The unbearable lightness of idiots

The ability of people to believe things that are patently untrue, to convince themselves of a phenomenal degree of utter cod-shit, is second only to the continuing existence of gerkins as a popular food source in it’s ability to amaze me.

Christians will happily tell you that a Jewish zombie, born of a virgin mother, can offer eternal life and protection from evil forces. Evil forces that exist mind you, because a talking snake convinced a woman to eat an apple. Muslims believe that 72 virgin, and therefore most likely ugly, women are waiting to perform what would presumably be pretty amateurish blowjobs on them in the afterlife.

At least though, the lunacy of these ideas could be argued to be at least somewhat offset by the length of their existence. Kind of like the way I argue that the rapidly perishing boxer shorts I’ve had since college should not be thrown out. They’ve earned their right to exist through perseverance.

Some of the crap that is kicked about though, has no excuse to be raised beyond the level of credibility you’d offer to a drunk, schizophrenic tramp telling you he’s the Queen of the Nile and will raise an army of crocodiles against north Kent unless you give him 20p for a cup of tea.

Step up and take a bow Scientology. The fact that this circle jerk of retardation has become such a massive, and, most critically, rich organisation is more depressing than watching a 14 year mother buying beer with food stamps at 7am on a Sunday. If I were the clichéd alien visiting planet earth and discovered this, I would have no choice but to assume that the population was made up of one over whelming majority capable on no more basic reasoning skill than your average pot plant, being ruthlessly manipulated by a small elite of utterly evil bastards, bleeding the idiots of their money like the gushing jugular of a slaughtered pig.

You’d have thought that the fact it was created by a man, L Ron Hubbarb, who was most prominent for writing science fiction would have been an insurmountable hurdle to becoming a popular religion in itself. It’s like someone trying to sell you a laptop, and in the opening spiel telling you it was built by a person who doesn’t normally build computers, but instead paints pictures of toasters. And not very good ones by all accounts.

But of course being a science fiction writer doesn’t automatically preclude you from being the chosen vessel through which an all powerful creator decides to reveal his existence. You’d like to think that any profession wouldn’t shut the door entirely to that possibility, but you’d also have to credit God with a well developed sense of humour to choose the writer of fictional stories to spread the message. You’d have also thought that he’d have done at least a little bit of due diligence, which would probably have revealed that Hubbarb was an habitual fraudster, having lied about his supposed Native American upbringing, his qualification in nuclear physics, or lack of them, his war record and his use of drugs. Fuck it though, God must have thought, if this guy can’t convince Tom Cruise that 750 million years ago billions of people were brought to earth by space ship before being piled around volcanoes and killed with hydrogen bombs, then NOBODY can.

Anyone with the faintest twitch of an intellect knows that these bullshit institutions are all about money and the subjugation of people either so desperate to believe in an after life that they are prepared to ignore all rational thought, or too stupid to think for themselves. Optimism in the decent abilities and intentions of our fellow humans are all well and good, but that we are outnumbered by idiots should never be forgotten. The viewing figures for Britain’s Got Talent and Dancing on Ice terrify me more then any description of hell you could throw at me.

On an entirely separate note, here is a donkey paragliding. Obviously no-one this side of a ruthlessly cruel tyrant would approve of actually doing this to an animal, but I see it in much the same way as the horrific experiments the Nazi’s performed on people during the war. To not laugh at the sight of the donkey flying gracefully into the sky under the parachute, would be to say its suffering was for nothing. It’s what Eeyore would have wanted.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hEep5BrexT0