Exclusive Interview with Sarah Palin!

Welcome to "The Gods Are Boards!" Today you are in luck ... it's me, Puck! Anyone who's new here, don't be wary. I'm just your typical badass faerie!

Yesterday I went over to Fox News and pretended to be an intern from Bryan College. I asked if I could interview Sarah "whiter shade of" Palin. I'm so blessed! They said yes! And here she is now. More moose than cow.

Puck: Welcome, future vice prescient! And don't worry about a single little thing. I'll ask real easy questions, okay?

Palin: Look, Puck. I can answer hard questions, all right? Don't lob softballs at me. I'm ready to be president of the United States, Puck.

Puck: Of coarse you are. So. Here's the first question. What happened to Humpty Dumpty when he sat on a wall?

Palin: He could see Russia.

Puck: What did Little Bo Peep lose?

Palin: Her virginity. But only after marriage, Puck.

Puck: Is it true that you opposed the Bridge to Nowhere because trolls don't like to live under bridges in Alaska because of the climate?

Palin: How did you know that, Puck?

Puck: Now, my deer. I'm posting the questions here! Finish the rhyme: "There was an old woman who lived in a shoe. She had so many children..."

Palin: "She had to hire three nannies."

Puck: What does a stitch in time save?

Palin: A snitch?

Puck (to himself) This lady seems like a fine national leader to me! (To Palin) What's black and white and red all over?

Palin: Puck, I know that one! Wait ... wait ... it's coming to me ... emmmmm. Oh golly. I'll have to get back to you on that, Puck.

Puck: Okay. Spell "potato."

Palin: That's not fair, Puck! I need a chalkboard!

Puck: Final question. What is the first thing you will do when you're sworn in as president? Because, let's face it, your running mate is so long in the tooth he might as well be a beached walrus.

Palin: Actually, Puck, I don't have any plans for governance. I'm going to turn it all over to God Almighty, and maybe a few Assembly of God preachers, and just let Armageddon take its course.

Puck: And where exactly do you see faeries standing when Armageddon gets underway?

Palin: Knee-deep in a lake of fire in hell, Puck.

Puck: Faeries in hell? (Methinks this doth smell.) Ms. Palin, your brain doesn't work very well.

Palin: Are you callin' me a moron? Where's my hunting rifle?

Puck: Here's the show-stopper. You left it in the chopper.

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"Being able to pun, sing, or riddle will usually get you through fairy checkpoints. To deal with real fairies is to enter a realm of riddles and puzzle settings where what they punish is stupidity and what they love is intellectual cleverness."

--Terence McKenna

Deliver Us from ????: Assembly of God, Part 4

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," your celestial variety store! Free shipping on multiple deity orders -- buy now and save!

I've been taking a stroll down memory lane to the time in the mid- to late-1960s when I attended an Assembly of God church not far from Antietam Battlefield. I've bothered to do this because our future vice-president, Sarah Palin, belongs to that denomination and, one assumes, accepts its tenets and practices.

We have to assume a lot about her, don't we? Cuz she is as mum as Dick Cheney, if slightly better looking.

Back to the Assembly of God:

I think I attended for about 18 months, and for most of that time I was insulated in a Children's Church during the hours of adult church. However, I graduated from the kiddie ranks and moved to the main show, probably at about the time I started fourth grade.

If you read the post below, you know that I saw a group of girls older than myself savagely rebuked from the pulpit for wearing short skirts. I don't recall seeing any other group torn apart like this. But teenage girls are a vulnerable lot, for the most part. Easy pickins for humiliation.

I finally stood up to my domineering mother and refused to attend the Assembly of God anymore. The tipping point, for me, was an evening revival sermon. It so frightened me that I wouldn't have gone into that church again unless I was being chased by rabid hounds.

The pastor worked himself into a lather, but he usually did. What terrified me was the behavior of the congregants. Grown men and women literally rolled in the aisles of the sanctuary. Others sprang from their seats and spoke in tongues. A great many adults wept, staggered to the altar, threw themselves at God's mercy.

If you are ten years old and watching this, it leaves an indelible impression. And as a kid you can go two ways on it. Either you accept it as the way things are supposed to be, or you recoil from it as too frightening to handle.

I chose the latter. Put the little girl foot down and refused any more holy rolling. And I haven't set foot inside an Assembly of God since then. So I don't know for sure that they still do such stuff.

But ... here comes the controversy ... I do know this. What those adults were experiencing was valid religious ecstasy. That kind of ecstatic response is not unique to fundamentalist Christianity. It is widespread and takes many forms. Pagans sometimes have their own ways of expressing it.

Here's my opinion, and you sure don't have to agree.

I don't think children under the age of fourteen should witness adults engaging in religiously-motivated ecstatic experiences. Remember when you were a little kid, how large and tall all the adults seemed? How full of authority? When those authority figures throw aside their culturally-sanctioned daily behavior, it's way scary to a kid.

