Because You Macramé-ed Yourself A Pair Of Jean Shorts
Jesus Saves. It's true. I know it's true because I read it on a bumper sticker.

Other things I learned were true in exactly the same manner: Life Begins At Forty. Easy Does It. I'd Rather Be Ice-Fishing. A Woman Needs A Man Like A Fish Needs A Bicycle.

I've also learned that women who display that last bumper sticker are almost never receptive to my advances. Even using the bumper sticker as an ice-breaker, as a way to show that we share an interest in absurdist humor and adhesive-backed wisdom-placards, and still I get nothing but the stonewall. They would always--them and the girl they'd be with--just laugh at me and sometimes throw things. But you know what, fuck them. I mean, what does that even mean, a fish needs a bicycle? It doesn't even make any sense. There's no way a fish needs a bicycle, because it lives underwater and doesn't even have any... any...

Oh. I just got that.

But the chicks who have the "I'd Rather Be Ice-Fishing" bumper stickers? Totally slutty. I don't know if that's some kind of code or what, but I do know if you see a car with that across the back, you're never more than a subtle horn-tap away from a subtle horn-tap, if you know what I mean.

The point is that Jesus Saves. That means everybody. Well, not the Jews, but everybody else. Or the Muslims. But the rest of us. Minus the atheists. And people who don't like NASCAR. But every single one of the rest of us who aren't liberals.

Notice I didn't leave out the gays. The gays are a problem, but they aren't beyond fixing.

Jesus can even save the women with the bicycle fish bumper stickers. Really, he's been turning gay people straight for a very long time, much to the relief of the people who cared enough to band together and force them to try.

While being a Jew is a stain some are born with and can never be truly wiped clean, being gay is simply an act of shameful decadence. "Shameful Decadence" also happens to be a flavor of Ben & Jerry's ice cream (vanilla ice cream with minty chocolate chips in the shape of your grandmother's disapproving face, laced with flecks of real gold, saffron threads and a pathological inability to experience abashment [which tastes exactly like cherries]), which is something Jesus need never save you from. Gluttony, just like usury and basic human compassion, are things a modern-day believer need not worry him or herself with. Some issues we set aside for the sake of tackling the really important social ills that threaten us daily. Like gayness.

Recently on a television near you, a man was brave enough to share his Jesus-saved-me-from-my-fabulous-self story. He too once felt, deep in his gut, the Love That Dare Not Speak Its Name Until Will & Grace Makes It To Syndication. He says that with little steps--a pair of shoes that didn't quite compliment his shirt here, a transvestite prostitute there--he was eventually able to make it all the way back to the Land of the Happy Vaginas. Jesus told him that, no matter what, if he would only look at the female genitals from the right angle, they would be smiling at him. Sort of a 90-degree head tilt.

The point is that he is fixed and now he would like to fix you as well, you dirty, dirty godless sissy. This butch non-queer wants you to know that HE knows what the nellies need to cure them of their insatiable hunger for cock. He's very hands-on.

He preaches what they call "holding therapy" which he demonstrated on CNN by letting another man sit on his lap and cuddling with him.

What a godly thing to do. From what he says: "They're hungering for that intimacy and that bonding that they didn't experience in primary relationships with parents and/or same-gender peers... So what we have to provide then, in the Christian community, is really mentoring these men and women... and a lot of them need healthy touch--hugging, holding, just palling around, buddying around."

And at the end of the program, as a celebration of the bond now shared between Christian brothers, those who complete the program receive a diploma, a Ring of Promise illustrating their commitment to sin-free life, a year subscription to Playboy and--as a reminder to the graduates of the thing they now abhor--a vigorous goodbye cornholing from their leader, Mr. Richard Cohen.

Hang on... Cohen? Oh man, and I was totally buying that. Those crafty Jews almost got us again...

Back to the drawing board, I guess. It's not a bad idea though. If anything will get the gays' interest in your program, I'd say free hands-OK lap-dances from other dudes is the way to go.

Until we figure out what the cure is, however, the rest of us will never be safe.

So long as there are gays, Dr. James Dobson's precious virgin sphincter will be under constant seige from the ravenous homos who are desperate to ravage him. I mean, look at him... It isn't hate or bigotry that drives him. It's clearly a case of self-preservation.

This man's colon is in your hands.

Worst bumper sticker slogan ever by the way.


This post on the Narcissus Scale: 3.3


Pops


PS- No Monday post. Wife is on vacation, so we may have all-day-esque plans a couple times this week. Also the man is coming tomorrow to murder the ants and wasps and other sundry unwelcome insect vagabonds who darken my eaves and pantries. Although I will relish their deaths, I do not wish to see the carnage first-hand, so we will be vacating. I shall not say where. Suck on it, stalkers. See y'all Tuesday. Or not.
- posted by Pops @ 11:36 PM