Good God, The Time Has Come...

From an article in the Indiana Daily Student (5-28-09) [with major edits, omissions, and admitted fabrications]:

The Indiana Atheist Bus Campaign is gaining momentum.

“You Can Be Good Without God” is their ruckus.

Recently $2,000 was donated by the Indiana Center for Inquiry, which provides “alternatives to living without religion” through promotion of scientific reasoning and dude-on-dude action.

“Slicin’ up bibles, ah ho ho ho."

“It will help when the South Bend bus ads are up,” said S., a spokesperson.

Ads on Chicago buses state “In the beginning, man created God,” and the campaign had “absolutely no [fuck-you-jerk] problems at all” S. said.

The Center for Inquiry recently got hard for acronyms especially after the American Humanist Association and Indiana Atheist Bus Campaign filed a lawsuit [pending] against the Bloomington Transit System, with additional law support from the American Civil Liberties Union. Bloomington Transit has refused to put-up the ads.

“It kicked in interest,” S. said. “More donations for acronyms came in.”

In the lawsuit, Bloomington Transit is accused of having a small advertising penis, and tight tits, which violate the 1st and 14th Amendment rights of the IABC.

From inatheistbus.org FAQ:

Why say “You can be good without God”?

The Indiana Atheist Bus Campaign wants to challenge the widely-held notion that one must be religious to lead a good and purposeful life. The goal of this slogan is to bring attention to the positive and rewarding aspects of non-belief. Atheists are not good because they fear eternal damnation–they are good because they choose to be fair and kind to their fellow human beings. The bus campaign wants to bring a positive message about atheism to the public, and to spark a lively discussion about [blowing strangers at rest areas].

An open letter to god read aloud from a kneeling position [with hands made into a vertical sandwich]:

Dear God,

My friends and I think you are very great — we watch all your movies. My favorite part is when the angry Staypuff Marshmallow ravages New York City. That place is always in need of a smiting. Nothing would make me behave like “drippings with goo”.

Recently though, while chasing down my favorite means of public transport, I was advertised to in a way I had not been previously. I remember it clearly because there was that sleeping elderly vagrant I had asked you to take into heaven. And there were those African kids sitting in the back, being loud, I had wanted them not to rob or rape me — thank you for the protection.

Well, the advert was pleasant enough, blues and pinks, and with a calm font. But its message was a shot to my soul, Lord, a real wallop: You Can Be Good Without God. That’s what it said exactly. Oh, I nearly made sick on the migrant woman next to me (and her shoeless child) when I read that.

God, can I ask you something?

If earthlings really could be good without you, would you help us outsmart the devil from time to time, you know he’s persistent? I mean, in your infinite wisdom, you created woman without penis, but sales for vibrating phallic devices have increased every year since 4,000 B.C. The devil must delight and dance under the abacus, and my latest credit card bill just proves I can’t do it alone — you’re still needed.

My next question is why would atheists terrorize my bus? Luckily, I’m moving to Bloomington, Indiana, a community that has the decency to stand-up to their bus-ads of nonsense. I look forward to congratulating Bloomington Transit personally on rebuffing Atheism and the idea that social changes must begin with disenfranchised minorities on buses. What a stereotype.

Love,

Shesa Marigold

P.S. Thanks for the remitted breast cancer, I knew you had a plan.

MuthaFukas Just Had Eight Years! [Caution: politically emotional content inside]

President Mutt said many practical things, common sense things, uplifting, hopeful and empowering things Tuesday night to the crinkly crags of the U.S. Legislative branch. He also spoke to the People and did so with an elegance no less inspiring than Miyagi’s laborious encouragement of Daniel-san through the torment of uprooted youth.

