Category Archives: Unexplainable Happenings

Vatican goes green, and why text messages are evil

Considering the News…

In its latest attempt to embrace the digital age the Vatican is calling all Catholics and deploring believers to put down those sin-riddled cellphones during these glorious days of self-inflicted self-deprivation known as Lent. And it’s about bloody time.

Alas, how so dreadfully often furious typers of text messages neglect to take an occasional moment to bask in the glory of the Lord,  appreciating the sacrifices Christ made many centuries ago to guarantee our ability to text in peace.

So many times Mass goers have looked in uncontrolled horror as an iPhone clings to one believer’s hand while the body of Christ is placed in the other.

Why must these menacing iPod headphones dangle from ears when almighty and all-knowing priests speak the word of the Lord?

How can we not go one day a week without obsessing over the stats and numbers on our computers at work?

Must we drive those 17 unholy miles to work every day of Lent, or can a bike suffice for the sake of sacrifice?

Indeed, the Vatican – the guiding light it is, the beacon of hope we gratefully accept it to be – has composed a righteous list of ways to shun technology for these 40 days of Lent.

The Pope has blessed this manifesto of ways for circumventing the inherent dangers and evils of computers, iPhones, and Facebook.

All we can do is hope. Pray. Accept this list as a means for coming closer to God. For emulating the sacrifices Jesus so unselfishly made many years ago.

For more tips on how to become a better Catholic, please visit the Vatican website. Or, please befriend Pope Benedict on his Facebook and MySpace pages. Or, for those wanting some viral proverbs, feel free to tune into the Vatican YouTube Channel that is now available.

See you all after Easter!

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Octuplets move to mystery mansion – Plus, why everyone with six kids should have another eight

Considering the News…

Scintillating details of the California octuplets remain shrouded in mystery, now four days removed from the babies’ removal from the mother’s womb.

Traditionally patient and polite news media is growing uncharacteristically anxious. Many pressing questions remain unanswered. What are their names? Who are the eight fathers? Are they Clippers or Lakers fans?

Yet the family is proceeding with painstaking secrecy and caution, striving to protect the anonymity of these eight little miracles, and paying no mind to the joyful reporters calmly seeking an interview.

The latest rumor seasoning this savory story is word the parents already have six little miracles – meaning their humble home has now contributed 14 healthy and happy and necessary additions to the otherwise scarcely populated state of California.

Unfortunately, heartless skeptics now wrongly question the family’s sincerity, speculating the true incentive for breeding eight little miracles simultaneously is an unbridled desire for fame and undeserved gifts. But that’s not the honest Christian thing to do, now is it.

Representing this batch of miracles is the grandfather ( identifying himself as Ed), who has offered few guarantees or promises thus far, aside from leaking word of a huge mystery mansion existing somewhere in the remote hills of the countryside, well beyond the mental and physical limits of lazy media members.

There, he says, his two dozen or so grandchildren will live in unchallenged secrecy, never bothering with the unworthy outside world. That 16 miracles can move anywhere in this country without anyone noticing is a relatively common feat destined for absolute, unhindered success. They will probably never be found, seen, or heard from again.

They certainly will never stoop to repeating the same trite interview again and again for any TV station agreeing to donate to the college fund, a college fund that will undoubtedly go toward the octuplets’ education alone, and not to any extravagant trips or boats or new cars or an even bigger mystery mansion in the even more remote hills of the countryside.

I wish the family only the absolute best. A great service they have done for the world. Think of how much less crime there would be if every family with six children made the admirable decision to take fertility drugs (true story) and have another eight.

We can only wonder how many less cars would be on the road. How much food everyone would have. How much cheaper college tuition would be. How many less people would be on welfare. How many more people would be employed. How many more people would be able to visit Wal-Mart and buy Chinese toys and appliances.

Indeed, we can only wonder.

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Tim Tebow, future President of the United States?

Considering the News…

I’m now convinced Florida Gators football superstar, American legend, and Christian goodfella, Tim Tebow, will be President a day not too far from today. No doubts. No reservations about that one.

The guy exudes confidence. Spouts leadership. Is to charisma what Amy Winehouse is to crackheads – the definition.

Now some will say, hey, what about him being born in the Philippines? No way he can be President. Just not constitutional. Can’t happen.

Well, such minutiae, no matter how damning, is never impugn to the smearing and twisting of a genuine spin doctor – at least not one worth his or her weight in venom and wax. Was Barack Obama born within domestic borders? Kenya? Malaysia? Hawaii? Ah, who cares, the guy weaves rhetorical gold at the podium. The same will hold true for Florida’s chosen son, the natural hybrid of Abe Lincoln and Johnny Unitas.

