So this morning I got up and thought about working out.
Then I thought about not working out.
Because the second idea didn’t involve lifting weights, it actually carried more weight, and so it was the one I went with.
I did need to venture out into the world, though, so I popped my contacts in and took a shower.
Initially I was planning to head to Wal-Mart and pick up a few things, but I decided that I didn’t need anything that Wal-Mart had to offer and restricted myself to going to the grocery store, as I didn’t want to have to go out into the world at all, so I might as well make my trip as short as possible.
Even though I was five items shy of the limit, I opted not to go through the “express” line, as it seemed to be moving at a rate roughly equivalent to that of continental drift.
The only other open line had fewer people and seemed to be moving slightly faster.
While in line, the woman ahead of me showed me that when it comes to being a crotchety old crank I still have a lot to learn. This woman had complaining distilled down to an art form! I felt bad for the younger woman in line ahead of her, who was on the receiving end of her rant (like a helpless Threshold reader).
The old woman was very loudly complaining about the high cost of living in general, and the high cost of items in the store in particular. While she didn’t explicitly say anything to that effect, there was a strong undercurrent of wistful reminiscing for the “good old days.”
At the end, as she paid for her groceries, she was even complaining about how ugly money is now, and how nothing should ever change, for any reason, under any circumstances.
If she hadn’t been slowing me down (Yes, I was in a hurry even though I didn’t actually have anywhere to go, and I’m sure if she’d noticed she would have complained about people being in a hurry.), and so irritating, I might have found her charming.
But she was slowing me down, and she was irritating, so she had no charm, even though I did have some grudging admiration for her ability to complain.
Once I got home and had put my groceries away I decided to put the new registration stickers on my license plates. While I was at it I decided to attend to a few other things, like reattaching the “cargo net” in my trunk and cleaning out my glove compartment.
In the process of the latter I discovered that I’ve been driving without a valid proof of insurance since October. Oops.
Fortunately that was rectified easily enough by grabbing one of the copies that I had in the apartment. My insurance company sends me multiple copies of my current proof of insurance on a regular basis. I had assumed that somewhere along the line I had thrown one in the car.
Guess not.
Then I looked up recipes for pork tenderloin. Of late I’ve been trying to make use of more pork, as it’s typically cheaper than beef and chicken. So I picked up a pork tenderloin today, hence the need to find a recipe.
I found several that seemed interesting, but ultimately I went with stuffed pork tenderloin, since the stuffing included bacon. In general, I’ve never been that big a fan of pork (so the whole decision to start cooking more pork is kind of a change for me), but I’ve always loved bacon (as most people who know me can attest).
Of course, I found that I was out of bread crumbs (one of the ingredients for the stuffing), so I had to walk over to Safeway to pick some up. I also needed some string for tying the tenderloin together after slicing it open, stuffing it, and rolling it up.
The only place I could get string was the scrapbooking place by Safeway. I’d bought string there once before, but they’d since moved it. The woman working there, probably unaccustomed to seeing a man in the store, came over to offer her assistance. I told her that I needed some string.
I didn’t want to say that I was going to use it for cooking, because who knows if you’re supposed to use some special string or what, so I was evasive when she asked me what I needed it for. I said simply that it was “complicated,” and left it at that.
She wasn’t about to let it drop, though, and she kept after me, explaining that the kind of string they sell is less than ideal for, say, holding things together, or for binding things, and the whole time I was thinking, “Look bitch, just sell me the damn string and stop asking questions.”
Of course I didn’t say that.
I can’t help but wonder what she was thinking, though. Maybe she thought I was some serial killer looking for some twine for binding up his first victim.
Oh well; she’d hardly be the first person to think that.
When I got home I ended up Googling something I’ve been meaning to look up for a while.
What was that, you ask? I’ll tell you: religious tracts written by Jack T. Chick.
Somewhere along the line in your life you’ve undoubtedly seen these, those weird little offensive pieces of fundamentalist Christian propaganda that, in comic book form, blithely tell you that you’re a wretched sinner who is soon going to die and burn forever in the Lake of Fire.
Some time ago I was actually reading some full-fledged comic books by this guy entitled “Crusader,” which purported to tell the story of a former Jesuit who wanted to expose the insidious plots of the Roman Catholic Church, to whom he used to report, to the world. Evidently the Roman Catholic Church has all sorts of diabolical plans to ensure that everyone goes to hell, as the Pope is actually in league with the Devil.
Most of his tracts are slightly less anti-Catholic, focusing instead on a “tough love” approach to getting people to accept Jesus Christ as their personal savior.
