The Danger of Doorknobs

I admit that I have been preoccupied with George Carlin of late, he being the smartest man who ever lived and all, but, today I am more preoccupied with religion. After all, religion serves dual purposes in society, those being to confuse and to control. And I had previously believed that western religions had the monopoly (at least, if you just ignore the hindu), until I started looking at Islam a little more closely. I was reading Mohammed's last sermon and discovered this quote, "Hurt no one, so that no one may hurt you". It is this sort of religious gibberish that really angers me. I mean, how are you supposed to make sense of that. At least the jewish bible is a little clearer, "Go to Canaan, and kill every man, woman and child in your path". Well, at least if you study such things, it affirms the contention that god is merciful.

But all this balderdash pales in comparison to the story of Fatimah, daughter of Mohammed. Aside from the fact that she was chaste, had no menstrual cycle, had no birthing pains, was born from the fruits of paradise, and was midwifed by the four, most beautiful women who ever lived, I found myself more fascinated by the story of her death. I will paraphrase, in order to make the story easier to grasp.

Umar was trying to break into her house. She had no time to find her scarf, so she hid behind the door. The intruders flung open the door, and her unborn child was killed instantly, by the doorknob. Fatimah died a few months later from the resultant complications.

After I pondered the lessons to be learned from this story (Don't worry, dear reader, I will exhibit no condescension towards you by explaining them), I found myself wondering why so many of god's gifts are not available to all. Take, for instance, the ouija board, and let's say that one of the participants suffers from tourettes syndrome. It would be nearly impossible for him to lay his fingertips gently on the planchette; too many tics and spasms for that. And it would be impossible for the poor soul to make out what was being spelled out, given the random shrieks of f-u-c-k, s-h-i-t, p-i-s-s, c-u-n-t, m-o-t-h-e-r-f-u-c-k-e-r, p-r-i-c-k and a-s-s-h-o-l-e randomly conjugating on the board. All connection to the spirit world would be inaccessible, unless of course he went to see my sister-in-law, who is regularly visited by her deceased father. And, god forbid, both seekers suffered the disease. That planchette would be flying around like a ping pong ball on an air hockey table. Yes, god works in mysterious ways.

It has been pointed out to me, by a couple of my readers, one old and one new, that I suffer from a couple of insurmountable faults. The first claims that I am rigid and absolute in my beliefs. The second claims that I have lost my irreverence and have grown soft. I feel no need to address either of these ludicrous accusations. Not now, not never.

I have been touched by the hand of a great, ethereal power, and it is pointless to resist. But I think that whatever I am becoming is for the best. I will strive in future posts to regain my irreverence, and I will attempt to be more receptive to whatever ridiculous things you may believe. In the meantime, I know that George Carlin would git it, but, just to be sure, I pulled out my ouija board. Till we meet again, I would only ask that you not hide behind any doors.