Religion: It Makes You Craaaaaazy
Gustav Doré, Paradise Lost
As fuckin' batshit crazy as a mother moose with quintuplets, and in heat. From FB friend Frank Bell (how appropriate is that?) comes this report about a fucking Christian minister who thinks his Imaginary SkyDaddy is some kind of holy hitman. You know, pray to him when you don't like somebody, and, poof! He puts teh Holy Stinkfinger on the unfortunate victim, who cooperatively curls up and dies. Or something like that. FTA:
Former Southern Baptist Convention officer Wiley Drake claimed on Fox News Radio that he is praying “imprecatory prayer” against Obama. In other words, he is praying for God to kill President Obama.Are you fucking kidding me, you fucking loon? What the fuckity-fucking-fuck in the name of all fuckaciousness is wrong with you, motherfucker? I know lots of Christians and they're all about "our religion is teh religion of peace," and all that, yaknow? I don't think they're gonna be too happy about you, Mr. GodIsMyHitMan, waggling your weenie in public about how you're all gonna lay teh H8 on anybody who doesn't do what your perverted fuckwitted old mind tells you is the right thing to do.
Drake said on “The Alan Colmes Show” that unless Obama repents, he is praying that God will kill the president. He believes that is what happened to slain abortion provider George Tiller. It worked on Tiller, why not the president?
Jesus Fucking J.H. Christ and his Black brother Harry!
Denizens of La Casa de Los Gatos, having been subjected to at least two major religions as tender yoofs, find religion an altogether inadequate filter for the wondrousness of life. Nevertheless, we distinctly remember that religion was supposed to be "teh GOOD," yaknow, white hats, white suits, white wings, whatever. We don't recall hearing as how you were supposed to pray to God to KILL the people you disagree with. Why not just pray to God's purported Other Half, the Devil? Isn't it his, or her, business to be killing?
Fucking mendacious, pitiful loons. Hey, Drake! Go find yourself an adult female or male person who could tolerate or even like you, and rub your nubbins against theirs until you're all juicy and sweaty and deliriously happy. It's better for your nonexistent eternal soul, not to mention your happy bits. Oh, and furthermore, as Mr. Deity shows, God just erases those messages anyway:
I love Mr. Deity. Oh, and that's his son, by the way, with him. Cute kid. Stumble It!