Church of Hell

Enough of this crap. Please.

I’m getting tired of the whining, well funded and Government Approved” Christian majority demonizing atheists and then claiming they themselves are some kind of small, furry, wounded animal who’s being gored by the monstrous, venom dripping unbelievers. And it’s bad enough that you turn neighbors against perfectly moral people because they don’t – no, can’t – believe some fairy tale that you choose to believe, but can we please stop acting like every time disaster is averted it’s some kind of miraculous feat of god? (more…)

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The 5 year old is fast becoming an artist lately. On top of almost continually sporting a grape juice mustache that would shame Dali, he now spends a lot of time with his ‘art cabinet’, a set of pull out drawers filled near to bursting with assorted crayons, markers, stamps, stickers, paints and other sundry implements a creative child could use to make wonderful and permanent alterations to furniture and carpeting.

He recently received a large box of crayons as a Christmas gift. The brand name is unknown but it appears that the mascot is a smiling and slightly surprised looking sun whose round mouth hides a built in crayon sharpener:

The box, featuring a rather shocked, smiling sun.

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So, over the last few years I’ve owned a couple of these things, my first being a hand-me-down from a higher up at my previous employer and more recently I’ve been ignoring a cheaper model from the local Target. Both were similar in appearance: a slightly elongated badge shape with an ear hook on a hinge, a single button in the middle of the outer face with smaller buttons on the top and bottom for volume control.

There are plenty of bits of apparel and accessories that can be worn that make a person look like a giant, walking douche: gravity defying pants that hang down to just above the knee; ratty, 80′s Hypercolor t-shirts that have been run through the dryer so many times they look like bleached and faded tie-dyes; gigantic, bug-eye, bimbo sunglasses; and a permanently attached Bluetooth earpiece. Putting that earpiece on a hinge that contains a spring which has less strength than a polite baby fart so that it swings out from your head every time you even slightly move so that it’s like the minuscule, withered arm of a tiny, effeminate, conjoined twin who watched the Birdcage one too many times graduates it from making you look like a douche bag to giving you the appearance of bipedal enema bulb.

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