Religious moviegoers in Georgia were horrified to find their ticket stubs to The Passion of the Christ imprinted with the number of the beast. The manager of the theater claims it was a computer glitch and not the work of Satan.
First, in the book of Revelation the number 666 was said to refer to the Antichrist in which many modern Christians misinterpret as the coming of Lucifer to Earth in human form during Armageddon. Most biblical scholars concur that the number actually refers to the Roman emperor Nero, whose name equals the numerical value of 666 in Hebrew. Nero was quite a bastard to first century Christians and he enjoyed torturing them by crucifixion, setting them ablaze and feeding them to lions. John, the author of the book of Revelation, understood the wrath of the Emperors firsthand as he was poisoned, beaten, dipped in boiling oil and eventually exiled to the island of Patmos just for being down with the Lord. Therefore, the number of the beast does not refer to the Prince of Darkness himself but to the oppressive leaders of first century Rome.
Second, I am of the opinion that the greatest song Iron Maiden ever recorded was The Number of the Beast.
People are spiritually dead in America. I know this because idiots are seeing the likeness of the Virgin Mary in a tree stump and thinking it means something. In more New Testament related news, an actor depicting the messiah has been smote. I think Jesus is tired of being depicted as an Aryan poster child.
Once before on this site, I directed my rage at Jehovah’s Witnesses. The reasons for my anger were threefold:
- They cruise my town home complex with complete lack of respect for the no-solicitation ordinance.
- They ring my doorbell early on Saturday mornings.
- They bring their Jesus shit to my front door, inches away from where I eat, fuck, sleep and shit.
While the methods of Jehovah’s Witnesses piss me off, I still love me some Prince. If he appeared on my doorstep, I would invite his little ass inside and tell him to hurry up with the Son of God rap and ask him to sing Purple Rain for me and my sort of lady.
I have a problem with Jehovah’s Witnesses. It stems from the fact that they like to pound on my door early on Saturday mornings. One particular Saturday these Restorationist pricks came a-knocking. I awoke from deep slumber, threw on a pair of boxer shorts, stumbled down the stairs and opened the door. Before me stood two brainwashed youngsters spouting off at the cake chute about Jesus. Politely I informed them of no soliciting ordinance that governs the town home complex. They responded by telling me they obey the law of God and not the law of man. I was tempted to deconstruct the entire history of human law all the way back to the Code of Hammurabi, but I was tired so I slammed the door on their Jehovah-loving faces instead. My lady lives in the same town home complex and gets the door-to-door action, pamphlets and letters. I read one of their pamphlets; it was a detailed dissertation about the evils of pornography. Jehovah’s Witnesses think pornography is bad. You see what I am saying? They are completely out of touch. Unfortunately, according to this, their tribe in increasing.
I was drinking with an ex-coworker and her born-again Christian friend this evening (thankfully the Jesus Freak waited until the ride home to spring the “Christ Is Risen” bit on me) and the following conversation occurred in the Ghost of War on the way home from the bar:
Jesus Freak: So Matt, do you want to go to church with me in the morning?
Me: Um, no. No thanks. No.
Jesus Freak: That is alright because Jesus still loves you.
Me: So let me get this straight. If I go to church Jesus loves me and if I do not go to church Jesus will still love me?
Jesus Freak: Yes. That is correct.
Me: Sounds to me like Jesus wants me to sleep in.
Monica: God do I hate Creed. “Arms Wide Open” my ass. I would like to jam something down Scott Stapp’s wide open throat.
Me: Ha! Excellent. Take your I Love My Baby/I Am Down With The Lord rock somewhere else, Scott. Like the bottom of the ocean.
Me: Just a poor man’s Stryper if you ask me.
Me: Well played.
Voodoo is practiced by many in Haiti. My only experience with Voodoo is the movie The Serpent and the Rainbow, obscure Marvel Comics character Brother Voodoo and the evil Voodoo witch Miss Cleo. In order to educate myself about the religion (and perhaps subconsciously prepare for the 2003 HOW Design Conference in New Orleans), I am currently reading about West African Vodun, Haitian Vodou, Louisiana Voodoo and Candomble Jeje.
Reporters for High Times Magazine are convinced that Jesus was the ultimate dope pusher of the first century. According to these baked cheeba-monkeys, Jesus and his apostles would heal the masses with an extracted form of cannabis oil. We had a guy that liked to cure the masses with narcotics at my high school. His name was Kurt. Everybody liked Kurt because he always had good drugs and was always willing to share. I am sure if Kurt said he was the Son of God, half of the student body in my graduating class would have agreed with him just to keep scoring free dope. The same situation could be true for Jesus. Picture a group of stoned apostles sitting on a boat on the Sea of Galilee, smearing cannabis oil all over themselves convinced that Jesus was walking on water. “Dude, check out Jesus. He is walking on water.”
Here is a list of things that when combined, produce a terrible result:
For the record, I think Jesus would drive a used Honda Accord. No rims and nothing all that flashy. Just something with low miles that is reliable, gets good gas mileage and gets the Son of God around town.
Last night, in midst of an early winter storm, it took me three and a half hours to drive home from Boulder. This drive, mind you, is normally 20 minutes. Apparently, Boulder uses an environmentally friendly alternative to road salt that does nothing to ice when the temperature is below a certain level. The roads out of Boulder were like a hockey rink. During this period of time, I was a seething cauldron of anger. When I got home I wrote this. Enjoy.
The Catholic Church may provide a consequence free environment for pedophiles but it condemns tea bagging. I cannot believe kids get in so much trouble for this nowadays. In the locker room during my high school sporting career, tea bagging was nothing compared to guys pissing on you in the shower or sneaking up behind you and covering your face with a protective cup dripping in ball sweat (a.k.a. the Gas Mask).