Brought to you by the same masters of horror who wrote The Bible and The Koran, comes the new bestseller God Is Gonna’ Get Medieval on Your Sorry Sinnin’ Ass.

Personally, I have no fear of God. I don’t think God is out to get anyone.

I think he is way too lazy for that. God has a really really big television on which he watches nothing but ESPN. God loves football. He watches hockey sometimes, but mostly football.

He turns over all the commercials with starving kids. He doesn’t attempt to strike down all the lawyers with lightning bolts. He might not be able to hit them anyway. They can get pretty agile and fast chasing ambulances. And he hasn’t moved out of that funky old Lazy Boy of his since Adam and Eve and the snake stopped coming around. Oh yeah, I forgot the flood. He mostly just ordered the angels to handle that one. He doesn’t like unpleasantness.

He didn’t know about the Vietnam War until it was over. He missed slavery. Wish we all had. Some of the atrocities committed in his name by the Christians might have merited another flood. But, by the time he gets the news it’s 200 years old. He doesn’t like to interfere anyway. It’s our planet now.

We can take care of each other. Or, we can wait for God to take care of us. But, if we wait, it might be a very long time. It’s always football season in heaven.

Then you should say what you mean,” the March Hare went on.
“I do,” Alice hastily replied; “at least-at least I mean what I say-that’s the same thing, you know.”
“Not the same thing a bit!” said the Hatter.
-from Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll

I am fascinated by dishonesty in the guise of politeness. Not the lies we tell to avoid getting fired or to get laid more expediently – but the sociological dishonesty that we are taught in order to tolerate each other better in our day to day lives.

In the name of civility, we never tell anyone they look fat in anything. We always love their new outfit. We also never tell anyone when they have food on their face. (Is this so that we can enjoy the tiny ballet it does on their chin when they speak?)

If we tell our friend that her kid really is NOT cute when he crayons the walls, will the fabric of our society crumble? Will we immediately begin cooking and eating each other or screwing in the road?

I have noticed that there are certain keywords that we often use in our patronizing peace. “Nice” and “cute”. If someone says, “that’s nice” to you it most likely means that you have bored him until he has completely lost the will to live.

His only hope – short of strangling you with your necktie, which is by far the most intriguing thing about you, and which he has been staring at for the last half hour in the false hope that it would sway in an interesting manner – is the flag word “nice”.

He hopes that, when you hear this word, you will see that if you do not shut up this very moment, he must and should kill you to spare the rest of the free world your mind numbing, dumb assed story.

But, I must say, that the word “cute” is my favorite by far, because it has so many well known yet unspoken meanings. It is a very a simple word with limitless undertones and subtle shadings.

Here are examples of three meanings of “cute”.

Your friend Shelby introduces you to her boyishly handsome new man. When you speak to her on the phone later, you may volunteer that Patrick is “cute”. Of course, in this particular case, you are in all honesty and politeness saying to your good friend, “If you and Patrick EVER have a fight, I’m going to sleep with him.”

The next day your friend Shelby comes over. She says she and Patrick have had a lovers spat. She says, “It always cheers me up a little if I do some shopping. I bought this for only $65.”

She pulls out of her shopping bag a clear plastic beach bag with the word “hot” on it in pink neon. You say in dishonest politeness, “That’s cute.” You mean, of course, that although her bag is very stupid indeed, it is not as stupid as she is for fighting with her God of a boyfriend, and is certainly less offensive than her other beach bag which says “cool” on it in orange.

A week later, Shelby comes over to pick you up for the beach. She is carrying her stupid bag, and is wearing clear plastic sandals with the word “hot” on them. She asks you directly what you think of them.

You say, “They’re cute.” You mean, of course, that they are the absolute most magnificently pathetic and idiotic thing you have ever before seen in your life, and you wish fervently, in the name of all that is holy and good, that you had never seen them, or that you could somehow scrape the image of them off of your cornea. Or, that failing, just scrape out your eyeballs entirely.

Then, feverishly, you realize that even without eyeballs you could still visualize those shoes, and you scream out in your mind , “Oh God forgive me my trespasses, and take away the horrible imprint of that footwear!” (The pun is intentional, and allow me to apologize in advance.)

Then, lost in a silent prayer that you could remove your brain from your head, wash off the ridiculous, life sucking image and then shove it back in through your ear or something, you realize you did the right thing sleeping with Patrick. He deserves better.

“And did you exchange
A walk on part in the war
For a lead role in a cage?”
-Pink Floyd from Wish You Were Here

I’ve been thinking about rock and roll (and actually all music directed at our youth – punk, metal, grunge etc.).

The best rock and roll is that which inspires rage at the system. That’s its job. You are supposed to listen, and get pissed off, and then go out and change the world while you are young and still have some energy.

By the way, I’m not talking about the glorified disco music of Britney Spears or N sync. Donny Osmond had more to say than they do. I don’t know what cheesy dance music is supposed to do for society besides make antacid companies rich, rich, rich.

Certainly, it would be a wonderful world if we attacked all it’s problems with vigor and enthusiasm. And if, as young people, we dedicated ourselves to all the worthy causes. So, why doesn’t the rock and roll = wonderful world equation work?

Why do we still have pollution? Why do we still have 72,000 nuclear warheads? Why is Jewel still allowed to perform publicly?

My theory is this. Teen energy is all used up in sex and drugging.

That’s right. Overshadowed by its necessary counterparts sex and drugs, the sociological benefits of rock and roll are almost never seen. (There is the occasional funny bumper sticker, but is that enough?)

All the hot rage that could be used in fighting political wars and sending Jewel hate mail is fizzled out after getting stoned or drunk or laid � or maybe all three if one is particularly upset at the world situation. Here is a sample conversation I’ve contrived to convey my point:

“Man, Jennifer, that was a really cool Chili Peppers album. True men really don’t kill coyotes. We should do something to stop people from killing coyotes.”

“We should stop them from killing whales and dolphins too, Rob. But, right now I have all this energy, and you look so cute when you are angry, I was wondering if you’d like to see my new clit ring?”

“Yeah, right I forgot you were getting that done. Does it hurt?” Pause. “Never mind, tell me later. Lose the panties.”

One premature ejaculation later:

“Man, I don’t feel so angry anymore. Wanna’ go to the mall? I think I wanna’ get you a ‘Going Steady’ clit ring.”

“Really? You’re so sweet.”

Game. Set. Match.

Establishment fascist, corporate f*ckin� America One, Angry Youth Zero.

So anyway, the conversation is basically the same for pot , only substitute Hohos and the tattoo shop.

My thinking is that the war is not lost. Someday maybe all the Lawrence Welk fans out there will take to Hallucinogens. (Hopefully, laced with speed.) Then, once they get past their initial intrigue with the pretty bubbles, they’ll see the world’s problems in all their clarity. Naturally – since they’ve had no need for sex up to now – they’ll use what little energy they have left to save us all.