Around this time last year, my daughter The Spare and I attended a Druid get-together in New Jersey's Pine Barrens. The Spare had a wonderful time there. She got to make crafts out of clay. She met a boy her age, and they found plenty to giggle about. She loved the food. But when time came for the Ritual, she didn't want to participate. And I didn't push it.

I was glad I didn't. Because this particular Druid Grove practices a more ecstatic form of Druidism than my regular Grove -- and certain things were said and done during that Ritual that I considered too mature for a middle-schooler. I'm not talking about dancing, or nudity, or speaking in tongues ... There was none of that. But I believe that the Ritual would have spooked The Spare away from Druidism.

If you have a young child, and you engage in ecstatic religious events, Sister Annie suggests you leave the child at home, or at least back at the camp site. Too much too soon made me sour on the Christian faith. I'm fairly certain that I'd have had a similar reaction to a wild drum circle when I was that age.

No matter what religion you follow, keep it low-key in front of the kids. Otherwise they may grow up taking your genuine divine inspiration to unhealthy levels, or they'll just shrug off the religion altogether.

If you disagree with me, please feel free to leave a comment. Except for you, Billy. We all know you think religion is for monkeys. Don't risk carpal tunnel syndrome by typing it out again.

Deliver Us from Christianity: Assembly of God Part 3

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored" as we move into the dark part of the year! A blessed equinox to all, and may you reap a bountiful harvest! Or at least hold onto your job and your house.

I've been sermonizing about the Assembly of God, a Pentacostal denomination that's been out on the charismatic fringe of Christianity for many decades. Our future vice president, Sarah Palin, is a member of this denomination. Which tells me she'll conduct her foreign policy with the goal of getting those Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse out of the paddock and onto the home stretch.

I attended an Assembly of God for two years in my formative youth. And I'm a better person for it ... but not for the reasons the church might endorse.

Most of my legions and legions of readers are way too young to remember the late 1960s. It was an interesting time to be young. The sand was always shifting every which way.

Of course clothing fashions changed in the late 1960s, just like everything else. Suddenly we had this new style called the "miniskirt." The name says it all.

My best friend's older sister was in the youth choir at the Assembly of God. One week her choir sang a peppy Christian song. They didn't have choir robes like Methodists. They just sang in whatever clothes they wore to church.

The following Sunday the pastor stood up to preach. But instead of beginning his usual fiery sermon, he just took his fist and slammed it onto the lectern as hard as he could.

These are his very words:

"This church is full of harlots and Jezebels!"

I was not yet ten years old. I didn't know what a harlot was, but somewhere in my Assembly of God education, I'd heard of Jezebel. Not good and female. I knew that much.

According to the pastor, the girls in the youth choir who had sung so sweetly the week before had raised lustful thoughts among certain members of the congregation ... because the girls' skirts were too short.

The pastor proceeded to name the offending girls one by one, and told them to stand when he said their names. He ticked off a half dozen girl-names, and finally he said my friend's sister's name, and she had to stand too. Once they were all standing, he ripped them each a third eyeball, promising them tough lives here on earth and a never-ending scorch-fest in the hereafter. He told them that if they ever came to church again with skirts above their knees, they would not be allowed inside the door.

My memory of this event does not extend to how my friend's sister was scolded by her parents after the fact. My guess is that the parents didn't want to fuss in front of me.

But to this day that preacher's venom remains fresh in my mind. How much more difficult would it have been to take each young woman aside and discreetly demand a dress code? Any of the church ladies would have been very willing to do this chore, trust me.

As an adult looking back on this incident, what strikes me the most is the fact that a bunch of teenagers were singing about God, and some of the men who were supposed to be listening were instead daydreaming about shagging the girls. And one, probably no more than one, of these men decided to confess his guilty longings. Giving the pastor a golden opportunity to put some vulnerable teenaged girls in their place.

Even as young as I was on that day, I remember thinking that it was the pastor who was out of line, not the teens in miniskirts. You don't have to be grown up to recognize injustice.

But this was not the incident that finally caused me to stand up to my domineering mother and renounce the Assembly of God.

Tomorrow I'll tell you about the nail in the coffin. You may find my conclusions controversial.

Deliver Us from Christianity: Assembly of God, Part 2

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," strenuously promoting the big, broad, flexible outlook when it comes to choosing a religion! I'm your host, Anne Johnson, the gal blessed with a unique name.

Yesterday I began to recount my experiences at the Assembly of God where I grew up. (Why? Because Sarah Palin belongs to that denomination, and I think you oughta know about it.)

Today we'll continue the sermon.

I guess I was between second and third grade the summer I attended Bible School at the Assembly of God. I went to the B.S. because my best friend's family was a member of the church, and she wanted me to go.

When Bible School ended, I thought I'd seen the last of the Freak Out for Jesus crowd. I was wrong.

One afternoon a knock came upon my family's door. I opened the door, and much to my surprise, there stood the two Bible School teachers from the Assembly of God, wearing their benign church lady faces and toting well-thumbed Bibles.

