Monthly Archive for December, 2009

A Christmas Devotional: Was Jesus Rich?


An artist's rendering of the Second Coming.

On this Christmas Day, as I sit eating my eggy-weggs and looking forward to dinner with friends, I chanced upon this CNN story about the “prosperity gospel”. This is an evangelical movement that claims Jesus was wealthy – so you should be wealthy, too!

Of course, this up-ends untold centuries of church instruction about Christ’s poverty and humility, and it makes a mockery of everything that was ever valuable about Christianity, but I decided to go with it.

Here’s my new revised historical analysis…

Angel investors arrive from the East.

Angel investors arrive from the East.

When Jesus was born, his original investors were three Wise Venture Capitalists. They bestowed the child with seed money for his eventual rise to economic power.

It’s a known fact that young Jesus invested wisely in oxcart derivatives. His Jewish parents made sure he was keen to spot opportunity, and the young Jesus wasted no time compiling a small fortune.

The Christ family home, ca. 20 AD.

The Christ family home, ca. 20 AD.

Because he lived so far from Boca Raton, he had to make do with a seaside split-level on Galilee. He spruced it up with mural windows and vaulted ceilings; visitors were fairly impressed.

Eventually, Jesus figured out that the market was settling. As a positive growth capitalist, he needed to diversify his portfolio so he went into direct marketing. This was hugely successful; not only did he score massive donations, but the market response to his carefully crafted infomercials was nothing short of sensational.

Jesus speaks to investors.

Jesus speaks to investors.

Emboldened by this turn of fortune, Jesus headed into Jerusalem in an effort to pull off a hostile takeover of the Pharisees. He upended the local commodities market and declared himself (and his investors) as the new 51% owners of the Jewish faith.

Unfortunately, he underestimated the legal acumen of the Jewish elite. He lost in Roman arbitration and was sentenced to death, which was fairly common during the early days of the free market.


What a failed take-over bid may look like.

Before that fateful day, he instructed his investors to deify him upon his death. In this way, they could work to recover some of his gains and, in time, create a for-profit foundation in his name.

The rest is history. Not only did the Jesus H. Christ Foundation flourish, it skipped the measly market in Jerusalem and took over Rome itself. Soon all of Europe and Near Asia was generating millions for the Foundation. Investors were bilked for centuries on end. To this day, wealthy Foundation investors are bringing competitive markets to their knees in the Middle East.

A meeting of the Board of Directors.

A meeting of the Board of Directors.

It’s a remarkable story of economic might, enlightened self-interest and the positive effects of pulling yourself up by your own bootstraps. That’s why we celebrate Christmas. That’s why we celebrate Easter.

Annual investor meeting in Houston.

Annual investor meeting in Houston.

Jesus is the Light and the Way, and the best investment for your dollar. Amen.



Quit Whining!


Aww, did everything not go your way?

I have fucking had it with the whining.

This country has become soft. And its milksop weakness extends to all races, all creeds, all religions and both ends of the political spectrum. Jesus Fucking Christ, people. I’m sick of it. Man up! What would our forebears think if they knew that the vast majority of Americans had become a bunch of prim, whiny old hags?

It’s gotten so bad, I FIND MYSELF DOING IT. It’s a cultural poison. It’s sapping our strength when we can least afford it. It’s laziness incarnate.


Your average American. Just ask him.

Glenn Beck and his retarded Teabaggers are case in point. They have no solutions for our economic crises or our health care problem. All they do is kvetch and bellyache. And they do it with lots of enthusiasm and thousands of carefully crafted blogs and opinion pieces. If they spent 1% of that energy studying the problems, seeking the advice of professionals and questioning their own conclusions, maybe we’d have some fucking consensus and meaningful answers.

But no. We get whining. Nation-wide, 4-color-process whining.

Noam Chomsky, brilliant whiner.

Noam Chomsky, brilliant whiner.

