Drum Circles Rock

Picture of my bro, Greywolf, at "Rhythm" bar in Chicago knocking everyone's dick in the dirt.

We Need a Sacrificial Death Star

In 1977 I was 13 years old. I was living in the debris of a divorce, in a shitty apartment on the outskirts of Orlando, which, at the time, was like the outskirts of any halfway large city: it was nowhere. It was hot and things were weird.

We didn't have 17 news channels and Google. I didn't have a frikkin clue about the rest of the world. My mom didn't watch the news and around 6 p.m. everyday, when the news was on, we were watching Three's Company or going to church. The Vietnam War was over by two years but the myth of it was only just learning to walk--on one leg. Joan Crawford and "Chico" (Freddie Prinze) had both died. Bob Dylan got divorced and the Sex Pistols were igniting dirty little imaginations and guitar sales in New York. Terrorists were getting press in DC and Bucharest. The Space Shuttle had just taken its training wheels flight.

I had just gotten in trouble for my great 7th grade prank: during a film about geography, I took one of the clay camels that had been standing peacefully on some kid's excruciatingly detailed diorama and reformed it in a position behind one of the other camels, a position I thought was perfectly natural but was considered surprisingly realistic and carnal by the teacher.

In 1977 I was roaming the unfinished apartments near my own, racing my bike through lake-sized parking lot puddles and drawing tits on the walls. I was grumbly and glum, besieged by some haunting guilt, living in a part of the world ill defined and gripped by a sadness and horror from a war that had overstayed its welcome and killed the children to boot. People were alcoholic, poor as fuck, pissed off, unemployed, and waiting for some kind of leadership. Nixon had let us down, fucked up no matter whom you asked. Gerald Ford was a Marx brother stand in for a president and when Carter stepped up, his fucking economic example-setting pissed off everybody. White House fundraisers with a cash bar and peanuts? Was he insane?

I think it was similar to what we have now. People are disassociated from their leaders, from a national purpose, from a common character. We're hated everywhere. We're all like I was at 13, racing through an empty landscape on our bikes with nothing to look forward to and no one telling us that this is all temporary. No one to tell us that there is hope.

Then Star Wars came out. Fucking hell. You want to know why that thing exploded? Besides the fact that it blew our minds on an eye candy level never seen before, besides being an act of technological magick so brilliant and so perfectly executed that no one was unaffected by it . . . the reason people stood up and cheered is because the Death Star was blown up--by one guy.

That Death Star was all of our problems reverse engineered into one dented rivet riddled hellish fist. It was our primo bogeyman. It was the ticking time bomb the disaffected were carrying in their chests. When we blew that fucker up . . .

Oh, yeah. It was us. We blew the bastard up--not Luke. Luke was the avatar. Luke was the god form we evoked and wore like a suit of armor. In that scene, that cramped and capable cockpit, in that narrow deadly channel at a thousand miles an hour, it was you and me that pulled the trigger, not Luke. And when that son of a bitch exploded we cheered because all our problems evaporated with it. Incinerated at seventy frames per second.

I walked out of that theater afraid of nothing and a believer. I took to the force like a drunk takes to Jesus H. I had something to live for. I didn't know what the fuck it was, I didn't have a name for it, and it didn't really exist as anything more than a story.

But a story is a valuable thing.

Think of the grail. Hell, people have defined their life for that thing and it's just a story. The core of the Star Wars phenom was no different--it gave us all a story to slay our dragons with. That's why successive iterations have ultimately never succeeded the original--the first one changed how we see the world on every level.

Now we need another sacrificial Death Star. We need a new story to pull us out of this mess.

Look at us: our country is reviled, best friends flame each other over political differences, people think of their party as a culture, we're in a war even less worthy than Vietnam, we don't trust our leaders, actions of actual courage and character are publicly derided as traitorous. We have no heroes.

What we need is the next Galahad. We need the next Kennedy. The next Mr. Smith. The next Luke Skywalker. We need a story that swallows our anxieties whole and gives birth to a new grail--to the next hero.

