I’m sure that being assaulted with three blog posts from me in one day might raise a brow and a sigh from some of my friends. That’s if I’m able to post anything at all today. The way things are going it might very well be four tomorrow. A pox on dodgy internet suppliers everywhere! Being thrust into cyber darkness for well over twenty four hours has only confirmed to me that those persons who say that too much internet is bad for you are talking utter crap. I like the internet. Too much of several other things can be quite damaging though. Too much bent religion certainly can.
My sour mood was not conducive to writing or editing yesterday, and the constant intruding thoughts of mole bits squishing up through my toes didn’t help at all. Much work as I have to do, I was bored, and crotchety, so I broached the lounge where Angus thought he would just unwind after a hard day and watch a bit of TV. As what I’m about to say has a decidedly religious theme, and will probably offend people again, as my words occasionally do, I will insert here that I am not particularly zealous in the religion department. That being said, I feel that I am pretty well connected to my maker, in my very own way, and deeply respect the beliefs and traditions of all others. Well. Mostly anyway.
Angus is of Scottish descent, as you would imagine with a moniker like that, quite tall, with longish blonde hair and a sort of George Michael beard. The only religious connotation here is that as he zooms helmetless down the dusty roads on his bike, blonde locks flowing back in the wind, a large portion of the local populace take great pleasure in jumping up and down, waving frantically, and shouting, “Hey Jesus!” at the top of their voices. I personally don’t think that he looks overly like the ancient Roman renderings of the Man. It must just be the tresses. A group of youngsters only yelled Mrs Jesus once as I tootled down the rough roads here in my ancient Land Rover. It had been raining, and I was too busy gawping at them, quite appalled actually, to notice the huge puddle that I drove through, and totally drenched the poor little guys with. I still feel bad about that, because there are far too many badly bred racist fools who would actually have done just such a pathetic thing on purpose. These days I generally just get warm smiles and waves, because I think they know now that I’m not one of those fools. Don’t be offended guys – African humour is what it is.
This “Hey Jesus!” thing has gone on for years, in all the places that we’ve lived around here, and originally slightly offended the remnants of my Catholic upbringing. Not Angus though. He‘s not as easily offended. He tends to smile benignly when his followers are close enough, and say things like, “Bless you my son”, with the appropriate hand gestures too. I wonder about this sometimes. But I digress. While many might be appalled by this apparent taking of the Lord’s name in vain, I’m pretty sure that He just chuckles every time. He knows there is no disrespect here. Only love. But the words and deeds of thousands regular, and incredibly keen, churchgoers around the globe must wound Him every second of every day.
Last night, armed with several things as far away from lettuce as they could be, I curled myself up on the couch and focused on what my other half was watching. This turned out to be one of Louis Theroux’ exposés. I don’t usually watch his programmes. They’re particularly cringe inducing, and I don’t like seeing people belittled, no matter how weird they are. But lately I’ve been forcing myself to look at things that I’ve always avoided seeing, so I watched. I’m not suggesting that any of my friends do the same. Some of the cruelties and just plain evil things I’ve seen have been grim beyond imagination, but it’s my choice to want to know what other people get up to on my planet, and I seldom am able to look for long anyway. There’s a lot of the nasty out there, and not nearly enough of the nice.
I couldn’t watch this particular programme for more than a few minutes either, but what I did see was so deeply offensive that I can’t seem to get it out of my mind today. It was called “The Return Of America’s Most Hated Family”, and all about a group of people that run the Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka, Kansas. I’m all for free speech and democracy, but on several occasions I really wished that a whirlwind would pick the whole lot of them up, and deposit them right here in good old Zimbabwe. It would be lovely to tell those idiots that they were not in Kansas anymore, and proceed to show them the error of their ways – Zimbabwe style.
Their tenets and beliefs are so incredibly stupid and hateful, that I’m wondering if there’s something really dodgy in the water where they live. They hate everyone. They loudly rejoice at the funerals of soldiers killed in battle. They scream abuse, and create film clips that insult pretty much every race, religion, and way of life on the planet. They reckon that Obama is the antichrist, and Louis himself was called one of the chief workers of iniquity in the entire history of the planet – right up there with Pontius Pilot! These are the people that cause hate crimes. They disgust me. Their children are either living in lip quivering terror, spewing that they are God’s Elect, or saying things about their own supposed wrongdoings – which is apparently everything the poor little guys do. One little boy, with eyes far too old for his face said that he suffered with the pride of the heart. He said, “Pride of the heart lifts you up, and then God will take you down.” Really? No child should be saying that sort of thing. All their children look either haunted, frenetic or terrified. Those that are still too small to leave that is. Their adult children seem to flee as soon as they can, poor damaged people, while their gross extremist parents say “Good riddance!”, and gleefully take down all of their pictures.
They print out the most vile placards – even miniature ones for their toddlers to brandish. These they think are cute. Wow guys! How bent can you get? They take their foul selves to the streets and inflict their filthy placards and really bad singing on innocent passers by. The last bit I could bear to watch, before heading for my laptop, was a scene in their church. Now – that old dude who is their not so illustrious leader really looks like a bit of evidence for reality of satanic possession. You don’t see creepy, staring eyeballs like that every day of the week. And the crap that issues from his mouth does nothing but support that apparent evidence. Looking at the congregation was the final straw for me. Loons – the lot of them! And those ladies – for want of a better word – have the style and dress sense of myopic peasants from the middle ages. What a bunch of sadly dangerous tools! To all of these Westboro whackos, I say – Please hop on the next spaceship, and head right back home – why don’t you! Bloody fools!
Freedom of speech? I don’t think so. These people should not be allowed to publicly and viciously attack anyone the way that they are doing. They should be stopped. I’m ashamed just knowing that we share the same species, and think that it’s further a shame that they are using up precious things like oxygen and space, or food for that matter, all of which really is wasted on this bunch.
What is freedom of speech anyway? If these lowlifes are anything to go by, I’m thinking we’ve gone wrong somewhere down the line. Here in Africa, what we call Bush Justice, would sort them out very nicely. Maybe we concentrate too hard on some rules, and others slip by when they really shouldn’t. I don’t smoke marijuana personally – I have enough so called vices to be getting on with – but I would rather sit in a field of those mellow puffers, than have one of those twisted Topekans anywhere near me. In fact, maybe if it was more legal than freedom of speech, some kind soul could regularly send them gifts of fairy brownies, and help them to float on up out of the hell that they clearly reside in. And on that smooth and aromatic note, I say…
Till next time friends. xxx