Chick’s tracts present an odd version of reality in which, for the most part, people only need to hear that Jesus died for their sins to be instantly won over. Some people resist, but fortunately they die pretty quickly, and are cast into the Lake of Fire.
Just to add an extra dose of torment, most of the unrepentant sinners are taken up to Heaven very briefly to see what they’re going to be missing out on, and to have it explained to them that it didn’t matter that they led upstanding lives and pledged themselves to the service of mankind. They didn’t get their sins expunged by believing in Jesus, so it’s off to the Lake of Fire for those misguided do-gooders, where they can writhe in agony throughout eternity next to other afterlife lottery losers like Mother Teresa (she was Catholic, after all).
The fact that we’re all going to Hell can’t be (and, according to Chick, isn’t) repeated enough.
Fortunately, God loves us so much that he gave us a way out: He shed his Precious Blood for us, which washes away our sins.
And our sins need to be washed away, as, much like ugly people at Studio 54, sinners are not allowed into heaven.
So yeah, since there’s nothing we can actually do (another point he frequently makes) to earn a spot in Heaven, it’s a good thing that God loves us so much.
Well, not so much that He won't still gleefully cast us into the Lake of Fire for all eternity if we don’t toe the line, but, you know, He still loves us a lot.
In any case, you may be wondering why I spent most of my day reading these things (and, in fact, sought them out).
I should think the answer would be obvious: I’m a devout fundamentalist Christian.
What? You mean you couldn’t tell? Darn, I really need to work on. After all, I need to let you know that you’re all sinners and you’re all going to roast in the Lake of Fire for all eternity unless you…
Wait a second. Jack T. Chick tells me that all I need to do to get into heaven is believe that God loves me and that He shed His Precious Blood to wash away my sins. After all, there are no good works that I can perform that will get me in. I just have to accept God’s love.
Hmm…so why should I waste my time trying convert you worthless sinning bastards? I mean, it’s not going to earn me any brownie points. God doesn’t give a rat’s ass what I do, so once I’ve been washed clean of sin by His Precious Blood, I can do what I want!
Whoo-hoo!
Most people in Chick tracts don’t seem to realize this, though.
Like “Eric,” the guy who knocked up his girlfriend, then dumped her as soon as she told him. He changed his plans, though, once a Chick-enlightened doctor explained to him that abortion is murder, and that if he lets his ex get the abortion, he’ll be just as guilty.
There’s good news, though, in the form of God shedding (you guessed it) His Precious Blood.
So, because he’s been saved, “Eric” changes his plans, stops his girlfriend from getting the abortion, and then he marries her.
If he’d had any sense, he would have just waited until after she left the clinic, then repented his sins.
Now he’s screwed. Here he is, not even out of high school yet, and he’s saddled with a wife and a kid.
(Conversely, since, as a human being and therefore a sinner, he was going to go to Hell anyway. What difference would the abortion have made? I mean, the Lake of Fire wouldn’t have been any hotter than it already is, and honestly, once you’re in excruciating pain, are you really going to notice if it gets more painful? And honestly, Chick’s tracts show us that any lowlife can get into Heaven, thanks to God’s Precious Blood. It actually seems like there’s a higher class of people in the Lake of Fire.)
Okay, I guess it’s not supposed to work that way, but honestly, that’s the idea that he’s selling.
Seriously, though, the only reason I’ve been reading the tracts is that they’re unintentionally hilarious.
To make it even more entertaining, I’ve been reading them via a site that features descriptions and links to the tracts, along with actual reviews.
If you’ve got some time to kill, I definitely recommend checking them out.
Besides, not only is it entertaining, it could SAVE YOUR SOUL.
Unless you’re Catholic, at any rate…
What I actually find most amusing about the tracts is the fact that Chick seems to think that the biggest problem in the world is a simple lack of even the most basic awareness of Jesus Christ.
Apparently the vast majority of people have managed to go their entire lives without ever encountering the notion that there was a guy named Jesus who was actually God in human form, and that He died on a cross.
Some people even manage to go through seminary and become ordained without ever hearing about that (though that’s due primarily to Jesuit infiltration at most of the country’s bible schools).
Fortunately, even if they don’t ultimately accept the message, pretty much everyone is receptive to it. Even devout Muslims who are in the middle of their daily devotions when you walk by and loudly mention that they’re worshipping the wrong god (after all, fundamentalist Islam is renowned for its tolerance of opposing viewpoints). Oh sure, they might make some lip-service about “killing the infidel,” but it’s all empty posturing. I highly recommend traveling to the Middle East and engaging in this activity in front of every mosque you see. You’re bound to win all kinds of converts, and make some interesting new friends while you’re at it.