The reason these stories exist, and that we remember them, tell them to our kids, rent them into the millions at Blockbuster, is that they inspire us to noble purpose. I can hear the sneering sighs of the cynical slithering through the wires as you read this. But sometimes cynics need to take a backseat and let the believers do their job. These stories, these myths, work by reminding us that it isn't just the fight that is important, but our conduct during the fight: our compassion, our courage, our dignity--our character as evidenced by our conduct. It is this: We are all part of a story we will eventually tell someone. And it is important to be the good guy.

Aw CRAP! I Think My Family Owned Slaves!

My family comes from Alabama. We're white. Our name is uncommon. There just aren't many people with that name. In the whole world, there are probably less than 3000 people named Garlington. Many of them live in England where the family originates.

I've moved a couple of times and whenever I got to a new town, at some point I'd look up people with my name in the phone book just for the sport of it. Never found any. Until I moved to Chicago. There are a lot of people (compared to everywhere else I've been) with my name. And they're all African American.

Now Garlington is a distinctively English/Welsh name. It doesn't come down from pre-Britanic origins. It didn't come from Rome. It's not a derivative of some Spanish or Arabic surname. It's Celtic as the day is long. So how did a handful of African Americans end up with a Celtic name?

THEY DESCENDED FROM SLAVES MY FAMILY OWNED!

Christ, I never thought about it until today. I've always argued that everyone is predjudiced. I regularly implore people to really think about it, to consider real world scenarios where their feelings are not obvious. We're all racist at some level. I make this argument as an excercise in truthfulness: I can't eradicate my own racism if i can't idnetify it.

But now I have to consider that my family really did own slaves. I can't be one of the millions of white people who can shrug and say "I'm sorry those asswipes in the south owned slaves" I can't even make arguments about the pervasiveness of slavery in that period (it was crazy--and a lot of the slaves were purchased from African's, the original black-on-black crime; and a lot of Irish and chinese were railroad slaves after the civil war) I can't bring up the apprently unconscionable argument (for a white to bring up) that some slave owners in Florida were black.

No, I can't do any of that because I am apparently of the guilty party. It would just be disingenuous. It would sound not like historical reasoning, not like I was presenting a broader view of the period. It would seem like I was deflecting the blame.

I would like to think that several African American slave families keeping that name indicates good relationships between the slaver and the slave. Although the mere condition of slavery is evil, I hope that the conditions in all other instances where my family is concerned were humane and in good conscience. I hope that my family was among the first and foremost to free their slaves.

Subsidize Digital TV?

You got to be kidding me.

The FCC is speeding up the transition to digital TV so that it becomes the American broadcast standard by 2009. Some indie pundits and a handful of congressmen (google it) are expressing concern over the loss of signal for the 21 million households who currently only get their signal via an antennae and will not be able to receive the digital broadcast.

So what? I hate to sound like a neo-con here but TV is not a requirement in any US household. It is not necessary for anyone to own a TV to remain informed, well fed, safe, employed, or educated. It is about as important as popsicles. The current considerations for subsidizing the purchase of digital transfer boxes for these 21 million household by our government needs to be called what it is: another sneaky way for some neo-con businessman to make a buck. Or is it even more ridiculous? Is it possible that these 21 million households are in areas that might be considered highly important in the 2009 elections? Isn't it weird that as this is in the news, congress is also considering to end subsiidization of NPR and PBS?

Yeah yeah yeah, we rely a lot on TV. Maybe too much. I watch CNN and HNN every day. Three times a day. But if I didn't have TV, I'd just read a paper. I'd probably be better informed if I did. Given that HNN and CNN are marketing tools for culture products as often as they are actual news shows, I doubt I'd be missing much. I might not buy the new Disneymania 3 CD in the first week of release. Maybe.

Even more important: you can subsidize TV with my tax money the moment you sell off a few f14s and make teaching a profession as well-paid as patent law. In fact, I would subsidize a fucking tank before I'd let my money go to helping people watch more TV.

