Thursday, September 29, 2005

Judging a Judge

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" If you're just joining us for the first time, have your polytheism passport ready! We have to beef up security around here.

You know, Americans never fail to act like idiots.

In other cultures, in other times and places, great respect was reserved for the oldest members of the group. Ancient people felt that the longer one lived, the more wisdom one accrued. One need only think of the wizened farmer in "The Seven Samurai" who said so little but knew all there was to know about running a village.

Here it's different. Grandpa goes off to the nursing home, where he's treated like a heavy sack of manure.

And today we welcome a fifty-year-old, Roman Catholic lawyer to the Supreme Court. This man carefully concealed his agenda as he sailed through hearings. He is a mystery to all of us ... and he'll be minding the farm, oh, perhaps for the next 30 YEARS.

Like King Henry VIII, Justice Roberts will be a force to be reckoned with for decades and decades and decades. Is he blind, like Justice is supposed to be? Or is he a "judge of faith?"

We here at "The Gods Are Bored" say with great trepidation:

Hey ho, hey ho,
Roberts gonna deep-six Roe.

Hey ho, ho Hey,
Civil Rights will go away.

Hey ho, sniff sniff,
Never get my legal spliff.


Wednesday, September 28, 2005

What Was in That Happy Meal?

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" On this site gods are not ignored!

I had to fire off a stridenly worded memo to Zeus today. Either he gets a leash on Mars, or Greco-Roman deities will be banned wholesale from this little forum.

"Zeus," I wrote, "There are many deity packages out there that are every bit as attractive as yours. And some of them do not contain gods of war. Mars must be forcibly restrained, preferably on the planet that bears his name."

If you don't know what I'm talking about, you missed yesterday's post.

Mars got in my space. What a jerk! I guess my faithful readers wonder how that happened.

I was working away in my new capacity as shift manager at McDonald's. Suddenly everything went black. I woke up feeling like I'd been run over by a Hummer. I was lying in a landfill, surrounded by half-eaten Happy Meals. A fine group of Thunderbirds was circling quite close in, perusing me as a possible side dish once they'd gulped the soggy fries.

How I survived a god's sucker punch without any fractures I do not know.

It wasn't until I got home and smelled napalm in my bedroom that I thought to look at my computer.

Gentle readers, please understand that the opinions expressed by certain gods and goddesses on this site are not necessarily those of the owner of the site!

As for the strong language, well that's just "ignernt," as they say where I'm from.

So now you must be wondering how I'm going to keep Mars off my site. I mean, how do you cope with these arrogant, steroid-fueled warmongers?

Simple! I bought every version of "Grand Theft Auto" and the game devices needed to play it. Then I set the whole thing up in a deserted double-wide in West Virginia and tuned the radio onto "The Rush Limbaugh Opiate Hour."

Bet I never hear from Mars again.

If I do, it's pepper spray and a new name for this blog: "The Non-Greco-Roman Gods Are Bored."


P.S. - Anyone know how to get the smell of napalm out of draperies?

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

MARS ATTACKS! And he's got a potty mouth

All right, you bunch of pukes. Forget this "Gods Are Bored" bullshit. Yeah, I'm bored. And I'm fuckin' pissed off too.

America, drop and give me fifty. You bunch of limp-wristed bug fuckers could rule the world! And what do you do instead?


You let a bunch of pussy-assed peace protesters march all through your capital, and when you have the sense to arrest them, you give them a candy bar and a little pat on the head.


Peace protesters? CRUCIFY THEM. One and all. Start with that sandy-haired gold star mom. UP ON THE CROSS SHE GOES!

Okay, once maybe some crucified pansy comes back from the dead. BUT WE CRUCIFIED THOUSANDS AND THOUSANDS OF MOTHERFUCKERS WHO JUST SUFFERED AND DIED! It's a tool that can be used to craft public opinion. Right?


Zeus damn it! If my praise and worship team had acquired your arsenal of weapons, we'd have MADE THE WHOLE WORLD ROME.

You've got nuclear weapons. USE THOSE FUCKERS! Wipe your enemies off the map, wait a few decades for the radioactivity to wear off, and then SET UP MORE AMERICA!

Aren't you PROUD of America, you pussies?