There were logistics involved in every word, as there surely are in every plan, direction, concept, and hinting nudge mentioned and fed to the clapping-honking sea lions in flag pins — who appeared very gaseous, continually raising and flopping up-and-down in their seats. There were also obvious moments of childish playground behavior when Sen. Walrus (a Republican from the Chum belt) refused to either Twist or Shout, promising “tusks to the jug-vein” for other mustachioed brethren who didn’t follow his party-line example. This gave an odd visual imbalance to the room, like half were struggling unhappily in their chairs with mediocre bowel movements, only glancing across the aisle to see wild ovations and steamy athletic performances of burlesque.

But never has a person, be they a President, pastry chef, teacher, or tee-ball coach, instilled in me as much pride for my birth country as B.H.O. has. His Tuesday evening address had me wrapped in big buxom stars and stripes, nearly forgetting the emptiness on my gay ring finger … that, and the joblessness in Rent-a-town … and the chair-bottom booger stains left by the previous administration. And then the super shit-sized dump truck sped into the industrial fan, which exploded and covered the planet of my heart with an angry tar.

Following B.H.O.’s stirring words, the major news networks allowed for a Republican rebuttal of sorts, done under the guise of “what were your thoughts on the President’s speech”. Louisiana governor Bobby Jindal, introduced by Katie Couric as “the man who could give … a run in 2012”, took a stroll past the winding staircase of his mansion, up to a podium, AND began reading a fucking speech! It wasn’t a reaction to the President’s address; this was another speech. This political puppet (his state will receive stimulus money, so what’s he bitching about — not that he had a vote in the matter) was told to get in the last word … a “yeah, but” dig in the trenches of partisanship … party-line ideals repeatedly regurgitated, again! “Leaving our children in debt?” — muthafukas just had eight years! — witness the wreckage.

The worst thing was, more than it being a campaign try-out, Bobby Jindal’s style of speaking being so creepy. I felt he was trying to rub butter on the innards of someone having open-heart surgery; it sounded like the guy had just been unpacked from a create and wound-up for story-time. “I remember … as a boy … going to the store with my dad.”

Was that store in Mayberry, USA?

As the rhetoric flowed out into sound, I thought, this guy’s trying to tuck me into bed with double speak and head-pats. The Republicans are a party of scary assholes anyway, but their attempts to find a fresh face to represent them fills me with anxiety. Kooks crazier than Sarah Palin and Bobby Jindal will be yanked out of the shadows until doomsday. And their messages will be identical and their deliveries as upsetting as ever:

“Roe v. Wade will be shot into space and blasted with Jesus lasers; once a year, in public, chaperoned queers will be allowed to slow dance and eat wedding cake, but only in towns like West Hollywood or Homosberg … or on Indian reservations; the Middle East will become a tax-payer funded, fantasy resort for evangelical rejects with prescription handguns

(if it’s not already).”

Thankfully, for the present, these shitty ships are in dry-dock … although, the tide will cycle.

I recommend all politicians listen daily to the last 5 minutes of P. Mutt’s speech.

And that’s all I got Marvin, go Colts!

B.H.O. 54min.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3MVtE7C-YVc

Gov. Jindal 12.5min.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QFK8aTpYAmg

Dear Sports Fans & Cereal Patrons,

We regret to inform you that our sponsorship of Olympic swimming phenom, Michael Phelps, will be terminated immediately. Our decision to do so, posthaste, is the disheartening result of his own likeness seen literally smoking through the water [pipe], in a photograph published by some Cockney rag. The rag’s readers take the associations of scandal and breakfast cereal as an affront to their most important daily meal. And, the 25 hour-a-day world news machine supports this sentiment. Mr. Phelps has no where to hide, and no one to blame but himself … and the moron with the camera phone.

Some of us at the Kellogg Company know how delicious our products can be when you are bonged out of your mind … Apple Jacks especially. But the issue here is not Froot Loops, Le’Go My Eggos, or Frosted Mini-Wheats and their savory and sober enjoyment, the issue here is about image … and money. Frosted Flakes cost money, Honey Smacks cost money; we spend several hundred million a year in advertising to discourage the obvious drug connotations in both products … don’t even get me started on Bran Buds, or crack flavored Pop-Tarts. If Mr. Phelps had been smoking high fructose corn syrup, or snorting enriched flour, the need for this missive would be moot, because our foods are neither unhealthy, nor are they illegal (no matter how you ingest them).