What really rankles my ass is that what is really going to happen is that congress will pass this resolution to subsidize, some congressional friend will get all the cash for manufacturing digital relay boxes, people will buy them, and they will only show commercials for republican candidates as some weird programming flaw until JUST after Nov 2.

You just watch.

I Am The Anti-fChrist

I’m afraid of fundamentalist Christians.

I’m afraid of them for a single facet of their belief—they feel that the word of God, delivered via scripture, preacher, or direct communion, is infallible. Because they make their decisions in life based on these same scriptures, preachers and direct communion, they believe, then, that their actions are preordained as infallible. They believe, in short, that when following the direct order of God, they can do no wrong.

My problem is that direct order of God.

To get that order, you have to do one of three things:

a) Read the scriptures, the word of God, the Bible and follow the instructions therein.
a. This, of course, is an automatic fallacy because to read is to interpret and to interpret is to infect the original intent of an order with your understanding of it. Of course, an fChristian will tell you that of course they interpret the Bible and they aren’t dolts and they recognize allegory and simile. I would argue that they might miss metaphor and that they interpret where it is convenient and not as a matter of course.
i. For instance: it is convenient for them to chuckle at the dictums of the old testament where women are beaten and you marry your dead brother’s wife. These are easy to point to and say, “But these were written for a different culture and in a different time, you can’t expect us to conform to such archaic rules.”
ii. However when it comes to witnessing, the fChristians are inflexible. To them, the idea is that you go out and save people and if they refuse, well, you pray for their lost soul and consider them damned.
b) Listen to your preacher. He is the mouth of God. To not do what the preacher says is to deny the authority of God.
a. The preacher gets his understanding of the word of God via scripture, from seminary school, or from deep consideration and prayer.
i. These are all subjective experiences.
ii. See (A:a) above.
iii. No man can think or speak without being a man, without interpretation. It is how we experience the world. We interpret everything. We describe almost everything instead of experiencing it directly.
1. You don’t believe me? Look into investigations of brain functionality. One of the surprising results is the period of time between the occurrence of an event (say the snap of you fingers) and the moment when the brain appears to recognize the event’s occurrence. It is a brief gap, but it is there. No matter how much we hate to think about it, our bodies are propelled and guided by organs that are imperfect. We do not experience reality as it happens. We describe it to ourselves.
c) Direct communion.
a. I mean talking to God.
b. This is the most subjective of all three methods. God might talk to us--I certainly believe it. But the experience is intensely private and highly subjective. It cannot be duplicated or replicated. It can only be described—which is a subjective experience.

None of these things is practically objective. By that I mean more than one person can experience none of them. Two people can agree on the idea, on the concept of their similar experiences but they cannot have the same experience when it is an internal one. They can both be in the same car crash, in the same dinner theater production of Hamlet, in the same conversation. Those are empirical, shared, objective moments. But internal dialogue cannot be shared.

Not that it should. It's private for a reason. And it is irreproducable. So, if you say "God told me I can have your car" I'm probably going to say "Weird, he told me to beat your ass".

Which brings up the question of faith. The fChristians say that you have to trust the Preacher and the “still quiet voice” in your head and obey the scriptures without questioning them. If you question the actions of one preacher you question not only the entire religion but you question God.

fChristians do not practice or accept dissent. It isn’t a dictum; it’s just a group mind thing. Many fChristians come to the faith after significant crisis in their life and they find a kind of acceptance. They find forgiveness. That is a good thing. Most people need desperately to forgive themselves for something or other that drives aberrant behavior or metastasizes into neuroses. Forgiveness is good. The power of that forgiveness, the hugging, and the fellowship—all of these things are good. But I get that in the Catholic Church. Hell, I can get that at a barbeque after a round of Margs. Why is the fChristian movement different? Because from that acceptance comes a feeling of devotion not to the principles of forgiveness and love but to the church where it happened.