War is good. It wipes out the weak. Only the strong survive. And that's as it should be. What kind of species carries along the limp biscuits? CUT 'EM DOWN.

Bring back crucifixion. Nuke China and France. Treat every prisoner everywhere to slave labor and psychological torture. And be sure to harvest the best organs from the strongest prisoners, and use them to keep your leaders alive longer!

See what you can do now that we only dreamed about during Rome's glory years? GET TO WORK, YOU PUSSIES!


P.S. - Your overweight children make me puke. You couldn't find an ounce of fat on a single member of my praise and worship team.

Monday, September 26, 2005

Downsize This!

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" If you're just joining us for the first time, how safe is your job? Are you getting the same deal you did in 1990? Or are you like some bored Inca god who saw his or her whole praise and worship team wiped out by smallpox, imported deliberately on blankets by Christian conquistadors?

Yes, we at "The Gods Are Bored" are bitter. We've been downsized.

At just about the same moment that the fast food restaurants got the bright idea to Supersize everything, The Man (He Who Owns You and Me) got the idea to get more work out of less people.

First they called it being fired. Sounded too violent, like The Man was actually harming another person. Why, The Man is such a nice guy! He helps the economy by purchasing yachts made in Sri Lanka. He'd never burn anyone down! So fired got retired.

The Man turned to the term "layoffs." That word sort of suggests that the poor family people with health problems who only want to do their day's work for honest pay might actually get hired back at some point.

This term was most popular during the union years, when some companies actually did hire back 10 people for every 100 they laid off. Companies don't do that anymore. They send the jobs abroad.

"Layoffs" offered false hope. So The Man coined a new phrase:

Revised Head Counts.

Don't you love this, folks? They count heads. If there's too many, they revise.

Count heads. Revise. Count again. Revise again.

Voila! You have 10 people doing the work of 45. And those 10 are all under the age of 30, healthy and vigorous, willing and able to put in 60-hour weeks. When these workers get older or sick, REVISE THEM TOO.

It's too bad the Talking Heads can't be the Revised Heads. Then they'd have to sing: "Different than it ever was, different than it ever was..."

I'ts much the same with deities. Each culture used to have its own gods and goddesses, its own rituals to contact the divine. Along comes a Man named Yahweh, and suddenly there's only ONE WAY to do things.

Out go the bored gods. They don't even get severance pay. Forget health insurance or compensation for unused vacation days.

I started this lovely little site as a forum for the bored gods to air their grievances. If you know a bored god who's been let go, send 'em right here.

We offer no salary or benefits. Can't. We've been downsized. But this site is like a Twelve-Step Program for deities. At least they'll feel that they aren't alone in their difficulties.


Help me, Pierre da Bologna!

Sunday, September 25, 2005

Help Wanted (Non-Union)

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," where we look for design flaws in the Intelligent Universe!

I'm a goat judge, not a poet. So I apologize in advance for the following doggerel. I wrote it myself, so there's no one else who should be embarrassed.

The universe sprung from God's hand
He designed it, the sea and the land
So go tell your mommy
That last spring's tsunami
Was what the Designer guy planned.

Okay, here's how it stands. Tomorrow a court case starts in Dover, PA about a disclaimer science teachers are supposed to read to classes before teaching evolution.

The disclaimer, richly paraphrased, is something like this:

"If you take a test on evolution and get an 'A' you'll pass this class. But of course you'll go to hell when you die. So choose wisely."

Pardon me for saying this, but evolution is not a theory. It is a proven scientific fact. Long before these fancy genome projects came along, we students at Billy Bob Agricultural University (BBAU) had to do fruit fly experiments that clearly show how traits from one generation are translated to the next. (You use fruit flies for this because their kids grow up so fast. I wish I was a fruit fly sometimes.)

Now we have fancy-pants mitochondrial (sp?) DNA and genome profiles that clearly show how closely related we are to chimps, and how not-so-distantly related we are to pandas.

Could all of this have been Intelligently Designed by some unnamed Intelligent Designer? Sure! But what a putz that Designer was! Didn't the Designer have any sense where to draw the line? Why not an Intelligently Designed universe where no living thing has to eat another living thing? Was that past the abilities of the Intelligent Designer?

I'm all for firing this planet's Intelligent Designer and reviewing resumes for a new one. Who's with me on this?