Then some will say, hey, the guy’s like 21 years old. That’s way too young to be President.

Yes, such restrictions can hinder progress at times. But what about the Chinese Olympic Gymnastics team? Talent can make 12 the new 16 with few hardships when the right people rework the script. Thus I’m confident Tebow can smile and fist-pump his way to 40 in no time. Little effort required, to say the least.

Then some might say, hey, can he even win any southern state other than Florida after pummeling their football teams every year for seemingly an entire decade?

Football is next to religion down south, and Tebow’s dominance makes him somewhat of a demagogue in the region. Touchdowns are the new doctrine, you see. He’ll sweep every state by at least 95-5, with the other 5 percent going to Mike Huckabee and Jeb Bush.

So there you have it, Tim Tebow is destined to become President. No force, formidable as it may be, is going to impede his mystical ascension to the pinnacle of national prominence. Not even  a few minor rules and technicalities can stop him. Maybe not even Jesus.

Ok, probably Jesus. But nothing else.

Either way, I can’t imagine voting for him. Can’t stand the Gators.

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Six-Day Weeks and Failed 2009 Resolutions

Considering the state of things…

Unlike tens of millions of my fellow Americans who chose yet again to celebrate this new year by embarking on ridiculous quests for self-improvement –  like losing weight or quitting smoking or quitting drinking or limiting sexual conquests or quitting sex altogether or renouncing organized religion or endorsing the metric system or accomplishing any of a number of other preposterous goals – I elected to merely scrub clean the stubborn mind state that has devastated and stunted my growth and maturity since a very early age.

With but one benevolent twist of perception I truly felt great strides could be taken – no longer could I justify any reasons for delaying this necessary transformation. Change seemed certainly imminent, as I deemed the new year as a convenient time to finally confront my distaste for my least favorite day of the week.

You see, it has been documented rather exhaustively that my main, and perhaps lone, archrival in this cruel world is that annoying first day of the week, known by most in the English-speaking world as Monday. Given there are some Mondays I have grown infinitely fond of, such as Labor Day and Memorial Day and my birthday every 8 or 9 years, yet I would be errant in claiming to enjoy the day as a whole any more than I do a pint of bubbling sewer water.

I cannot rightly claim, however, that Monday has it out solely for me. I understand its indiscriminate nature. Monday never saves any of my counterparts in the workforce from the mental anguish of rising and realizing the weekend has become but a juicy memory, ripe with tales of drink, sport and perhaps some unexpected, albeit welcomed, debauchery.

Monday is eagerly awaited by few, and of those few I suspect three quarters suffer from some chilling mental disabilities we should all be so lucky to avoid. The difference, I am now certain, is that while I may not be alone in despising the day, I have been negligent in learning to accept its unholiness with a grain of salt like some of my stronger co-inhabitants of this planet.

Mondays, I feel, are for the assertive, the spirited, the eager-handed willing to wrestle the bull to the ground by its own menacing horns; Mondays are for the alert, the rested, the restless species of man that uses weekends not for celebration, but for preparation for the ensuing week.

Further self-analysis has alerted me to the demoralizing fact I likely belong to none of these esteemed crowds.

So there it is, not but five days into the new year and already have I abandoned my resolution, my futile quest to appreciate Monday – embrace every Monday – for the fresh, new opportunities found there within.

Indeed, Monday would be wise to avoid me at all costs, for I wish nothing except grave harm for its merciless being and all those willingly associated with it.

I say good day, day! Chalk up one more failed attempt at change.

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Blagojevich to Obama: Go to Hell

Considering the News…

Fearing he might not be governor for much longer, overlooking the shimmering fact his powers have all but been diminished, if not already seized, Rod Blagojevich unbuckled the belt holding up his trousers and gave the President-elect an unmissable shot of his steaming bum.

Despite the strategic tantrums of senate majority leader and the chamber’s most masculine of senators, Harry Reid, Blago saw no good reason why he shouldn’t do his duty as governor and appoint Obama’s senate replacement.

FBI investigations can be quite drawn out and cumbersome, something a man of Blago’s stature can’t have much patience for, so the esteemed governor heroically refused to delay the appointment in these times of frustration and economic turmoil.

Thus Roland Burris, unknown to most before today’s bizarre press conference, became the latest star in this he-said-I-said-the-tape-said saga, and in doing so found his name as the hottest search on Google – a triumphant feat most will never know.

Rightly suspecting team Obama might not immediately embrace his nomination, Blago arranged for Congressman Bobby Rush to join him onstage in order to remind people that Obama’s senatorial departure had left the chamber without any black men at all.

