The Master Debator

The story so far: the GOP has pitted drab millionaire Mitt Romney against the well-spoken, poorly-advised incumbent President Barack Obama. Either side seems convinced that they will lose, and have thus resorted to good ol' fashioned smear tactics. Yes, because the way you get things done in this country by finger-pointing and name-calling. Maybe I would be more excited if I believed a word either of them said.

You how to make people interested in the Presidential debates? Get somebody who knows what he's doing; the ultimate orator, the Ultimate Warrior!

For those of you who don't know or otherwise don't care, the Ultimate Warrior was professional wrestler whose popularity rivaled that of Hulk Hogan in the early '90s. We're talking about a man so dedicated to his character, he ended up changing his name to Warrior. The face-painted, muscular madman was known to be crazy in the ring, and kind of a douche outside the ring. But one cannot argue that the man has wicked awesome speeches (just watch, it has to be seen to be understood).

Yeah! Unify the Hulkamaniacs with the little Warriors! Or, to apply it to modern times, we must set aside our differences, whether we somehow still manage to defend Obamanomics or if we are the bugnutty Tea Party loyalists. I think the speeches would be so much better if the candidates had to yell their answers instead of talk their way out of them.

And, at the end of each debate, we'll play something epic, letting people know, "yeah, it's the end of the world. So what? You can either blame it on other people or embrace it."

Warrior has also been on CSPAN. Yes, he is a bit of a conservative jerk. But he also paints! No truly evil man can also make art, can they? With the exception, of course, of John Wayne Gacy, Charles Manson, and Adolf Hitler.

(no truly evil man could be so inspirational, either!)

You know you want to see it as badly I do. When it comes to the debates, there would be none better. The man, the myth, the legend; the Ultimate Warrior.

Apologies to H.G. Wells

Untrue Life Stories: Exaggerated Accounts from Unreal Situations, part two

Brent was feeling nauseous as he exited his 1992 Subaru Legacy, lovingly referred as his "Shatmobile." Perhaps it was was the drive over - he'd gotten lost in Salt Lake City, the air conditioner wasn't working, and he discovered he had twice past his destination, plus the fact that he didn't really like driving to begin with. Or perhaps it was the homemade eggnog he brought from home (which may or may not have been laced with vodka to calm his nerves). In either case, after he untactfully vomited in the bushes, he felt a bit better.

He was in Salt Lake to visit his friend and former high school history teacher, Stan Andrus. Stan was lovingly referred to as "Satan" by students. Perhaps it was his facial hair and "proud apostate" attitude. In either case, he was well-liked by his students, and if you weren't an idiot, he tended to like you, too.

Stan opened the door. "Watering the plants?"

Brent wiped the remaining bile from his uncouth face and put a piece of gum in his mouth. "Sorry, man. I hate Salt Lake. That is to say, I'd like it a lot more if I had a GPS in the old Shatmobile."

"It's fine," said Stan, taking a pipe out of his coat sleeve. "But you're a little early."

"How the hell did I manage that?" Brent asked, looking at his cellphone. "Wasn't it supposed to start twenty minutes ago?"

"We had to reschedule for later on," Stan explained. "I was just making some last-minute... preparations."

Stan had invited a group of friends and colleagues over for a "special announcement." Brent figured he'd use this as a chance to improve his guerrilla filmmaking. Why he felt he needed to improve on holding a camera and pointing it at stuff, I don't quite understand.

"Ah, shit, dude. I'm sorry. I can come back later?" Brent apologized.

Stan puffed his pipe and set it on the windowsill. "No, it's alright. I can give you a sneak preview."

Brent followed Stan inside. "So, where's Annie? And how early am I?"

Stan motioned for Brent to enter a room. "Annie's picking up some party supplies. You're a little under an hour early."

There in the room was what looked like an bike.

"Dude, is this your way of telling me I need to lose weight?" Brent asked. "I get it. I'm chubby."

Stan shot Brent the look of Satan, smiling slightly. "This isn't a bicycle. This is a time machine." Stan went on to say that he had discovered the secret to time travel while reading The God Delusion.

"But I don't get it," Brent sighed. "What does Richard Dawkins know about time travel?"

"It's not what he says," said Stan. "It's what he doesn't say."

Brent shook his head in agitated contemplation. "Next you're going to tell me the equation that inspired this revelation was 2 + 2 = 4."

Stan cocked his head, confused. "What?"

Again, Brent shook his head. "Never mind. Just tell me how it works."

After ten minutes of explanation, Brent still didn't understand, but pretended as though he did.

"Riveting," Brent said, stroking his chin. "Have you tried it out?"

"Just briefly," Stan said. "I didn't work up the gumption to go too far, but I did see the pioneers entering the Utah valley, and let me just say; it was kind of disappointing."