(No Unionized Workers Need Apply)

Must be able to design a universe that runs flawlessly and eternally. Must create species that live in harmony and have no need to eat, defecate, or alter their environments. Must provide hard scientific evidence of the mechanism of Intelligent Design, rather than relying on undermining competing, provable scientific facts. Must provide hard scientific proof of a spiritual afterlife.


Bachelor's or advanced degree in Universe Design with proven track record of stable planet development. References from other Intelligent Designers a must.


Planet Earth
Milky Way Galaxy
attn: Lady driving with a cell phone at her ear and a lit cigarette in her other hand.


I wonder if Pierre da Bologna would be proud of me.

Saturday, September 24, 2005

Arctic Week Parting Shot

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" We thank you for joining us on "Save the Arctic Week." Don't forget to contact your elected representatives and tell them you'll vote their sorry keisters out of office if they allow Big Oil to bulldoze Little White Fox.

Let's hear you loud, now: "No drilling for oil in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge!"

Don't bother calling the White House. Dubya would run the drill bit himself, if he could figure out how it worked.

Think there's no connection between the Frozen North and Category 4 Atlantic hurricanes? Think again. It's all one rock. We have to manage it better.


Dedicated to memory of Pierre da Bologna

Friday, September 23, 2005

Back in Business

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Do you live in a grim industrial landscape? No? You live on 23 acres of mixed-use woodland and farm fields? Choose your neighbors wisely, because one day that grim industrial landscape is gonna creep up on you like a bad case of shingles.

Let's leave the frozen Arctic alone, eh mates? Don't you think it would be a loss to this planet if awesome gods like Sedna and Negafook packed up their godsleds and went on a celestial Ididerot that ended on some other, more intelligently designed globe?

This next is true. Uncle Foggy said this: "Hey, the world is a place where, if you can't make it as a species, you just go extinct. All these animals that are going extinct, they're meant to go extinct."

Well, you have to forgive him. He's going to be 80 in a few weeks, he's in poor health, and he's a hillbilly. He had to have heard that on the Rush Limbaugh Opiate Hour, it's the only radio station he gets clearly.

The funny thing is, we never think of humans as a species that could go extinct. But take it from the bored gods, if some big meteor could deep-six T. Rex and his buddies, we'll be toast someday too.

On a lighter note, Anne started a new job today: substitute teacher at the Billy Bob Vocational-Agricultural High School. Certified in animal husbandry and academics, no less! Today she did Physical Education and geometry, while watching an ag teacher outside do everything possible to tick off a hot goat.

On behalf of the Four Gentry of Sidhe, Anne thanks you for stopping by. Save the Arctic! It might be collectible in the future.


Site dedicated to the memory of Pierre da Bologna, founder of the Illuminati.

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

A God among Us on Equinox

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" If you're a first-timer, howdy howdy! We judge gods and goats with the same criteria, although it's rare to find a goat that will stand still and listen to you pray.

This is Save the Arctic Week at "The Gods Are Bored."

Even the far-Right Christians don't want to see oil drilling in the Arctic Wildlife Refuge. So who supports this proposition?

The Man, that's who. Have you gone out to meet him every day for 22 years, only to be let go in a revised head count? Don't you hope he gets his some day? Better hope it happens soon, because with medical science going the way it's going, The Man's gonna become immortal here on earth - and screw your grandchildren out of their jobs right when they need major medical.

Okay. Enough heavy stuff. I saw a god on earth today.

This is true. I saw a woman driving a car with a lit cigarette (left hand) and a cell phone up to her ear (right hand).

Now that takes some stellar cerebral and motor coordination. Absolutely titanic.

Maybe we need someone like that to design an intelligent universe.


Tuesday, September 20, 2005

Warmer...Warmer...Really Warm...Hotter...HOT!

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," your first stop for theological diversity! We are an equal opportunity worship site, admitting all gods. We take the big popular ones, sort of the Donald Trumps of the celestial sphere, and the lesser known ones as well, sort of the laid-off garment workers of the celestial sphere. Of course, being pro-union ourselves, we find it hard not to discriminate. But hey. We do our best.

