O tempora! O mores! Much mores!
O Tempura, O Sushi!
Dear sweet Jesus! You go almost far enough. How’s our former DM doin’ these days?
This page should carry a health warning linking the danger of uncontrollable laughter to the weak-bladdered. (As the late, great Joan Rivers once said: “And you know who the fuck you are! You’re sitting there damp!”)
Many years ago men in strange costumes told me a story. They said two thousand years ago there was a very nice man named “Jesus” who went around encouraging people to love one another and helping those in distress. But eventually Roman soldiers arrested and tortured him to death. This happened because the nice man’s father had demanded his own son’s horrific death as a sort of blood sacrifice to himself, in retribution for the sins I would commit in my lifetime. Then they told me I must worship the son-killing father and try to do whatever he wanted (as interpreted, naturally, by the men in strange costumes), since otherwise I would spend eternity in a state of despair and (probably) physical agony.
I was six years old when they first taught me all this.
How could there be anything in the new sex-ed curriculum more depraved than that?
Seriously? Unless you’re aiming for a riff on Jonathan Swift’s “A Modest Proposal,” you might want to consider talking to someone about this. Carrying around this much rage and hate for so long can’t possibly be healthy.
Truly, me no understand. Rage and hate? Hardly. I was raised Catholic, but eventually I got better.
The experience did leave me with an acute contempt for organized religion, the credulity it encourages, the sanctimony and intolerance it often seems to breed.
As for Swift’s “Modest Proposal”…I cannot fathom how anything in my comment could be taken as recommending the nutritional value of Irish babies. (In any case, I’m a vegetarian.)