As Mr. Burris is indeed a black gentleman, we must then commend Governor Blagojevich for setting aside all criminal investigations and impeachment threats and the like to serve his nation in the best way he sees fit. Evidently that means telling the President-elect to fuck off, lugging a good man’s name through the mud, and resuming business as usual.

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Barack the Magic Negro and the New GOP

Considering the News…

With the historic 2008 elections now clogging the nation’s collective memory, both major parties are striving to quickly bolster their political image with a barrage of confounding spectacles, confusing any and every American willing to pay attention along the way.

Within a bloody fortnight of winning the election Obama was steeped in shit and corruption – no advisable position for a President-elect. Why, Obama had barely commenced searching for his passport and packing his Hawaiian shirts when word spread that his abandoned senate seat was being auctioned on eBay, and apparently going for no small sum.

While Obama evidently had no hand in the seedy negotiations, his name was certainly thrust into the center of the national dialogue, an unfortunate first presidential production for a man riding the righteous tide of  Washington’s next great exorcist.

After bathing in the story like a call girl in a pile of bills, people (notably the American media) began questioning whether Blago had even committed a crime. Sure the FBI tapes seemed incriminating enough, however, what would be the condition of our prisons if we arrested every body guilty of proclaiming the desire to commit a crime? It’s not but 10 a.m. and already I have heard six different people say today they wouldn’t mind beheading our current President, and yet another who wished the same for Regis Philbin.

Not a grand opening act for America P.O. (or Post Obama). For unearthing corruption is one thing, but summoning the moral police is quite another. I’m not sure where my readers stand on the issue, yet I for one would rather miss the ability to wish death upon my least favorite public figures, or the opportunity to say I’m two drinks away from holding up a bank to appease my creditors. Actions are actions and speech is speech, and I don’t care to start monitoring my words too closely.

Now the GOP, beaten in November like an unwanted fourth daughter that should have been a first son, hasn’t chosen to seize the moral reins in these trying times – no reinvented image has been introduced hitherto. Instead the GOP seems more than content to perpetuate the unsavory perceptions already debilitating its national viability.

Hoping to become the new Republican National Committee chair, Chip Saltsman thought it rather wise to distribute a CD featuring the infamous “Barack the Magic Negro” song composed by renowned satirist, Paul Shanklin. While this is another form of speech I am fond of, the timing strikes me as a bit off.

One might think Saltsman would at least have waited until after he was awarded the position before disseminating quasi-racist soundtracks. That’s just common sense.

So it doesn’t appear either party is overly concerned with positive party identities as of yet. However, I certainly have high hopes for 2009. A new politics awaits us.

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Cease Fires and Virginity Pledges…Two Pinnacle Ploys of Mankind

Considering the News…

After enjoying my morning coffee with a few riotous news stories exploring the missile hurling competitions in the Middle East, attention was drawn to a recent study examining the true prudence of teens willingly agreeing to the infamous virginity pledge.

Now, initially I saw no connection between the two, as there doesn’t seem an obvious link between the frisky nature of raucous teenagers and the fearless demeanor of the bomb-happy Palestinians and Israelis currently reconfiguring the border along the West Bank.

Yet the more I read, the more I pondered, and the more I compared, it occurred to me that man indeed is a frivolous being, perpetually haunted by an innate instinct to seek and destroy, not long deterred by pesky cease-fire agreements and virginity pledges.

Yessir, restrictive pledges inhibit man for only so long, this evidenced by the hundreds of bombs that have rained from Middle East skies since the cease-fire agreement between Israel and Hamas ended but only 10 days ago; and also reinforced by the alarming conclusions of a recent federal study that found the majority of teenagers pledging to abstain from sex have little intention of earnestly adhering to any of the guidelines.

In fact, these conspicuous teens seem to be taking that pledge out behind the woodshed and defiling it in much haste.

Thus we see the basic instincts of man will forever prevail over arbitrary agreements and pledges, for ploys of peace and purity seem quite nice and pleasing and G-rated and what have you, but nothing sates the soul quite like bombs and orgasms – a fact of the highest caliber.

Certain truths never falter, therefore, what sense is there in pretending east and west might soon exchange sides of the moon? Jews and Palestinians don’t appear overly anxious to exchange niceties, whores never make fine housewives, and the Yankees buy a losing, albeit expensive, team nine years out of ten.

So we should aim not to suppress these indulgences, but embrace them, never relenting in our epic quest to quench the desire to make it rain. That’s all we have. Hallelujah.

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