And don’t you leftie Democrats start getting all smug. You are about as whiny as it gets. Noam Chomsky has opposed all kinds of things and written soaring indictments of everything that has ever been wrong. Yet he has never put his ass on the line and watched with bated breath as his reputation hung in the balance. He talks and he writes and he “supports”. You douche.

The political left has all but written off Barack Obama as a sellout toady of the Pentagon and Wall Street. The way I see it, that’s what happens with EVERY president about four hours after inauguration. A group of generals and executives sits him down and explains the Way Things Are.  I don’t care if Noam Chomsky himself got elected. In four hours, he’d have his staff re-draft resolutions to bomb Pakistan and lower the corporate tax rates.

Bully, I say! Bully!

Bully, I say! Bully!

Even Teddy Roosevelt, who shot lions, ate raw elephants and charged San Juan hill had to endure the cold shower of political reality. His bullish nature was cowed. So what did Teddy do? He took a long hard look at what he should do and balanced it against what he could do and ended up with his face on a mountain, glaring through his pince-nez at generations of fat, whiny Americans who barely recall what he did. At least he doesn’t whine about it!

Hunter Thompson. Be like Hunter!

Hunter Thompson. Be like Hunter!

Hunter Thompson had a lot to complain about. Vietnam, drug laws, Nixon and a fickle public, for starters. Yet somehow he was able to indict, decry and enlighten without being a fucking cry-baby about it. I love Hunter Thompson. Whenever I’m down and weepy, I think: WWHTD? The guy has seen more dire moments than me, yet not once did he fall apart like an autumn leaf. In the end, he took himself out rather than endure the ravages of old age. You pay the ticket, you take the ride. No whining!

You can point out failures. You can demand justice. You can compose criticisms.

But quit whining. Quit. Fucking. Whining!


Since I love you all so much, I feel compelled to post something of interest: hot chicks!


This is Farrah Fawcett.

When I was young, she was the epitome of the desirable woman. She has ruined more gym socks than any other person on Earth. And it wasn’t her (small) boobs or her (average) ass. It was her eyes and her teeth, her trend-setting hairstyle and her strangely compelling vacuousness. She got older and much crazier, then she got cancer and died. It’s too bad.



Brazilian beauties.

I’ve always been fascinated by the allure of celebrity vs the real-world appreciation of female beauty. We watch TV and films and we fill magazines with worshipful adoration of the leading ladies. But are they really hotter than a Brazilian showgirl or “that waitress” at the greasy spoon? No, they aren’t. It’s their unattainable nature (i.e. Farrah Fawcett) that invokes scarcity, and scarcity increases value. It’s the capitalist version of aesthetics.



Is beauty timeless?

Yes, it is. We gape at a dramatic mountain vista with the same wonder and astonishment as our prehistoric ancestors. The lines of a wild cat, the asymmetry of an orchid, the patterns of snow on rocks and the gentle curves of the ladies.



Does fashion dictate?

Beauty is not fashion, regardless of what the media wants you to believe. Fashion doesn’t define beauty; it feeds off it like a parasite.



What's in a pretty face?

We all know what’s pretty, but none of us can describe beauty. It’s more than just subjective interest; philosophers have struggled with the subject for centuries. Unfortunately, they are vested in (and shackled by) their own subjective interests. The wheels continue to spin.



It's just...that.

In my life, I’ve fallen in love with, and would have no other woman than…

– a short busty Jersey girl.
– a striking blonde forest nymph.
– an aging hillbilly woman.
– a statuesque nerdy girl.
– a stunning homecoming queen.
– a hairy hippie girl.
– a slender brunette.

None of my ex-GF’s have anything in common. And between them were many short (sometimes very short) relationships with women of every description. The one thing they had in common was their ability to transfix me like no other. If I could explain it (and bottle it) I’d be rich.

Instead, we all must make do with our own ridiculously infallible desires.

And we men? Ladies, I have no fucking idea what you see in us. I’m just glad you see it.