This just in: Weather report from Poseidon (a.k.a. Neptune, a.k.a. Triton):
Two more Atlantic hurricanes are churning simultaneously. The one known as Rita is just sucking up super-warmed water as fast as she can and will go where she pleases. Will we reach Hurrican Zeus this season? It is quite possible.

Another quick bulletin: Please abstain from all Pepsi products until the current labor dispute is settled. If you've never tried Coke, this is the time. The author of this commentary strongly recommends against trying Tab. One can and you'll be scouring the countryside for the stuff. And that will make you just like Anne - a Tab Hunter! Oh, those damned pink cans! Addiction in aluminum!


We return to our dialogue with the awesome gods of the Arctic, Sedna and Negafook. Sedna is the goddess of the Inuit peoples, and Negafook is the god of snow. And if you don't believe in a god of snow, you've never been out in a blizzard without mittens.

It was Baltimore, 1983, when Anne first prayed to the god of snow. The prayer went something like this: "OH GOD, THIS BLIZZARD IS FREEZING ME ALIVE! HELP ME GET THESE GROCERIES HOME!"

Negafook (to Anne): You didn't know my name then. Of course, if you'd screamed it out loud that day, you'd have had plenty of company. There are times when a name like "Negafook" is akin to being a football player named "Boomer" or "Boobie" or "Juice." You just hear a couple hundred thousand people scream, "F*&%&#$!" and you figure they're calling on you.

Anne: Negafook, do you and Sedna plan to attend the "Save the Arctic" events in Washington, DC this week?

Negafook: We wouldn't set foot in Washington, DC if it would guarantee another Ice Age.

Sedna: Completely godless place, Washington, DC.

Anne: Godless? But you'd be hard-pressed to find a single elected official who would say they didn't believe in God.

Sedna: And you'd be harder pressed to find one that actually walks the walk.

Anne: You're preaching to the choir. I've been to Washington, DC, and the first thing I think they ought to do there is help all the poor people. I can't think of another city where the difference between the "haves" and the "have-nots" is more stark. But we're forgetting our topic. What can we do to save the Arctic?

Negafook: The Antarctic isn't looking too good either.

Sedna: All cold places are getting warmer.

Mr. Applegate (offstage): Yeah, I used to be up to my keister in ice. Now it's down around my knees!

Anne: Who let you in? Beat it! You scared my husband!

Applegate: I didn't scare your husband. Some nasty nun did that job decades ago.


Negafook: Anne, we appreciate your concern. But the problem isn't just the drilling for oil. It's the global warming and the population pressures.

Sedna: Yes, in the short run the human race is making a mockery of the globe. But if you view things in eons and epochs, the ice will return.

Negafook: You're right, my dear. And we can either wait that out and hope for a better intelligent species next time, or we can pack up and find a new planet.

Sedna: The one named after me might be ready for life in a couple billion years, when the sun goes into Supernova.

Negafook: That's encouraging.

Sedna: Ah, but our lovely people. And the polar bears. The tundra swans. The snowshoe hares. The selkies. How I'll miss them all!

Negafook: I'll even miss the lemmings. Why they dive off cliffs and commit mass suicide while the human race doesn't, I'll never know.

Anne: Our time is up for today. Sorry for the interruptions.

Sedna: Thank you for having us, but it's so warm where you live. I'm not sure how much longer we can stay. My necklace is melting.

Anne: Seriously, is there anything we can do to save you and your praise and worship team?

Negafook: Stop burning so much fossil fuel. And stop sending those clueless Christian missionaries! They make our kids want "My Scene" dolls.

Till tomorrow,


This site is reverently dedicated to Pierre da Bologna.

Monday, September 19, 2005

Who Turned Up the Heat?

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," your first and last stop for practical polytheism! Remember, if you can't be with the god you love, honey, love the god you're with!

This is "Save the Arctic Week" at "The Gods Are Bored!"

Do you love polar bears? I don't mean those poor bored ones at the zoo, swimming in their too-small pool just waiting for a human to jump in and join them so they have something to pull apart. I mean the ones living on ice floes.

Ice floes that are melting.

The godless, liberal, homo-loving, kitten-killing newspaper says that in 100 years there won't be anywhere for polar bears to live. These suckers depend on those frozen barges to get around. And the barges are starting to look like ice sculptures the day after the big champagne brunch.

But of course, global warming is a myth. Right? Right? Right? Right?

