Tag Archives: Stephen Hawking

Mass Delusion

THE KILLOUGH CHRONICLES

by James Killough

This is a NSFRF post, or Not Safe For Religious Folk.  If you love your God, and particularly love him in Mass with a tasty wafer and a wine chaser, read no further.

I will spare you more kindly than the auto da fé treated heretics like me only a relatively few generations ago.  The Church’s torture racks, her burning stakes, her sticks and stones did indeed break our bones, but these words won’t actually harm you.

"Dear God, what if they find out I'm a fraud?"

This riff is inspired by a discussion the other day in the comment section of my Sarah Palin post.  I sort of feel that I am coming off as being anti-American and blinkeredly pro-European in these posts, but that isn’t the case.  Despite growing up in Europe and the years I have spent living in various countries there as an adult, I have as many issues with them as I do with us.  It’s just I’m not a European citizen; as a Ghey, I can say whatever I want about homos, but I can’t about blacks because I’m not black.  Europeans are also far more self-aware and critical of themselves, sometimes too much.  Americans think they’re the shit, and anyone who doesn’t agree can leave.  So they need to be taken down a peg or two, have the tires of our Sarah Palin Bus Tour deflated every once in a while.

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People Or Plastic?

BAKER STREET

by Eric J Baker

Congratulations. You survived the apocalypse.

I guess Jesus doesn’t read Pure Film Creative (despite the “topless Magdalene” tag last week), because he passed right over me when flinging souls into Hell like I wasn’t even there! However, as surprised – and slightly miffed – as I am to have been spared, it wasn’t the oddest event of my week.

That distinction belongs to Thursday night, when I found myself standing about 18 inches from Weird Al Yankovic, an entertainer about whom I had hitherto no opinion and never expected to see live from that or any distance. Such are the sudden twists and turns of life.

The venue was the State Theater, a renovated vaudeville palace in central Jersey, where I once fell asleep during the 25th anniversary showing of 2001: a Space Odyssey, despite it having been introduced by somebody. He didn’t climb into the audience and sing to the woman next to me, like Weird Al did on Thursday, hence becoming forgettable.

A new tradition: Every generation now has the plain Italo-American chick who morphs herself into an un-nuanced, overdressed, workaholic performer who champions homosexuals and habitually pisses all over the Catholic church.

As Weird Al played his set, I noticed many of the artists he parodies are dead: Jim Morrison, Michael Jackson, Coolio, Kurt Kobain. Oops. Sorry, Coolio. Not content to milk past glory, Al also mimicked Lady Gaga’s Poker Face with his version called Polka Face.

Weird Al or Lady Gaga. Which one is the bigger fake?

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