from July 0f 2006
So I received this letter in the mail the other day. Signed, stamped and addressed personally to me...in ink. A two page message, front and back. Nice pretty handwriting on eye-pleasing yellow paper...from some chick, says her name is Shaunna. The return address was from 3 blocks away. Perhaps one my neighbors was informing me of a summer yard sale, or writing me a little thank you note for letting their dog take a shit in my yard, or maybe... wait...stand down Mr. Smith....it seems like one of my god-fearing neighbors wants me to join their religion. Awww...this is too good to pass up.
So I read thru the letter and its more vague a blonde guy's mustache. No real definition of spiritual immortality, just a lot of hand-fed humility to which your average cross-crusader would feel enlightened to. The sector of belief is not important, because every Christian religion is fucked. Holding solid tenet and devotion to the most contradictory and censored book to ever exist, the binded souls who find solace in these readings are destined for ruin.
Dont get me wrong, (to quote Dude Shimek) "it's a good book", but I'm too informed to revolve my entire existence around it. When I was a lil' shaver, I used to love Beverly Cleary books, but those were also mis-interpreted fiction but nonetheless, an entertaining read. I felt almost offended that a neighbor would take it upon themself to assume that my beliefs and convictions are weak and I should jump the bandwagon to their asinine cult.
The letter and accompanying pamphlet repeatedly stress that reading the word of the lord needs assistance and that therein lies their motive. Captain Beefheart wrote some weird-as-shit music which could be translated as brilliant narration, but to some people, hes perceived as nothing more than a slurring sebaceous slob.
Why should I join a creed that allows only 144,000 people to enter the feigned pearly gates of heaven? Is it safe to assume that there is still room for me? Probably not, since this has been a practicing sanction since 1870. Should I renounce friends and country to believe in something that is as dogmatic as the easter bunny? I think I'm cool where I'm at right now.
I figured that responding to the author and informing them that I would have to decline their intriguing offer to enlist in their crooked crusade would be superfluous, so I will take the road less traveled. If anyone in the Erie area has a large canine that takes big shits, let me know. My neighbors are in dire need of some new lawn ornaments . . .