This week our guests on "The Gods Are Bored" are two awesome and marvelous gods from the Arctic: Sedna and Negafook.

Stop snickering about that last name! I know it sounds like a Scottish punk band, but have some respect. You disrespect the Inuit god of snow, you're likely to find your SUV in a snowdrift during a blizzard. I only have this on the word of someone it's happened to, but those behemouths can't get out of snowdrifts any better than my little economy Ford.

So with awe, reverence, and humility, we welcome Sedna and Negafook! All hail the bored gods!

Sedna: Thank you.

Negafook: I'm so doggone hot. Turn the heat down, will you?

Anne: If only I could. I love snow.

Negafook: My praise and worship team has twelve different names for snow.

Sedna: Yes, we don't like to brag, but our praise and worship team (those few that are left) have always shown a great deal of initiative and imaginative use of their natural surroundings.

Anne: Well, you know that we here at "The Gods Are Bored" stridently oppose drilling in the Arctic Wildlife Refuge. We're on record with our elected officials to do everything they can to keep it from happening. Sedna, Negafook, this is your opportunity to rain curses on anyone that defiles the home of your praise and worship team.

Sedna: We don't work that way. We're not vindictive. Only sad.

Negafook: Yeah. Poor Sedna. When they name a planet after you, you know you've got no chance of ever regaining the day job.

Sedna: They did name a planet after me. Now they say it's not a planet. Just a cold round rock orbiting the sun, somewhere west of Pluto.

Negafook: Sounds like a planet to me.

Anne: Me too.

Sedna: Whatever it is, you can rest assured it's not being assailed by greenhouse gases and by greedy, short-sighted oil barons.

Negafook: Hey, Sedna, I just thought of a curse that we can live with, because it won't really come from us.

Sedna: Let's hear it, friend of my heart.

Negafook: If the so-called "moderns" rape the Arctic Wildlife Refuge in even a small degree, their own descendants will revile them for having misplaced priorities.

Sedna: Nothing like being detested by your great-great-grandchildren.

Anne: Agreed. Time to wrap up for today, but we'll let you two awesome gods have the floor as long as you like.

Sedna: Thank you. Can I have a glass of ice water, please? And a fan?


This site dedicated to the memory of Pierre da Bologna, freedom fighter

Thursday, September 15, 2005

Morpheus/Applegate Tag Team

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," where every day is a holy day! If you've never dropped in before, we hold this truth to be self-evident: that all gods are created equal and none should try to corner the market on praise and worship.

I'm your host, Anne Johnson. And that's my real name. Don't you love it? Come on, admit it. You know an Anne Johnson or two. One of them could be me!

It was a tough night in the old homestead last night. My dear husband, the wrecking ball operator, had a bout of illness earlier in the week. He was given IV Dilaudid. (Look! Rush Limbaugh's palms just started sweating!) Anyway, in the middle of the night last night, Morpheus took it on the lam, and my dear husband had a nightmare in which "Mr. Applegate" was prominently featured.

Even lapsed Catholics have problems with Applegate. You would too if you'd attended parochial school for 12 years.

So I've banished Mr. Applegate and the god Morpheus (temporarily), having high suspicions that they tag-teamed this one. At any rate, both the husband and I agree that we did the right thing avoiding all recreational use of narcotic opiate painkillers. We're of an age where that stuff was around. Wisely, we both passed.

Unlike certain popular radio hosts, who imbibed with extreme prejudice.

For those of you who have been following my unemployment woes, I decided not to telemarket for the pesticide company. It is against my religion to kill insects. They have a right to life.

Now I'm thinking bigger. I wonder if it's too late to become best friends with someone who is best friends with a presidential candidate. Then that candidate gets elected, suddenly I'm the head of FEMA.

I'll be taking these weighty ideas with me this weekend, as I go to worship the Thunderbirds. If you want a god that delivers, I can't recommend Thunderbirds enough. They are awesome.

I've never had a toothache in my life. Thunderbirds at work!

Talk to you on Monday.



Tuesday, September 13, 2005

Do I or Don't I? -- Applegate

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Do you worship a busy god, one that gets 250 million prayers an hour? Do you realize there are really nice gods just sitting around out there wishing for a single prayer? Just one.