It is extremely powerful magic to truly forgive someone. For an institution to forgive someone frees that person from their personal hell. They get carte blanche to renew themselves. When this occurs, for many, the institution in which it happened takes on a remarkable character, a paternal facet. It solved their biggest problem with a snap of its fingers. Powerful. To remain in its good favor becomes a new goal. Once among these new brethren, a person, a convert, becomes a zealot and subjugates their objectivity to the institution. They subjugate their individuality to the church.

I know because I’ve been there. In Cali, when I was a kid, my mom belonged to an fChristian church. One day, the preacher said that God had told him that they needed a new parking lot. The way to get it, God said, would be for the congregation to go on a 90/10 plan. You tithe 90 percent of your income the next week and trust God—rely on faith—to make the remaining 10 percent stretch.

As far as I’m concerned, that’s usury. But I was a kid and didn’t have a lot of say. We ate burgers and canned corn and truthfully, I didn’t see a huge difference in our life. But that’s because the Preacher didn’t run it out. He could’ve. He could’ve said a month instead of a week. The people would’ve done it. To do otherwise would’ve been to lose their faith.

Churches are about conformity. You know, when you enter that place, everyone is on the same page: you’re all Catholics, you’re all Jews, you’re all fChristians. It is comforting to be among people whose spiritual life is the same as yours. When your church acts, it acts as one body and you’re part of it. And it feels good. And you feel right. You feel true. You feel, perhaps, powerful. To doubt the vision of your church, to disagree with its leaders, to stand up in service and say “hang on, that’s wrong” demands enormous courage because to doubt your church is to doubt yourself. To distrust your church, is to distrust yourself. To question your church is to question yourself.

So few people do. In most cases, this is no great threat. Why should a Buddhist question his temple? Why should a Jew question his Rabbi? Why should a Catholic question her priest? Usually, they would not need to. Usually these are our havens of comfort.

But when these places are usurped by individuals who seek to wrest the power of that conformity for their individual gain, then the church—temple, tabernacle or tea cup—loses its identity as a spiritual place and becomes, instead, an army.

And this is why I’m afraid of—and specifically adverse to—fChristians. By and large, from the tiny disorganized storefront churches to the ginormous town-sized campuses—the congregation is ready for war. They feel, they believe, they are in the right. They feel a holy obligation to seize power. If you aren’t saved then you are on their list. If you oppose them . . . then you oppose their God. And one day, if they cobble together enough positions in enough levels of government, that opposition will be a yellow star on your lapel.

In their mind, you are either with them, or against them. And if you are against them, if you actively oppose them, then you are anti-fChristian.

You are, I am, the anti-fChrist.

The Role of The Artist in Today's Anti-Art Culture

It'll be hard to make this argument because as I write it I have just finished watching that Leslie Nielsen film where he's a fugitive and . . . it's called Guilty Verdict or something like that. Wrongly Accused. That's it that's the one.

Genius. Seriously.

I mean, when he mutes the TV and the anchor starts yelling and then mouthing "something's wrong, I can't hear a thing!" and the AD runs onto the set and all of this is happening in the background and is funny because LN is smart enough to write his movies with several layers like that and weirdoes like myself try to spend a lot of time in level 2 and we are richly rewarded for it.

And hey, I'm fucking bored, ok? I mean, what the hell else is there to do? Protest? You got to be kidding. I have a wife & kids. I have a dog! I can't protest. Besides, in the current hell for breakfast administration-nation, who the fuck would listen? You'd never make the news.

No, we have to remember the words of Hunter S. When things get weird, the weird turn pro.

All through history there are times when the assholes gain purchase and in every case, they prove themselves to be what they are--irrepressible dickweeds with a lust for pussy and no scruples. First thing they do is start killing education (no child left behind is secretly the recruitment model for the GOP), then they start in on the poor, then they kill as many art programs as they can, then they start a war. Every time.

