Yesterday, I was driving along in our downtown area, and I noticed a car ahead with a sign, more than a bumper sticker, plastered on its trunk. The sign, in big bold letters said, “Death is coming. Where will you be going?” The sign summarized for me one of several fundamental reasons organized religion makes me alternately laugh or cry—it’s focus on death and the aftermath. It seems as though organized religion keeps telling its body faithful to hold on, death is coming, and then everything will be just grand. Apparently, being dead is way better than living. Life is simply a necessary step to achieving death and its aftermath—Maybe life is just one Granfalloon, whereas we treat it as a karass.
I keep wondering. If life is really so shitty, and death so wonderful, how come the body faithful don’t just all up and off themselves (some do, of course-see Iraq)? Oh, but then I keep reminding myself. The lords and masters of the real granfaloons—the high priests—frown on offing yourself; mainly I think, because it would cause them to become suddenly unemployed, and without a fawning public.
One would think that this far into the 21st century for heaven’s sake, mankind would have come up with something preferable to “life’s a bitch and then you die” as its mantra. But the power trip experienced by priests everywhere keeps the game going, I guess. It surely is the explanation for the Beckhole’s constant search for religious infamy on TV. I mean, in any rational universe, he would be pond scum. But here, we treat him as though he has something to say . . . oh and we pay him obscene amounts of money to con us.
It’s enough to discourage anyone.
And meanwhile, on still another planet, Sarah Barbie is still wriggling to free herself from her own verbal gaffes.