What religion am I? How tall am I? Am I in some crazy open relationship?
What religion are you? The reason I am asking is because your blog seems like it is the misguided product of someone who has not found Christ. You speak of fornication, threesomes,
sexual perversion, and curse constantly, even being directly blasphemous to God and his son Jesus Christ. I tell you this out of love, but this sort of behavior will cause you to burn in the lake of fire. I beg of you to renounce your evil ways and accept our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ into your heart. [Then about a week later....] I see you have not responded to my invitation to find salvation in Christ. You can harden your heart if you wish, but I must ask you this--what if you are wrong?
A better question might be: "What the hell are you doing reading my blog if you are this dogmatic about your Christianity?" If you think writing about "fornication" is a sin, what in the name of Gabriel's butt hole would make you keep reading after the first twenty seconds or so?
Sampson this is a blog about writing, and this is not a writing question. So please slap yourself on the wrist at your earliest convenience. Though it turns out I think a "non-writing-question" day might be kind of fun as a once-in-a-blue-moon thing, I gotta tell you that I would normally just ignore this sort of thing, especially given how insulting and disrespectful it is to me. I know--because I've met a couple of people like you before--that it probably won't much matter to you if I answer your email with anything other than, "Holy Magdaline-cock-sucking shit, Sampson! I have seen the light! Hand me that loincloth and some free health care; I'm going to do what Jesus would do!"
But maybe some of my other readers will get a kick out of it.
|Just for you Sampson, all the pictures in this entry|
will be about perverse fornicating threesomes.
Just. For. You.
But when I start to hear things that sound a little strange, I conversely expect a greater amount of evidence.
Here's an example: if you told me your girl cat was orange, I'd probably believe you even though that's rare. I would just take you at your word because that's all the evidence I would need for something I knew was unlikely but possible. If you told me your girl cat was naturally purple, I'd want to see a picture or maybe even meet the cat. The stranger claim required further evidence. If you told me your cat was a purple saber toothed tiger, I would insist on seeing it and probably bring a zoologist with me because that claim is very extreme, and I would want lots of proof.
See how it just makes sense that the stranger the claim gets, the more proof I'll need? If you tried to show me a picture of your purple saber toothed tiger, I would probably just think you had used photoshop. I would need more proof because the claim was harder to believe. The more out there your story gets, the more proof I need.
|Welcome to the unspoken #4 of my mission statement....|
No matter how shocked or offended or hurt you acted that I didn't believe you could jump thirty stories onto your cock, I hold fast to my skepticism. And if you had a book written by someone or a "proof" that was at best some weird testimonial by someone who said they'd seen––someone I'd never met who said, "Sampson can do a thirty story jump onto his cock and if you don't believe it, you are the lost," I'm afraid I still wouldn't believe it.
That's not "proof." It's certainly not evidence commensurate with the claim.
So when you start telling me about an invisible omnipotent omniscient bearded patriarchal father figure who is one but also three, talking snakes, 2000 year-old Jews who were God giving birth to himself, healing people, coming back to life, giant fish, time freezes, walking across water, transubstantiation, and resurrection, and a diety that mellows out from killing the entire world and plagues to "love thy neighbor" (yet isn't cool with psychotropics or the LGBTQIA+ community), my need for some kind of actual evidence goes way, way WAY up.
|Story of my life.|
Getting mad at me. Telling me that the holy ghost inspired the authors. Telling me I'm going to burn in hell if I don't believe you. None of that makes this any easier to believe. You're appealing to my guilt and emotions and desire to fit in to try to get me to agree to things without actual evidence.
So it's not that I spend time and energy believing that you're wrong, Sampson. I don't believe either way, and even if I did, my belief wouldn't make something true any more than it would make a fake photo of a purple saber toothed tiger real. (Neither does your belief, for the record.) It's just that I haven't seen evidence that would convince me that the entire Bible wasn't all just one writer's six-day shroom bender, and I'm not credulous. I'm not saying it WAS a six day shroom bender (mostly because I don't fancy enraging two billion followers). I'm just saying I haven't seen a critical mass of evidence that would overcome my incredulity, and since the claims are extraordinary, the quality evidence (or rather lack, thereof) leaves me skeptical and unconvinced.
The whole concept that one needs faith is tantamount to saying "We totally get it that there's no actual proof," so giving shit to the skeptics is either a dis or a wild misunderstanding of faith. You pick wich.