"I'll bet," said Brent. "So... you gonna let me give this a shot?"

Stan stroked his goatee in contemplation. "Well," he began, "I wasn't going to let anybody attempt this until after the presentation. But I suppose we've got time."

"Nothing but!" exclaimed Brent. "So, how does it work?"

Stan just looked at Brent. "Were you not paying attention this whole time?"

Brent shifted in his seat. "I kind of zonked out. I did it a lot in class, too."

Stan sighed. "Just get on and pedal until you get where you want to go. The odometer measure the time. You pedal forward to go forward, back to go back. Pretty simple."

"Is that seriously what you said the first time?" Brent asked. "Man, I really need to work on my attention span."

Brent sat in the seat a moment. "I must confess, I never took the time to learn how to ride a bike. Do I need to go outside or something?"

Stan smiled. "You won't need roads where you're going."

Brent started backpedaling. "Oh. I see. It's a stationary bike. Also, nice Back to the Future reference. But really, I thought an H.G. Wells reference would be more appropriate. Like The Island of Dr. Moreau."

When Brent looked up, he saw that he was moving backwards in time.

A moment passed, and Brent was back in the room with Stan.

After a moment, Brent spoke. "Before tonight I had the theory that if time travel were possible, we would know about it in the past, my logic being that if people in the future made an attempt to come back to the past, it would alter their past, and therefor our future. That was theory number one. However," Brent paused for dramatic effect, "I inadvertently put my other theory into effect tonight. I rationalized that if one could hypothetically change the past - stop the Kennedy assassination, convince Hitler's mom to get an abortion, whatever - that the past has already been changed, and we can do nothing to change that. Meaning; if I was the one stood in the grassy knoll and assassinated him myself, then it has become part of history. Do you know what I'm saying?"

Stan looked at Brent, his eyes widened. "What did you do?"

Brent sighed. "I may have accidentally convinced Mitt Romney to run for President."

Brent went on to say that he went back in time to the 2002 Winter Olympics ("just to see what the big deal was all about"). He said that he had a brief run-in with pre-Governor Romney and spoke of his admiration for him.

"You have to understand," Brent cried. "This was before the Tea Party. All Romney had to do at this point was convince people that Mormons weren't technically a cult. He was still pretty gay-friendly, pro-choice-friendly, all-around user-friendly. And in my brief conversation with him, I may have said something about him making a good President. I suppose I should be happy that I forgot my camera here. Now nobody knows who  to blame."

Stan somberly bowed his head. "What have I created?"

Brent scratched his head. "Well, you know... nobody needs to know."

"What do you mean?" Stan asked. "I told everybody to meet at my house for a special presentation."

"I thought of this," said Brent. "I didn't want to risk the paradox of running into myself at the Salt Lake Olympics, that whole paradox. So, I went further back in time and..."

Brent pulled a video tape from his pocket.

"What is that?" Stan asked. "I thought you said you left your camera."

"I did," Brent replied. "But I went back to 1978 and got this; a bootleg copy of The Star Wars Holiday Special."

Stan smiled. "Now that - is a special presentation!"

Brent smiled back. "You got a VCR? I'll record everybody's reaction!"

Not Another Jimmy Eat World Song

I'm admittedly a bit of a pessimist. So what? I've already explained my feelings on the subject before, so I shouldn't have to do it again. But pessimist or not, you've gotta admit harsh reality seems more beneficial than the self-indulgent, self-aware optimism of Jimmy Eat World's 2001 song, "The Middle." Just listen to the overly-upbeat lyrics;

Hey, don't write yourself off yet

It's only in your head you feel left out/Or looked down on

Just try your best/Try everything you can

And don't you worry what they tell themselves/When you're away

On top of being sickeningly optimistic, it's also incredibly assumptive. "Don't you worry what they tell themselves when you're away." Wait, what are they saying about me? Is it something bad? Oh God, I knew it was something bad! I'm gonna go home and scream into my pillow and threaten to cut myself (I'll never actually do it because I don't like pain and the sight of blood makes me nauseous, but I'll threaten to do it, gosh darn it!). Jimmy Eat World is the happiest emo band ever.

(they look so nice, and that is their ultimate downfall. bands should look cooler than that)

Do we have anything to counter that super-sweet crap? Something a little bitter just to get that awful taste out of our mouths?

Ah, there it is.

The 2007 horror film The Mist is just about the most awesomely depressing movie ever. It starts out with a man and his boy going to the grocery store the morning after a violent thunderstorm. As they're shopping, a man rushes into the store with a bloody nose, warning the people of creatures in the mist. The mist encases them, and they are attacked by Lovecraftian monsters, some of which look like this;

Or this;

This one unlikable religious lady believes this is the sign of the Armageddon and slowly turns the grocery store into her own theocratic militarism. Meanwhile, this kid dies;

(no, that is not Malachai from Children of the Corn)

Poor boy just wanted to be hero by running out into the mist and turning the backup generators on.