In closing, as we remove our company name and payroll services from the tarnished aquatic champion we had aggressively sought for contract, we hope that You (the Cereal Citizenry) will continue to buy Kellogg‘s and support our "zero bong-picture" policy.

If you are one of the very few survivors to have experienced the unfortunate drone of cannabis, we ask for your discretion in life, and, most certainly, for you to suspend any aspirations of greatness in the arena of competitive swimming.

Please, please, please continue to buy our non-criminal cereals ... please. (Unless in Amsterdam, then try the Mueslix-X-rated Bran, or the Special K-420. That shit‘ll fuck you up).

Sincerely,
Tony the Tiger

Seriously??????

I know, it's inauguration day. I should be focusing all my meager attention on how F@$*ing refreshing it is to finally have a sentient being back in the White House. Oh how long we have waited!

But I can't shake what my wife found online yesterday. It's too good to be true. It's both the saddest and funniest thing I have seen in a long time. Frankly, at the moment, it trumps shoe throwing, made up words and bizarre dancing at African welcoming ceremonies.

That's right. As we all pause to celebrate the swearing in of our 44th president, our first African American president, as though it needed to be said again, there is an irony laden story creeping into the headlines. It's not of world consequence; it doesn't involve cease fire agreements or 100 billion dollar bank notes. No this story is about one thirty something white actor's entrance into the hip-hop hall of shame.

Whether it's a joke, which I think it has to be, or it's for real, this is hilarious. To that point, this is either one of the moments of sheer genius in Jaoquin Pheonix's career, or it signals his descent into some sort of bizarre self-immolation. And the reason this is such a great story is that either will do.

Happy inauguration day everybody, Oshizzle!

Happy Inauguration!!

Today, I have decided to drink too much. I will eat a McDonald’s cheeseburger and then take naked photos of myself in the truck stop’s men’s room. Certainly, I have other things I could do, but today is a day of weakness and idle despair. It is cold and gray, and I have nowhere to go. A kind of per diem that gnaws on the bones and puts aches in the soul seems to loiter here, and smartly, in this godforsaken place, they sell coolers and beer.
I steal now, very much, so nothing of value is questioned. If you want Heineken and a four pack of Ultimate Lithium Energizer batteries, put them in your coat— no one is watching. My experience tells me: no one cares for these little things. Don’t waste your money, no one is even paying attention. Besides, it feels good to be frugal. And frugality is something you need to learn, if you wish to snare that Jewish mate.
If you didn’t know, America is a wonderful labyrinth of artful dodgers. There are also muckrakers, sycophants, lame-ducks, and sons of Zeus, id est, people just like jew/you and me. If someone out of our huddled mass wants to be a bigot, a quarter-back, or a culinary student, our freedoms allow us to move as far away from that source of irritation as we want. This is not New York City or California, this is America.
Recently, I had to go number two. And, as embarrassing as that is, I was quickly unaware of my natural baseness when I saw the fresh graffito on the door of the stall. It seemed to be still steaming with ignorance, and I felt I should photo its turdy sentiment. Problem was, my new camera was in the truck. Wiping, I vowed to return to this bull’s eye of assholes and record this stupidity for you, my friends. When I returned, half was erased…and very cleanly. Today, when I will drink too much, it has disappeared completely. Some restroom attendant has completed an odd part of their contractual duty. And, I will now declare, all the Heineken in the world won’t power a third eye. Cheers from Mebane, NC.

“Why are niggers so
Inconsiderate
Thoughtless
Selfish
& Lazy?”

It continued:

“Why would anyone vote for
A Musliem [sic] Nigger Terrorist
Does Anyone remember 911?”

Remember, my last name is Bruce, and Lenny Bruce’s last name was Schneider.