Of course you didn't hear that from me. It's highly against my corporation's policy to endorse polytheism. I'd be sacked in an instant if the boss knew. That's why I hide in Anne's blog.

Update on Anne: She's at her husband's side, he's going to be fine. No surgery necessary. He is wrapped in the loving embrace of the god Morpheus (having had no prior history of substance abuse or opiate addiction). He should be home today. That good labor union health policy will take care of the bill.

Me? Don't you know me by now? I'm the guy who gets blamed when lunatics go wild and beat up their wives. A handy scapegoat. I'm also America, if you believe Osama Bin Laden.

Most people call me Satan. You can call me Mr. Applegate. I like that one.

Today's big question: Do I, in the stealth of the night, inhabit pretty, innocent young girls and turn them into monsters who talk backwards and do nasty things with crucifixes?

In short, what's behind all this demonic possession stuff?

Well, in the Middle Ages, when they didn't know anything about Tourette's Syndrome or schizophrenia, they just ... this is getting old ... blamed me. But there are some cases (modern to boot) that defy easy explanation.

And I can't talk about it. It's an inter-office confidentiality thing. If you work in a corporation you'll understand. Some things are only discussed in soundproof conference rooms and are not disseminated even though the entire chain of command.

I will say this in my defense, however. There's ample evidence in the Bible that I am a lesser angel. In short, I take orders. The first order was to go head the satellite office, and my, it does keep me hopping!

So if you want to believe that some sweet little girls get possessed by moi, you must also believe that it's not done by my free will. I signed a contract, and it's a job, and I do what I'm told.

Just so we're clear on that.

Every now and then these movies come out about satanic possession, further damaging my reputation in the celestial sphere, and I frankly resent it. I don't know what bothers me more - some pedophile priest using "satanic possession" as an excuse to fondle a teenager, or some chimp-IQ cretin and his drunken buddies performing a "black mass" in a graveyard in my honor.

All of it can make finding a new job mighty tough for a freelance, roving deity.

My half hour of library time is concluded. I'm glad. The little old lady next to me keeps asking the librarian, "Who let the bunny in?" I guess I do look like a bunny, if you've never seen a photograph of a Northern quoll.

Only my Aussie readers will know what Northern quolls are.

YOURS FROM DOWN UNDER (pardon the double entendre)

Friday, September 09, 2005

Back on the Active Roster

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Have a bracing cup of tea and join us on the merry-go-round of Intelligent Design!

Anne's many fans will be pleased to hear that she's interviewing for a job today. Perhaps you'll remember that her former employer, Amalgamated Goat, Inc. decided to send her job overseas, thanks to web cams and email.

Today Anne interviews for a telemarketing position with a major manufacturer of pesticides, herbicides, synthetic fertilizers, and genetically engineered plants. Don't worry about the name of the company. Some night at dinnertime, Anne will call you! Then you can place your order.

Who am I, then? Gosh, I have so many names I can change them like underwear.

Satan, Beelzebub, Azrael, Mephistopheles, Lucifer, The Devil, Ol' Mr. Scratch. (That last one doesn't get much use anymore.) For the purposes of this little chat, I like to be called "Mr. Applegate." It's more user-friendly.

If you've read up on me, either I'm a Great Beast (Bible), stuck up to my keister in ice (Dante), or one fascinating, poetic fellow (Milton).

I was banned from this site for awhile, and I was so depressed. To cheer myself up, I went to one of those Monster Fests where multi-pierced geeks in Charles Manson t-shirts stand in line for 2 hours to get an autograph from the guy who played Freddie Kruger.

Talk about throwing gasoline on a fire! Oops, pardon the double entendre.

Do you know what it does to my reputation in the Intergalactic Federation of Gods and Goddesses (IFG&G) to have ignorant hoodlums like that worshipping me? I'll never get another god gig. I'll be lucky to get a position as a Titan somewhere.

I'm sunk, I tell ya. Sunk. Oops, another really bad double entendre, given the recent headlines.

Through all of this, I have one little shred of satisfaction. It ain't much, but it's better than nothing.

You get your heinous murderers, your Mansons and your BTKs, and they always blame me. Like I'm the kind of god that encourages a species to kill its own kind. Yet another blow to the ol' reputation, monsters like BTK pinning their sins on me.