Only now it's worse because the fundamentalists on all fronts have a bug up their ass--fChristians, fMuslims, fNeocons and fLiberals are all out there freaking out and starting radio shows and getting their people elected (Ok, only the neocons are actually getting elected, but that's because the rest of 'em can barely get voted onto a Condo association right now . . .). Things are getting weird and the arch-asshole is getting tighter by the minute. Pretty soon we’ll be wearing burkhas and singing He Touched me (and not even the gay version). These people take themselves way too seriously. They all think god is talking directly to them and he's saying: kill the freaks! Kill the freaks!

There's only one way to take down the people who take themselves too seriously (the PWTTTS). You have to embarrass them. You have to use every tool you can find to make their ideals seem as rooty tooty as a soda jerk. You can't preach to the choir--you have to speak directly to the populi. You have to make their message not matter.

The artist must use image-visual metaphor--to communicate directly to the subconscious. The tools and methods of the graphic artist, the adman, and the logo designer are essential.

The writer must use poetry--semiotics--to create simple, direct slogans that perpetuate the idea of the assholes' messages being idiotic and useless.

The filmmaker must use story--characterization--to reveal the assholes in their unvarnished rapaciousness.

Art is a powerful tool. We need to use it now.

Kingdom of Heaven Review--Deadwood style.

I think Ridley Scott has lost his fucking mind. Kingdom of Motherfucking Heaven is so chock full of lame-assed clichés and cinematic tautologies that not even Liam Cocksucker Neeson or Jeremy Irons can fuciking pull it together into a cohesive goddamned story.

There are some fucking good spots. The cocksucking sets are needledick tremendous. Visually, it can be a riveting goddamned movie. The cocksucking scenes of ancient Jerusalem seem real. Knowing Scott, he used a map and theodolite to create the cocksucking thing in exact dimensions. And what Scott tries to achieve with that kind of obsession to detail is a kind of shit damn time travel. Its what period pieces are all about, Godammit, and Ridley fucking Scott has proven himself a brilliant goddamn imaginist--he's given us Pre-Christian fucking Rome, Pre-Columbus fucking America, Napoleonic fucking France. Even Blade-goddamn-runner relied on a period style mood engendered principally by the cocksucking sets (and the cocksucking all the cocksucking time the cocksucking ass-fucked artists had to play while an industry strike kept the cocksucking film out of shooting). He's a fuck ing mood maker first and a storytelling whore after that.

Kingdom of Motherfucking Heaven lacked storytelling muscle. That's a big failure here because the cocksucking story Scott extracted his script from is the cocksucking Crusades, the cocksucking essential backdrop to all political intrigue in the cocksucking middle ages and the cocksucking fundament for medieval battle stories. Zooming in on a smaller story within the cocksucking great arch of the cocksucking crusades was a good idea. But Scott can't help himself and he has to zoom back out again. The cocksucking first act, where Sir goddamned Godfrey enlists his estranged motherfucking son to defend Jerusalem is asshole tight, and goddamned interesting and we are almost ready to care about them when the cocksucking second act just zooms out into slomo battle scenes and man-flexing, and insults and dialogue and we don't know what the cocksucking hell is going on. I mean, you do. You do know what's going on. It's not like the cocksucking plot is hard to follow, it's just that for some reason you don't care what's going on. You're mind wanders into the cocksucking background to dig the cocksucking intricate set, the cocksucking long shots off the cocksucking balcony of old Jerusalem, the cocksucking metal work, the cocksucking friezes and -- Oh crap what happened? Did Tiberius say something?

I wish Scott had stayed in titty tight focus. I wish I had felt even once that dicknose Bailin was in danger of losing his nutwringing honor or his ass. I wish I had felt trapped or threatened at least once. The cocksucking story could've been told with greater pussy poignancy through a smaller cast, a tighter arc, and fewer slomo assfucking hack scenes.

