When I was a wee lad I felt the flames of Hades flowing through my loins. No really, I did! I was surrounded by the supernatural. The world was filled with magic, and I could channel the power of Beelzebub, conjuring up the forces of evil to my own malevolent devices. Amongst other things, I could fling pickled beets vast distances, with frightening accuracy. I could terrify the cat with an awkward flailing of my limbs, resulting in a horrible sound coming from somewhere beneath the couch. I could unceremoniously fill my diaper at will with a substance so foul, it must have come from hell itself. All the proof needed for satanic power.
Then I grew up.
Unfortunately, less than twenty percent of us do grow up. Insert “power of heaven,” for “flames of Hades,” and “God,” for “Beelzebub” yada yada, and you have, eighty plus percent of the planet. And to a large majority of them, we atheists are the enemy. The worst kind of heathen. To most of you, I am a demon child.
This isn’t an atheist blog though. It’s just that atheism is really the only thing I’ve gotten right so far. I am the last guy anyone would want as a representative—specially the atheists. I’m thin-skinned, selfish, moody, arrogant, aloof, opinionated, and lazy. I have been known to drink too much, talk too much, sleep too much, and smoke too much. I hold grudges. I pout. I am a political extremist. For example, I wouldn’t piss on Sarah Palin if she were on fire. Even if I really had to go. Even if I were facing her direction and I couldn’t turn around for some reason and I really, really had to go. I would risk a bladder explosion, I hate her stupid face that much. I’m not very patient with the uneducated. Even the nice ones. I am uncomfortable around the elderly and the retarded. I have calculated that I like a very small percentage of children and only for very brief periods of time. Even those lucky, lucky few run a distant second to a good bowel movement. I’ve never let anyone all the way in. I’m an average lay at best. I have grown increasingly solitary. If given the opportunity and financial wherewithal, I would probably never leave the bunker I’d build a mile beneath my grandmother’s house. Okay, both of my grandmothers have long since passed, but you get the idea. Most people don’t like me. The feeling is mutual.
So why read my blog? Fuck, I don’t know. Look how cute I was?