My mom was in the depressive phase of her bipolar disorder at that time, so she was lying on the couch, more or less detached from the here and now. But she sort of perked up when I introduced her to the Bible School ladies. And of course they showered Mom with kindness and solicitude. (Probably tried to smell Mom's breath for telltale signs of alcohol, which there weren't. Shock treatments yes, booze no.)

The reason for this visit from the nice ladies at the Assembly of God was that they wanted to follow up with me and be sure I was on the right track with my salvation.

Mom told the ladies that we went to the Methodist church.

The ladies hemmed and hawed. Methodism was fine, just fine, but ... well ... in these times (the mid-1960s) ... could a Methodist church provide the solid rock foundation of a Bible-centered congregation like the Assembly of God?

Cutting to the chase, the ladies said they would like to see me join the Assembly of God. They had already spoken to my best friend's family about bringing me every Sunday.

The ladies asked my mom to pray with them about it.

I watched in fascination as these two Assembly of God ladies bent over my mother and launched into a fervent prayer. Mom attended church every Sunday of her life, but only for the social outlet. And when she was in a manic episode, she would flirt with the men. Prayer was not part of her repertoire, no matter what phase of bipolar she happened to be in at the time.

But this prayer worked. Without asking my view on the matter, Mom said the Assembly of God would indeed be a more substantive immersion into Christian morality than our mamby-pamby Methodist church, at a time when there were so many bad influences cropping up everywhere.

The deal was sealed with another prayer.

The ladies hugged me, and off they went. Mom fell back into her daze. And I was just a kid. I figured one church was about like another, from Sunday to Sunday.

I was wrong.

Deliver Us from Christianity: The Assemblies of God

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," making a way in this world today for better gods and hosts of fae! Speaking of hosts, I'm Anne Johnson. Stuck inside recovering from surgery in the best of all possible weathers.

(Update from yesterday: Decibel the Parrot was brought indoors last night by the fine young neighbor fellow across the street and his pals from the basketball team. Remarkably, no fingers were bitten during the transfer.)

Some of you might have heard of the Republican vice-presidential nominee, a woman named Sarah Palin. But since you might not be as familiar with her church denomination (Assembly of God) as you are with her, let me catch you up.

I, Anne Johnson, actually attended an Assembly of God church for two years in my youth. I will now testify to my experience there and extrapolate from it, in that unsubstantiated way that becometh every blogger!

Right now I'm reading a book called The Age of American Unreason, by Susan Jacoby (Pantheon Books, 2008). One of Ms. Jacoby's arguments is that the political clout of the Christian Right had its beginnings in the 1960s, as fundamentalist Christian Americans reacted to the counterculture by drawing ranks and forging connections with like-minded individuals, even unto conservative Roman Catholics. Because the media focused on the counterculture in the 1960s, this upsurge in fundamentalist Church activity occurred off the radar, only to explode upon the scene with the advent of the first Great Republican Beast, Ronald Reagan.

Yep. Take it to the bank. (Well, then again, you might wanna bury it in your backyard or buy gold. Just saying.)

I think I'll spread this sermon over several days, so here's Part One.

When I was seven years old, smack in the midst of the 1960s, my best friend invited me to go with her to Bible School at her church. My mother was always looking for ways to get rid of me, so off I went with my pal.

The church was an Assembly of God. Bible School was held in the evening. It began the same way every evening. We formed a line and marched into the church singing "Onward Christian Soldiers."

Bible School ran through two weeks, and most of that time was what anyone would call "normal" Bible School. We learned memory verses and got rewards, just like in Tom Sawyer. We made crafts. We sang uplifting, kicky Jesus songs. We made our way through all those child-approved Bible stories, like "The Good Samaritan."

But on the next-to-last night, something happened. The previously benign Bible School teachers became terrifying Pentacostal preachers as they launched into a description of the Crucifixion in all its Mel Gibson glory. The teachers hollered at us. They fell on their knees and prayed loudly for us. They moved through our ranks with a crown of thorns and made sure each of us got our fingers pricked on it, so we could imagine what it would be like to wear it on our heads. They showed us pictures of Jesus drenched in blood.

This live horror production lasted ninety minutes. Then we were exhorted to make Jesus' suffering worthwhile by being born again in the spirit. We were told to kneel at our chairs, and someone would come around and pray over us.

The formerly benign but now fearsome Bible School staff moved amongst us like the Wrath of God, laying hands on every kid who had been terrified into submission.

I was one of those kids.

My family had always attended church, but we went to a staid Methodist place where no one raised their voices except the choir. I wasn't prepared for the Pentacostal way of doing things. My childish impulse was to follow the fold, if only to escape a scolding, a humiliation, or another round with the crown of thorns.

This was 1966, readers. Do you think it was any different in 2006, when one presumes the Palin youngsters probably attended their own Assembly of God Bible School?

Well, yes and no. In 1966 the enemy was Satan. Today the enemy is Satan ... and all Democrats.

More on this later.