The one thing I do wonder about, though, is what life is like after the tract.
I mean, once you’ve accepted J.C. (Not to be confused with Jack himself, who throws in the “T” to keep his initials from having even the appearance of being blasphemous) as your personal savior, what do you do next?
Presumably you’ve repented your sins, so that means that you can’t drink, smoke, do drugs, engage in sex outside of marriage, celebrate Halloween (it’s the Devil’s “birthday”), read Harry Potter books, watch shows like “Bewitched” on TV, listen to music (even Pat Boone is tainted by the Devil’s touch), go to college (they’ll try to teach you about evolution), swear, dance (it’s hard to dance without music anyway), play video games, be Catholic, burn candles (too much like witchcraft), or pretty much do anything other than go to church (as long as it’s not Catholic, of course), read the bible (King James version ONLY), and, of course, read and distribute tracts by Jack T. Chick.
When you don’t have tracts handy, be sure to at least mention to everyone you see that they’re going to go to Hell. It’s not a good day until you’ve gotten someone down on all fours begging God for forgiveness.
Here’s what I think a typical day in Jack T. Chick’s ideal world would be like:
6:00 AM: Wake up and immediately begin reading the bible. (Tip: A laminated bible makes it possible to read the Word of God while showering. That way you can clean your soul while cleaning your body…which you need to be sure to touch as little as possible.)
7:30 AM: Load up your pockets, lunch bag, briefcase, and socks with a good supply of Jack T. Chick religious tracts and step out into the world of sinners.
8:07 AM: On your morning commute, pass the time by counting the invisible demons telling people to do bad things. Let out a hearty “Haw! Haw! Haw!” as the angels surrounding you stymie the demons’ best efforts to tempt you.
8:56 AM: Arrive at work. Hate Catholics.
10:00 AM: Tell your boss that he's a sinner bound for the Lake of Fire. Never even consider the fact that this could get you fired, as so far it hasn't.
11:23 AM: Realize that you’ve already run out of tracts, having surreptitiously slipped several into the pockets of unsuspecting passersby and forced the rest onto every sinner (ie, every human being) you’ve encountered.
12:00 PM: Eat lunch. Hate Catholics.
12:15 PM: Return to your office. Inform your secretary that she is going to burn in the Lake of Fire for having breasts.
1:37 PM: Stare out your window wistfully and watch the client you just met with, who refused to accept Jesus Christ as his personal savior and stormed out, is run down by a truck being driven by demons. Take satisfaction in knowing that the client is now in the Lake of Fire.
2:14 PM: Hate Catholics.
2:41 PM: Stare rapturously at your Lake of Fire screensaver.
3:20 PM: Comfort secretary as she drops to all fours and prays for forgiveness. Nod with satisfaction when she states that she now “Feels clean!”
5:02 PM: Stop in at a Catholic church. Inform the priest working there that there was a guy named Jesus and that He died for our sins. Give priest a tract explaining why he’s a sinner and how he can be saved.
5:20 PM: Inform the swarthy, bearded man on the train holding a bomb that Allah is a moon god and that he’s going to go to Hell for backing the wrong horse. Hand him the “Allah Had No Son” tract, which explains that Muslims are precious to God, and He really wishes that they would join the fold so that He wouldn’t have to keep tossing them into the Lake of Fire.
6:00 PM: Arrive home. Hate Catholics.
8:00 PM: Listen to your son as he tells you about his day at school, which consisted of telling his teacher that she’s a lying sinner because she tried to teach him that the earth is round, and how the teacher brought in two homosexuals for “Show and Tell,” in accordance with the new laws (written by Satan) which mandate a minimum of three hours a week of “sensitivity” training. Commend him for his initiative, but remind him that these aren't the "good old days" when Christianity could be openly taught in school, and that he should save his comments for his fellow students once he's off school property, as expressing a belief in Christianity while in school can get you arrested and/or committed.
9:00 PM: Retire to bed after a session of efficient, Christian lovemaking with the wife. Try not to think about how your were picturing Jesus’ face on her body the whole time.
9:30 PM: Drift peacefully off to sleep with the sound of the burning flesh of sinners in the Lake of Fire as your lullaby.
2:09 AM: Wake up to relieve yourself. Hate Catholics.
Hmm…you know, in all honestly that day actually sounds more exciting than one of mine. Ah well…
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