For me, the verdict is still out.
If, at some point, real evidence turns up, come back to me. I have changed my mind on half a dozen issues I felt very deeply about when I discovered they were based on false assumptions. I would change my mind about metaphysics too. Just don't forget it's going to take a lot of proof to match the size of these claims.
We're not just saying that Jesus had an orange female tabby, here.
As for "What if I'm wrong..." Well, what if YOU'RE wrong, Sampson? What if the Muslims are right and you are angering God every time you invoke Christ as the son of God? What if the Jews are right? The Hindus? The Jains? The Sikhs? What if only the Tibetan Buddhists have the right path? Do you offer blood sacrificed to Janus or spin yourself while saying the 99 names of Allah? Do you make an offering to Neptune before crossing an ocean, or invoke Thor and Odin on stick carvings? Do you think God lives on another planet named Kolob? What if Ishtar is the only real goddess, and my quest for threesomes is my fast track to heaven?
You already know what it is not to have faith. You do it every day. You just call all those other religions "mythology" and think you nailed the right of it (most likely because of WHERE you were born).
You already know what it is to evaluate the claims of a religion through critical thinking and to dismiss them as ridiculous. You already know what it is not to fear a deity's reprisal because you don't think that deity really exists. You do it all the time to hundreds of gods without a second thought. The only difference is I'm doing it about YOUR god, and that's got your knickers in a twist.
In which case, you need to get the fornicate over yourself. It's a big world, and Eurocentric ethnocentricity is so last millenium.
Yeah, yeah. I know. The difference is you actually right and all those other religions are wrong. They have proof you're wrong. You have proof they're wrong. No one seems to actually have proof they're right. If you believe in their religion without proof, you're gullible. If you believe in your religion without proof, that's what "faith" is!
See where I'm going with this?
A lot of atheists would call this need for proof atheism, but I don't label myself that way. Agnostic isn't really quite right either. And I've had a Sufi insist my beliefs are more truly Muslim than most Muslims he'd ever met. Regardless, here's another threesome picture with some bestiality thrown in.
|This can work. Just let me do the talking.|
How tall are you?
Man I really hope this is so you can properly size the doll you're making out of a composite of my pics and not so you can figure out where best to set the swinging axe blade trap on my front door.
Actually those are both creepy--even for me (which is really saying something).
you didn't think I was done just because we're on to the next question did you?
I really really really have no idea what that has to do with writing. I can sort of relate to just casually asking me how tall I am out of curiosity, but when you send me an e-mail labeled "W.A.W. Mailbox" I have to wonder. I suppose I might some day have a "non-writing questions" themed mailbox, so here is the answer: I'm 167 cm (5'6").
That's short enough to run up against the "four inch rule from time to time, but not so short it has really become a thing in my life.
Are you in some crazy sex commune or an open relationship? You talk about your girlfriend like she doesn't care that you're always trying to hook up with other women, and it seems like you live with like three women and another guy who aren't just roommates. It's all very strange.
Care? Deenahee she's usually out there trolling the clubs for hot bi babes to bring home.
I would never do the other members of the Hall of Rectitude though. That's just a way to bring unnecessary drama into the crime fighting. After Phoenix banged The Paladin on Moondancer's bed without changing the sheets, the whole team's response time to bank robberies just took a nosedive. So we keep our commune ridiculous-sex free. (And not free ridiculous sex--at least not after the spatula incident.)
|How you doing over there, Sampson?|
You sorry you asked yet?
My man-crush on Uberdude has never crossed that line, and if I had KNOWN that night with Latexia was sloppy seconds, things would have gone very differently.
Very differently indeed.
I totally appreciate that you're paying attention, though. It's just....if I told you everything at once, you wouldn't stick around for Season 3, Sampson might blush, and I wouldn't be able to make money selling the decoder rings when I do my tell-all expose about how I slept with Oakland's most prominent crime fighters.
Also...not so much with the being anyone's business but mine.
If you're enjoying this blog, and would like to see more articles like this one, the writer is a guy with a rent and insurance to pay who would love to spend more time writing. Please consider contributing to My Patreon. As little as $12 a year (only one single less-than-a-cup-of-coffee dollar a month) will get you in on backchannel conversations, patron-only polls, and my special ear when I ask for advice about future projects or blog changes.