Dr. Beads

Monday, January 08, 2007

Words May Fail Me, But Blasphemy Never Lets Me Down

Late on Conspicuous Consumption morning, I finished trimming my War on Christmas tree*, creaked my way to a standing position, and took the dog for a walk in the neighborhood.

We approached the Baptist church on the next block. I stopped in surprise.

There were no vehicles or people in the parking lot. There were no people entering or leaving the several church buildings visible from the street. There were no children in the play area.

Now, let’s stipulate that there exists an organization that promotes the worship of an imaginary being.

Let’s stipulate further that, by virtue of promoting the worship of an imaginary being, the organization operates tax-free and is thus able to
a.) afford a HUGE lot in a semi-pricey suburb,
b.) offer low-cost brainwashing, I mean child care and after-school programs, to local families, and, incidentally,
c.) casually leave politically partisan materials around the premises when it is being used as a secular voting site.

Let’s stipulate that the organization is called, colloquially, a “church.”

The question then follows:

Shouldn’t the cult’s, I mean church’s, adherents be required to populate the property a little bit on the second-holiest day of their year in order to maintain the organization’s godsdamn tax-free, privileged status?

Just asking.

*Special thanks are due Adam Felber, panelist on “Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me,” for the idea of decorating with little gingerbread secular humanists.

Friday, January 05, 2007

In Which I Begin a String of Foul-Mouthed and Often Profane Posts

It's time to let the innner sailor out, people.

I recently went to a conference at which we, the attendees, were wined and dined in exchange for having our presence, activities, and attention controlled for over 12 hours a day.

The last full day of the conference, two pudgy men in front of me in the lavish lunch line were talking about their disappointment in the food.

"I haven't had a good plate of greens the whole time," griped one.

My thoughts in response (order approximate):

1.) Fuck you.
2.) We had a lovely plate of greens last night to start off dinner on the harbor cruise, so
3.) Fuck you.
4.) We just had a nationwide safety scare about spinach, so
5.) Fuck you.
6.) We've had fresh fruit at every meal and fresh vegetables at every lunch and dinner, so
7.) Fuck you.
8.) The Manchurian accent isn't cute. Shut the fuck up.
Oh, and by the way,
9.) Fuck you.

Wednesday, January 03, 2007

I'll Be Here All Week

My spouse and I smelled dog poop, but there was no poop in the dog’s area or anywhere else in the house.

A few days later, my son stalked through the house and mock-bellowed, “Doody! I smell doody!” We searched again, but could find no poop.

We must have a poopergeist.