’s just me, but it annoys the fuck outta me that one of the strongest female role models of my youth now only gives a fuck about the bunnies- which are the one thing on this planet whose population isn’t threatened: ie- “Breeding Like Rabbits”.  I loooove bunnies… but give me a fucking break!!  Priorities?!?!… sorry… I’ll get back on point).  BUT PETA’s proposal to the vile and disgusting over-breeding Octomom is outright hilarious.  What’s even funnier is that she did it for a mere $5000.  I just love it to pieces.  And I appreciate their wit.

I’ve recently started to think that there is a ‘god’ or ‘higher power’ or ‘ethereal presence”… and if there is, whatever it is, is a TOTAL DICK.  Whatever ‘guiding force’ is ruling my life has a really mean sense of humor, and I’d like for it to piss off and go find someone else to screw with.  Why has my devout atheism started to crumble around the edges?  Because every time I open my mouth and spout something positive… “god” (or whatever this creepy divine entity is) giggles and then shoves my attempts at positive thought back down my through as hard as it can, and then follows it with fistfuls of shit and bile.  I used to think that it was all just coincidence that bad things happened the moment I spoke well of life- but now it’s just happening too often, and too specifically to not be seen as a personal attack.  When I mention that Sully has been doing really well- it will immediately be followed by a 3 day reign of Sully-Terror of epic proportions.  If I mention that Brad and I are doing good- well, again… immediately followed by a 3 day reign, only by my other pet male.  If I joke about how silly pet insurance is, and that all our cats are super healthy and don’t need it- BOOM… the next day our oldest cat, Leo, gets horribly ill and has to be taken to the vet multiple times.  After I’ve paid the bills and announce, jokingly, that nothing in the house is allowed to break or go wrong because I can’t afford a single thing until next payday… POOF!- the coffee pot breaks, the weed-wacker breaks, half the light bulbs in the house go out, and 2 laundry baskets fall apart.  All in the span of 48 hours.  Those are just a few examples.  I sincerely could go on and on.

I first thought that I was being paranoid… but now I’m convinced.  If there is a god, he is a mean hearted 10-year-old boy of the Eddie Haskell variety (ya know the type- he looks great on paper, and is awesome to your face or when under the spotlight… but as soon as you turn your back he’s shooting your dog with a Bee Bee gun and letting the air out of your tires).  Spiteful and sinister, and giggling at his own inside jokes even if they make everyone around him cry.  I actually have started watching what I say for fear of the cosmic anvil that is looming over my head waiting to drop.  The attacks are far too detailed and way too personal for it to all be random.  I know it isn’t karma because I paid my dues LONG ago, and am confident that I’m 100% in the clear.  And “Murphy’s Law” isn’t a DAILY occurrence.  So that leads me to believe there is in fact a god- and we’re nothing but a science experiment for him to mess with for his own amusement.  Like getting an ant farm just to burn the ants one by one with a magnifying glass.  He is a mean-spirited stalker, and needs to find someone else to mess with.

I’ve been told that what you put out into the universe is what you’ll receive…. and I sincerely tried this- but when I extend my hand in kindness, it’s met with a slap and spit in my face.  Maybe it’s all the religious shit-talking I’ve done in the past that has made the gods angry… but if they really want me to like them, this isn’t the way to win my love.  And they should know by now that they can’t break my will.  So I’m being forced back to my previous state of mind:  If you expect for life to beat you down and then shit on your face, you’ll never be disappointed.  This mindset might not be the healthiest- but it’s far safer than what I have been experiencing.

Thanks for being total douchebags, ‘higher powers”.  You suck.