Watching Orlando fucking Bloom as he was defending a shiteating helpless, walled city from marauding, bloodthirsty desert warriors was a real treat and when he pounces on that one giant elephant and slides down his trunk, I mean. . Oh, yeah. Watching Orlando Bloom defend a walled city of helpless citizens against 200,000 Saracens was visually satisfying. Anytime a medieval fucking siege is filmed halfway right, it's fucking mesmerizing. We love our sieges. And the cocksucking flaming oil and constant flurry off arrows, and the cocksucking ingenious measuring of Bailin are all chunky and delicious. But what's with the cocksucking comparison motherfucking mass burial goddamn scenes? Why were they there? Did they advance the cocksucking story at all? Even the cocksucking moment when Bailin rips the cocksucking Muslim flags out a Saracen’s dicking fist and hurls it off the cocksucking parapets arrived after so many different prickmongering prongs of the cocksucking story that it was weakened and fucking flat.

Epic movie making is necessary goddamn art--we need our fucking epics. But when all the cocksucking hacking and stabbing and slicing seems to be the cocksucking equivalent of gratuitous whoremongering car crashes in a buddy movie, something is m otherfucking wrong.

Scott needs to consider his success in goddamn Gladiator and The cocksucking dicksmoking Duelist (his first film). These stories were clamped asshole tight and focused on one pussy whorin’ man. Sure there's a lot of fucking blood in Gladiator but when people get cut in that film, it fucking hurts. We wince. We worry. When the cocksucking Gladiator returns home to find his family hung & burnt, we are stunned. By staying true to itself, by remaining tightly focused, Gladiator became a bigger story.

Kingdom of Motherfucking Heaven wanted to go there, but in its quest to tell the cocksucking perfect Crusade story, it got fucking lost.

Review--Kingdom of Heaven

I think Ridley Scott has lost his mind. Kingdom of Heaven is so chock full of lame-assed clichés and cinematic tautologies that not even Liam Neeson or Jeremy "Scar" Irons can pull it together into a cohesive story.

There are some good spots. The sets are tremendous. Visually, it can be a riveting movie. The scenes of ancient Jerusalem seem real. Knowing Scott, he used a map and theodolite to create the thing in exact dimensions. And what Scott tries to achieve with that kind of obsession to detail is a kind of time travel. Its what period pieces are all about and Ridley Scott has proven himself a brilliant imaginist--he's given us Pre-Christian Rome, Pre-Columbus America, Napoleonic France. Even Bladerunner relied on a period style mood engendered principally by the sets (and the all the time the artists had to play while an industry strike kept the film out of shooting). He's a mood maker first and a storyteller after that.

Kingdom of Heaven lacked storytelling muscle. That's a big failure here because the story Scott extracted his script from is the Crusades, the essential backdrop to all political intrigue in the middle ages and the fundament for medieval battle stories. Zooming in on a smaller story within the great arch of the crusades was a good idea. But Scott can't help himself and he has to zoom back out again. The first act, where Sir Godfrey enlists his estranged son to defend Jerusalem is tight, and interesting and we are almost ready to care about them when the second act just zooms out into slomo battle scenes and man-flexing, and insults and dialogue and we don't know what the hell is going on. I mean, you do. You do know what's going on. It's not like the plot is hard to follow, it's just that for some reason you don't care what's going on. You're mind wanders into the background to dig the intricate set, the long shots off the balcony of old Jerusalem, the metal work, the friezes and -- Oh crap what happened? Did Tiberius say something?

I wish Scott had stayed in tight focus. I wish I had felt even once that Bailin was in danger of losing his honor or his ass. I wish I had felt trapped or threatened at least once. The story could've been told with with greater poignancy through a smaller cast, a tighter arc, and fewer slomo hack scenes.

Watching Orlando Bloom as he was defending a helpless, walled city from marauding, bloodthirsty desert warriors was a real treat and when he pounces on that one giant elephant and slides down his trunk, I mean. . Oh, yeah. Watching Orlando Bloom defend a walled city of helpless citizens against 200,000 Saracens was visually satisfying. Anytime a medieval siege is filmed halfway right, it's mesmerizing. We love our sieges. And the flaming oil and constant flurry off arrows, and the ingenious measuring of Bailin are all chunky and delicious. But what's with the comparison mass burial scenes? Why were they there? Did they advance the story at all? Even the moment when Bailin rips the Muslim flags out a Saracen’s fist and hurls it off the parapets arrived after so many different prongs of the story that it was weakened and flat.