But there's the satisfaction too. Because when the really big storms come along, the giant earthquakes, the hurricanes, the murder-of-millions tsunamis, what do people call them?

Acts of God.

Whew! I don't get blamed for the big ones!

And that's as it should be. I didn't design this planet. I came aboard on contract after the fact, and I'm counting the millennia until I can pack my bags with honor and go to some other galaxy where they won't do a background check.

Next time I'm picking my own name for sure. I'm partial to Obi-Wan Kenobi. What do you think?

See you soon,


Thursday, September 08, 2005

When All Men Were Arnold

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Does your god disapprove of gay people? Maybe it's time for a switch! There are plenty of bored gods just sitting around like the Maytag repairman, waiting for a prayer and worship team.

This just in: California governor Arnold Schwarzenegger (worse to spell than Mephistopheles) will veto a gay marriage bill. Anyone surprised? Such a fabulous specimen as Arnold surely wouldn't want any girly men in his state.

Girly girls are another matter.

It's beasts like Arnold who put the goddess cults to flight back at the end of the Ice Age.

You can see the mindset: Build up the muscles first, then the war chest, get those cultivating farmers at your back, and go conquer someone's country. Be sure to rape mercilessly at every opportunity, since that's a good way to spread your manly genes. And of course keep that big harem at home, so you'll have lots of manly sons.

It gets better. They're gonna try to change the U.S. Constitution so this guy can be president.

Hey, why monkey with the Constitution? Hulk Hogan was born in America. Let's give him the job!


Tuesday, September 06, 2005

Terrapin, Run!

Terrapin Run Development is a fiasco of the first order.

Never mind that. The Allegany County Zoning Board approved it anyway.

Two pristine seasonal streams in Western Maryland will become dumping sites for a sewage treatment plant that has not been built.

The nearest hospital is 31 miles away. Ditto the nearest physician.

Police, fire, and medical emergency response times to that area are predictably slow. It's the mountains, slicker.

The tract of land lies 110 miles west of Washington, DC and 120 miles west of Baltimore. The closest cities with full shopping amenities are Hagerstown, 50 miles away, and Frederick, 75 miles away.

The development would sit on a 2-lane country road. That's 4,000 housing units on a 2-lane country road.

Did I mention that slow police response time? Oh good.

What can my faithful, goddess-centered readers do about Terrapin Run? Nothing. This is the George Bush era, slash and burn.

But let us not forget. It's not nice to fool Mother Nature.


Friday, September 02, 2005

Pissed Off Hillbilly

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" My name is Chaos, goddess of ... ummm ... chaos. I'll be your host today.

Anne is so furious she can't type. And my attention span is short, so here's her problem in a nutshell:

One of her "Christian" friends complained that the hurricane survivors in New Orleans were whiners "looking for the government to take care of them." The "Christian" friend added: "I guess every society has people looking for handouts."

Anne channeled me, and the bail hearing is set for two weeks from today.

Ever seen a pissed off hillbilly? Not pretty.

Especially since Anne grew up in a house that didn't have running water, so she knows how impolite people get when they can't get enough fresh water to keep their bodily fluids rocking on.

Anyway, I'm sorry about the hurricane. I black out sometimes, and all hell breaks loose. The ancient Greeks knew this. You modern dummies think God's gonna take care of you, and your house, and your pets, and your running water.

Gosh, I miss those Greeks.


Thursday, September 01, 2005

Who Designed This Crazy Rock?

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," where our hearts are heavy with news from the Deep South. It's not even something we can joke about, and we joke about everything.

I wonder what the Intelligent Design scientists make of this strange tendency of our planet to sucker punch us humans regularly. Seems to me if I was designing a planet for intelligent life, I'd tend to the weather and the plate tectonics first. And look at that. I'm a goat judge, not an Intelligent Designer!

Somewhere in the switch between Father Gods and Mother Goddesses, we humans lost our sense that the world is random and each breath we take is a gift. Instead we feel like we can control everything. That sense of control is particularly strong in America ... err ... Poseidon wants me to call this nation Visigothia.

To recap quickly, I personally feel that tsunamis, hurricanes, and ingrown toenails prove beyond reasonable doubt one of two things:

1. That our Intelligent Designer wasn't.
2. That Intelligent Design isn't.