So, under this religious zealot's rule (kind of like sharia law, only a little more strict), things become very uneasy. They "sacrifice" a soldier they hold responsible for the catastrophe. You see, the local military base was experimenting with looking into other dimensions, but somehow the scientists opened another dimension (I'm assuming the one containing the Cthulhu mythos). So clearly, the young private was to blame.

After a grocery store clerk finally kills the Jesus freak (hey, you'd have wanted her dead too, if you'd ever seen the movie), they make a break for it, and five survivors make it to the car; the man and his son, an attractive teacher (and potential love interest, assuming things didn't work out with their respective spouses, or if they were eaten), and an elderly couple. They drive and drive and drive until they run out of gas. SPOILER ALERT. The man decides, rather than the inevitable death by starvation or eventual attack of one of the mist monsters, to kill themselves. But there are five survivors and only four bullets. So, ever the hero, he uses the bullets on the others and awaits his impending doom. He exits the car, sobbing and mourning the death of his son and friends, firing empty rounds into his mouth.

Just then, the mist clears and the military arrives.

End film.

(that is the face of a man who knows how badly he's screwed up)

Bahahahaha!

You know, as sad as the end of that movie is, it's got me thinking about my own impending doom. No, I'm talking about the Rapture; that was supposed to have already happened (three or four times now, isn't it?). And I mean no disrespect to Mr. Harold Camping. The man is in his 90's, he's allowed to be wrong. He probably thinks Ronald Reagan is still in office. But who's to say he's wrong? If anything, this just proves what I thought all along; none of us made God's cut.

No, what I'm talking about is the Decepticons' invasion of Earth. So I'd like to take a moment to make a proposition for Megatron.

(noticeably missing from the 2012 Republican National Convention)

Look, buddy. I understand your distaste for human life. I share it with you. But not all of us are so bad. I would like to make a bargain to spare the life of my friends and family. In exchange for the safety and protection of myself and my family and friends, I will give you the names of five people for your five primary attacks, that if you hunt them down first, you will be greeted as a hero.

1) Glenn Beck

Glenn Beck is a conservative libertarian...

(oh, I'm sorry - conservative "libertarian")

Anyways, he's a political commentator and doomsayer whose predictions of the Apocalypse rival those of Harold Camping. He's the self-proclaimed voice of the people, and who dislikes people more than you? You know what must be done.

2) Mitt Romney

Mitt Romney lacks a backbone. I know you must hate that. He panders to each and every audience, so expect him to try and pander to you. But don't be fooled.

3) Fred Phelps

Pastor Fred Phelps of the Westboro Baptist Church hates everybody, too. But he claims that God loves him. Well, you're his god now! Make an example of him.

(but please, go easy on him - I don't think he even knows where he is most of the time)

4) Michael Bay

You've already got a bone to pick with Mr. Bay. He already destroyed your Transformers series and is about to destroy another beloved '80s franchise, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, by making the ninja turtles an alien race! You cannot let this happen.

("what's it matter? you guys are just gonna pay to see my crap anyways.")

5) Chad Kroeger

The frontman of the Canadian "rock" group Nickelback, the Dane Cook of rock bands. In fact, I'm pretty sure Dane Cook and Chad Kroeger are the same person.

You'd better kill them both just to be safe.

I'll be waiting, Megatron.

The One Where I Talk About Religion

I admit it; in past posts, I've tried to avoid talking a whole lot about religion. Politics, movies, and the absurdity of life and the human experience are all fair game. But what in life is more absurd than religion?

Allow me to clarify.

I've been raised a Mormon from birth. I was baptized at age eight, and when I turned nineteen, I served an LDS mission in Brazil. It wasn't until after my mission that I started thinking "maybe not..?" You see, with the Mormon church, it's not uncommon for teenagers to rebel and question their faith. The problem is I didn't start asking the questions I should have until after my mission. So I just entered the "rebellious youth" in my early- to mid-twenties.

I hold no grudge against the church. I feel blessed to have had the opportunity to have served in Belém. I have made friends for life. But at this point, I'm not sure what I truly believe.

When people ask me my favorite hymn, I like to say "Spirit in the Sky." People don't usually realize I'm talking about the the 1969 psychedelic gospel song written by Norman Greenbaum (who, although he wrote it about Jesus, is actually Jewish).

(coincidentally, Jesus was also Jewish)

It's hard to pinpoint just when my feelings on religion changed, but this is pretty much the evolution of my own theological beliefs;

-age 9: "My parents seem to know what's what. I'll just go with it."

-age 13: "I live in Utah. Like, 99% of everybody is Mormon. The rest are wrong."

