My Fake Conversion to Isislam

Shopping for religions one day, exploring all the philosophical and doctrinal differences and weighing their various defects and virtues, I decided I needed a religion with more beheadings.

A religion with more beheadings is the kind of religion you want to be a part of, that’s for sure. As the saying goes: “Faith, Hope, Charity, yet without beheadings, I am as nothing.”

It’s hard not to think about God during a beheading. It’s so moving.

What a great selling point for our religion—the Jehovah Witnesses have their pamphlets and the Protestants have their hospitals and faggy medical missionaries, but hey, we’ve got snuff films!

Snuff films which glorify God.

If the Prophet were alive today, he’d be into that kind of snuff, right?

Thousands of psychotic converts like me are inexorably drawn to the True Faith (mankind’s best hope) after seeing a video of a beheading.

You had me at the first messy knife-cut!

If only they could bring back quartering–you know, where they put a draft animal on each limb–think of all the sick-fuck converts we could win over!

Our religion will benefit greatly from drawing in all these sick-fucks who like snuff. We will be the new Elect of God, singing ancient praises of the All Mighty One, watching high-pressure blood splatter, kidnapping a wife or two…

Yeah, that’s a hell of a recruitment tool. Literally.

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The Gospel of Your Pet

I think my cat is gorging and vomiting up food for the neighbors and the strays so as to “win friends and influence [peers].”

Nobody can eat FIVE cans of Fancy Feast ® a day, plus some assorted low-grade cat food for good measure. That’s $100 a month or more!

And what am I getting for it?  Cuteness?!

I stopped leaving food outside for him at night a long time ago, although I can tell that he wants me to keep doing that.  But why should I feed the ‘possums and the strays or even his own ill-conceived so-called “families”?

So what if he might have sired kittens with some “lynxy-looking” pussy?  ‘Not my problem! Those ill-conceived kittens are on their own, Buddy boy! I can barely afford you!

Even if he doesn’t have any offspring that he’s secretly trying to feed, he shouldn’t be distributing my largess to Un-Worthies—i.e., cats I don’t want to adopt, which is all of them except him. The problem really is a distributional one—the stupid cat doesn’t know how to share!

Perhaps it was the booze, but tonight I let him have a bowl of wet food outside and said: “Ok Buddy, tonight you’re the ‘rich guy’—tonight you’re the one who hosts the party and shows off and everyone ‘loves’. Enjoy it.”

Because you know damn well I ain’t doin’ this every night! Forget that!

And then I suddenly realized that this is exactly how God could feel about me or any of us if he wanted to be a hard-ass about it.

And maybe that’s why He is such a hard-ass sometimes.

Oops–I mean, “amen”–those are sort of opposites, and yet synonymous too in a strange way.