Racists believe that God is a white man who looks like John Wayne.
But is he?
Is God white? In all the art over the centuries, including his representation on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, he is portrayed as white, in the case of Michelangelo's masterpiece, a grey-bearded, fierce-looking giant floating on a cloud.
If God is truly a Caucasian, then racists and Southern Confederate fundamentalist Christians can take delusional heart thinking that they were created in God's image, and thus are better than people of color. If you look like God and somebody else doesn't, you must be better. Feeling better than someone else is important to a racist. Very important.
But is God white?
Why don’t people ever just say what they mean? We teach our children not to lie, but what we are actually saying is, “just lie when it is a NICE lie.” If we are going to be honest, then just do it already.
I was in an elevator the other day, and a pompous ass backed up like he didn’t see me when he got on the freakin' thing in the first place, and stepped on my foot. He didn’t even bother to turn around when he mumbled a half hearted, disingenuous, “uh, sorry”. Now sir, if you are reading this, I would have been perfectly fine if you had just said what you thought, which was, “how dare you insignificant cretin be standing in the way of where I need to stand, after all, I am me, Dr. Whatever, and I have more value than you.” You see? Then I could have responded with, “Your cologne is gagging me, please move forward.”
'Tis the season for detecting epilepsy in your family members. It's "twinkle light" time, folks! I watched my next door neighbor hang his twinkly lights that are loosely designed to resemble icicles. This man should consider a career in the circus. He must have missed this year's ladder safety training. I don't know if all of you realize this, but there ARE instructions on your ladder. When they tell you that this ladder is to be placed on a level surface and you are NOT to step above the yellow part, they mean it.
When did twinkle lights become more important to us than the safety and well being of our family members? I see this every year, wives standing on the ground or in the doorway pointing out that the lights are sagging or not EXACTLY lining the gutter. Come on guys, get over that fear of falling 4 stories to your death, and hang the damn lights so that the whole neighborhood can be in awe of how perfectly straight they are!
There are just certain things that make me shake my head, and say, "Wow, you are an idiot." Bumper stickers are stupid. Let me say that again. Bumper stickers are stupid. I am not so bored in traffic, nor am I so feeble minded that your idiotic sticker means anything to me other than to point directly to the fact that you are, indeed, an idiot. Now pay attention, people. This sticker, "God is my co-pilot", makes me want ro ram into the back of your car, causing severe injury and trauma. The reason is simple. You don't have a co-pilot. Nor are you flying an aircraft. It is a 1998 Oldsmobile. God wouldn't be caught dead in it. BUT, I am very open minded, so I am thinking that you can prove your contention by praying hard enough to stop my truck from demolishing your car and causing you permanent injury. Want to give it a try? I didn't think so. Take the stupid sticker off. Idiot.
Once upon a time in a galaxy far, far away, there existed the United States of America. Many four scores of years ago a person could walk up to the White House and request a visit with the president. Just imagine, poor peasant person that you are, that you have a simple demand or request that could help your community or country and just happen to live down the street from the new king. You walk up, the president is free, and you are welcomed into the goddamn house he lives in that you bloody paid for!!! Why do you think you’re a peasant? ‘Cause you just added a new wing. They labeled it: “The West Wing.” And for your viewing pleasure: Visiting hours are Never.
In modern times, of course, the American people are not welcome into the public house they paid for and keep paying for. Our children will continue paying for it long after our decrepit, withered, broken souls are deep in the digestive systems of worms and zombies. It’s not fair! I’m lucky if some sweaty guy gets the letter I wrote about whatever I feel like; the president never reads that crap. Let alone actually get to go to dinner with the most powerful man on the planet. I think you see what I’m getting at: recently, a couple of dumb idiots crashed the state dinner at the White House. Boo, bloody, hoo. I think we sound more like the "Planet of the Apes."
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