-age 17: "Wait, what? You mean to tell me not everyone is a Mormon Republican?"

-age 20: "Well, I don't really know what I'm teaching, but what am I learning? Also, I think I'm starting to see some cracks in conservatism."

-now: "I'm a student of philosophy (why not?). But when it comes to God and religion, I guess my question isn't 'why?' or 'why not?' but 'really?'."

So there you have it. In just 24 years I've gone from assuming God is real to assuming God is fake. And that assumption bothers a lot of my friends, theist and atheist alike.

I am well-aware of Richard Dawkins' assertion that there is no God. On a scale from 1-7, 1 being absolutely certain there is no God and 7 being absolutely certain there is a God, he placed himself at a 1.5, but only because you can't prove there is no God. On his atheism, he has said "I contend that we are all atheists. I just believe in one less god." Meaning that although you believe in God, you probably don't believe in Zeus or Odin or Lord Cthulhu. Bill Maher claims to be an atheist but we all know he believes himself to be God.

(until your face appears in a grilled cheese sandwich, you're nothing)

George Carlin put it this way;

"You know who I pray to? Joe Pesci. Two reasons: First of all, I think he's a good actor, okay? To me, that counts. Second, he looks like a guy who can get things done. Joe Pesci doesn't (mess) around. In fact, Joe Pesci came through on a couple of things that God was having trouble with.

 

"For years I asked God to do something about my noisy neighbor with the barking dog, Joe Pesci straightened that ____ out with one visit. It's amazing what you can accomplish with a simple baseball bat.

 

"So I've been praying to Joe for about a year now. And I noticed something. I noticed that all the prayers I used to offer to God, and all the prayers I now offer to Joe Pesci, are being answered at about the same 50% rate. Half the time I get what I want, half the time I don't. Same as God, 50-50. Same as the four-leaf clover and the horseshoe, the wishing well and the rabbit's foot, same as the Mojo Man, same as the Voodoo Lady who tells you your fortune by squeezing the goat's testicles, it's all the same: 50-50. So just pick your superstition, sit back, make a wish, and enjoy yourself."

(robbing from an eight-year-old aside, Joe Pesci can usually get things done)

And when I try to reconcile with God, I remember a group of people who won't let me do that. They're just too loud and pushy. The creationists.

As bad as people claim Richard Dawkins is (I actually like him, and I found The God Delusion to be a fair argument for atheism. still, to call it "the atheist bible" is to miss the point entirely), nobody pits God against science quite like creationists. We're talking about a group of people who (some quite literally) believe that the earth was made in six days. And on the seventh day, God rested. And when Adam became bored, God made him Eve out of one of Adam's ribs.

Well, I'm glad that's all cleared up. That's so much easier than believing in adaptation and Darwinian evolution. 'Cause that would just render The Old Testament, ergo The Holy Bible, ergo religion in general invalid. And if I'm not going to Heaven, then where am I going?

It's not hard to understand why people believe in heaven. When I look to the skies, I am in awe of its natural beauty and remember just how insignificant I really am. But to me, space, the stars, the clouds in the sky; those are all more beautiful than any concept of God. And when I contemplate the vastness of the universe, pantheism kind of makes sense. But to claim it as "just another of God's creations" seems to belittle it.

There are reasons to believe in God just as there are reasons not to. There are health-related reasons not to drink and smoke or engage in unprotected sexual acts with multiple partners. There are aesthetic and pragmatic reasons not to get tattoos or piercings. But your reason should never be "because God said so." To me, regardless of your dogma or theological beliefs, that is an unacceptable answer. The Bible has been around for thousands of years, and with the times, so have the interpretations changed. The Bible bans tattoos and homosexuality. It also bans shellfish and letting women speak in church. And I know that's  the Old Testament, and the Old Testament has never made any sense to me. The point is, how do you pick and choose?

The Old Testament vs. the New Testament is an old argument. The God of the Old Testament is so angry and jealous. The God of the New Testament is so peaceful and serene. So what happened in between the two books being written to mellow Him out so much? Maybe, as Lewis Black claims, the birth of His son settled Him down. I think of it more as The Big Lebowski. The God of the Old Testament is like Walter Sobchak (which is only fitting since he's a Jewish convert), a Vietnam veteran with anger management issues. The God of the New Testament is Jeff "The Dude" Lebowski, a relaxed California pacifist. Despite their differences, the two remain good friends. How has no Christian ever used that defense before?

(The Dude abides. Amen.)

That's pretty much where I stand right now. I'm sorry if you're still not clear; neither am I. But it's better to commit to confusion than put on the facade of conviction.

(I don't care how sexy you are, S.E. Cupp - and you most definitely are - you can't be  conservative and atheist. now that's confusing)