(For Catholics Only.)
Wouldn't you just love to be a fly on the wall listening in as God the Father, Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit try to sort out what to do with the soul of your Uncle Harry (who just died)?
God: OK, I vote for sending this guy directly to Hell. He's been pissing me off for years. I almost decided to visit a highly individualized personal plague upon his ass a few years back.
Jesus: Oh, come on. He wasn't all that bad.
God: Yes he was! Don't you remember when he was breaking Commandments left and right back between his late teens and mid 30's? Jesus Christ! I can't even believe we're having this discussion.
Holy Spirit: My view is that, while Harry certainly wasn't perfect, he was essentially a kind man with a good heart -- and he did become rather spiritual towards the end.
God: "Spiritual?" "Spiritual?!" I swear-to-fucking-Me, I've heard that word used mores time in the last 10 years. What the hell's it even supposed to mean?
Holy Spirit: Hey, trust me, you're preaching to the choir here God. I just think that....
God (cutting Him off): Let me ask you guys a question: When's the last time we saw this douchebag take the Sacrament of Reconciliation? For that matter when's the last time he was even at Mass? This SOB died with more mortal sins on his soul than JFK.
Jesus: Um, Father? Take a look at this (pointing to writing on a scroll of parchment paper). Looks like old Harry lucked out. He was at Bon Secours Hospital when he died -- and even though he was totally unconscious at the time, he received Anointing of the Sick, and by a Monsignor no less.
God: What? How?
Holy Spirit (looking at the same document): When his daughter checked him in at the hospital that night, on the paperwork she filled out she wrote Catholic in the "religion" box. This is sure to put this fellow over the top. He's bubble/IN.
God (disgusted): OK, OK, but I want maximum temporal punishment for this little puke. Take our current Purgatory max and double it!
Jesus: Will do Father. I'm on it. Hey Pete! Can you come in here? We've got a new tenant I want to talk to you about.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Blood Drawn
It seems to happen every time. Please, someone tell me it's not just me, that other people go through the same thing.
As an adult I've found that every few years I have to go and have my blood drawn for some reason. (Could be I'm buying more life insurance, or my doctor has ordered some test, or whatever.)
So just last week I'm there at the "lab" waiting my turn, and they call my name, and that's when it starts -- the fear.
What am I afraid of? Look, I don't know this "lab technician" from a hole in the wall. I mean, what if she's psycho? "OK, just put your arm up here and relax your hand," she says. She then pulls out that big rubber band/hose thing and ties it around the crook of my arm.
"Oh dear God," I think, "Please don't let this person be some sort of psychopath who acts and looks normal, but is now about ready to exact her revenge on society and the world by purposely infecting everyone she can with some sort of terrible virus or poison." I don't know where that needle has been prior to my sitting down here! I've read in the news about this type of thing happening.
I try to calm myself down. I study her. Breath. She looks fine, nicely groomed. "Are you doing OK?" she asks.
"Yes, I'm fine." (No, I'm not! I'm sure that tons of the nut-jobs of the world are nicely groomed.)
It's over now. I'm leaving. And once again I'm disgusted with myself for my irrational thoughts. It won't last long though. I've learned this. Get in my car. I'll be fine by the time I get home. Just another stupid 'Dan Green' type episode.
As an adult I've found that every few years I have to go and have my blood drawn for some reason. (Could be I'm buying more life insurance, or my doctor has ordered some test, or whatever.)
So just last week I'm there at the "lab" waiting my turn, and they call my name, and that's when it starts -- the fear.
What am I afraid of? Look, I don't know this "lab technician" from a hole in the wall. I mean, what if she's psycho? "OK, just put your arm up here and relax your hand," she says. She then pulls out that big rubber band/hose thing and ties it around the crook of my arm.
"Oh dear God," I think, "Please don't let this person be some sort of psychopath who acts and looks normal, but is now about ready to exact her revenge on society and the world by purposely infecting everyone she can with some sort of terrible virus or poison." I don't know where that needle has been prior to my sitting down here! I've read in the news about this type of thing happening.
I try to calm myself down. I study her. Breath. She looks fine, nicely groomed. "Are you doing OK?" she asks.
"Yes, I'm fine." (No, I'm not! I'm sure that tons of the nut-jobs of the world are nicely groomed.)
It's over now. I'm leaving. And once again I'm disgusted with myself for my irrational thoughts. It won't last long though. I've learned this. Get in my car. I'll be fine by the time I get home. Just another stupid 'Dan Green' type episode.
Friday, April 2, 2010
You are a product.
You, my friend, are a product. And I don't mean that you are a product of society or your upbringing. I'm not talking about your being a product of your genetic makeup and your environment.
I mean you are quite literally a product. The value that you bring to the world can easily be quantified. How? Just multiply together all ten digits of your cell phone number. (Your PDA/phone is your alter ego. It facilitates your ability to connect with and exchange information with all of the universe.)
My product is 3,780,000. What's yours? 0? Yeah, that doesn't surprise me. And to be honest there's a lot of other folks out there who are just like you. Big fat zeros!
I mean you are quite literally a product. The value that you bring to the world can easily be quantified. How? Just multiply together all ten digits of your cell phone number. (Your PDA/phone is your alter ego. It facilitates your ability to connect with and exchange information with all of the universe.)
My product is 3,780,000. What's yours? 0? Yeah, that doesn't surprise me. And to be honest there's a lot of other folks out there who are just like you. Big fat zeros!
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