Epic movie making is necessary art--we need our epics. But when all the hacking and stabbing and slicing seems to be the equivalent of gratuitous car crashes in a buddy movie something is wrong.

Scott needs to consider his success in Gladiator and The Duelist (his first film). These stories were tight and focused on one man. Sure there's a lot of blood in Gladiator but when people get cut in that film, it hurts. We wince. We worry. When the Gladiator returns home to find his family hung & burnt, we are stunned. By staying true to itself, by remaining tightly focused, Gladiator became a bigger story.

Kingdom of Heaven wanted to go there, but in its quest to tell the perfect Crusade story, it got lost.

A Day in the Life of a Trophy Husband

I retired from the regular work force June 1 to enter the irregular work force. I am a guy-wife. A gwife. Although, I prefer the title trophy husband and I'm sticking to it.

Today I built a bed, played catch with the boy child, cleaned up like 8 pounds of dog shit, hired the babysitter, red Dante on the john (that wass a hell of a squat . . .), and sighed with joy as the maids not only cleaned house but stuck some of my peonies in a vase on the table.

Now I'm taking the boy child out to eat and buy some baseball gear (and games) before me and the wife go to the movies.

Retirement kicks!

Letter To The Editor

I am outraged—OUTRAGED--over the recent attempt to introduce the study of
evolution into high schools in Kansas.  Your article should be a beacon of
fear to the people "red states" who’s vigilance may have
waned.  Our recent victory at the polls is no assurance that the godless
won’t try to inveigle their ungodly agenda into every known municipal program
under our very noses. Evolutionary science and intelligent design are just
the tips of the iceberg.

I thought that the evolutionary argument had finally gone out of fashion,
had finally been administered out of the main stream. Lord was I wrong.  Not
only is it still en vogue to teach evolutionary theory, some schools are
trying to convince our children—our children, mind you—that evolutionary
theory and the creation of heaven and earth by the lord our god are
reconcilable. What kind of monkey business is this!? Liberal brainwashing is
what it is.

God made the world perfect. It has no reason to change. How could science
possibly expect us to believe the fantasy that the human being evolved from
apes over millions of years when it is as clear as day that we were made
from the dust of the earth on a Thursday at the dawn of creation.
Furthermore, how can science and it’s liberal advocates expect us to accept
that God and evolution are reconcilable. Either god made us the way we’re
supposed to be or he didn’t. I mean, I mean he did. God doesn’t make
mistakes. He made the earth the way its supposed to be and stuck man down in
the middle of it the way we’re supposed to be and all the animals were made
the way they’re supposed to be. Evolutionary-Deific reconciliation would
have us believe that God created the earth as some sort of, of, system, and
that he created animals and even man, in such a fashion that they may adapt
and grow to meet new challenges in their environment. They would have us
believe that our unlimited God included the idea of evolving adaptation as
part of his divine plan! That’s crazy! Hell, it’s ungodly!

And if you think evolutionary science and intelligent design are the only
tines in the liberal pitchfork, you are wrong, comrade. Have you looked at
your children’s math books lately? It doesn’t say a word about algebra in
the bible. Not one word! And yet here it is in all its vain, ungodly
sophistication: If Eric walked four blocks to visit Chad, and Chad walked
three blocks to meet Eric halfway, how far did Chad walk?” See what I mean?
Gay word problems.  And where in the public school system today lies the
fate of the cubit! What of the greatest long division problem ever solved,
when Jesus divided the loaves and fishes amongst the multitude (that’s
division AND multiplication) where’s that in the math classes I pay my taxes
for?  Mark my word: Any day now, its going to be nothing but dope and orgies
in our schools, Dope and orgies.