The Library: Revised and Condensed
Rodney Ohebsion
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010 Rodney Ohebsion
Contents
LAW & GOVERNMENT
Hammurabi’s Code
The Declaration of Independence
The U.S. Constitution
The Difference Between Liberals and Conservatives
Similarities Between Liberals and Conservatives
The Budget
SOCIOLOGY, RELATIONSHIPS, & PARENTING
Men Are from Mars—And They Should All Be Sent Back
Understanding Women (1st Edition)
Understanding Women (2nd Edition)
Finding Love
What to Expect After You've Been Impregnated: From Zygote to Adult
RELIGION
The Bible
The Commandments (I Never Said There Were Ten)
The Gospel
The Creed
The Reformation
The Qur’an
Recorded Teachings of the Buddha
Recorded Teachings of Confucius
Teachings of Reality’s Only True Non-Existent God
PHILOSOPHY
Cogito Ergo Assumis (Discourse on the Dildo in My Ass)
Kritik der reinen Vernunsinn (Critique of Pure Bullshit)
Parerga und Parali… pomerda (The Glass is Half Full… of Shit)
The Anti Tzschurch
The Nietzschruth
SCIENCE
Principia
Relativity
On the Origin of Species
Dr. John Doe’s Generic Revolutionary Diet Book
ARTS & ENTERTAINMENT
Movie Reviews
TV Reviews
Book Reviews
Religion Reviews
LITERATURE
Proverbs
Robinson Crusoe
Crime and Punishment
LAW & GOVERNMENT
Hammurabi’s Code
Author: Hammurabi
Published: Babylon, 1800 BC
If a married man fails to comment on his wife’s weight loss of more than six pounds, the wife shall be given the one-time right to slap him in the face in the middle of the night without any warning or explanation.
If a woman catches her husband masturbating to anything other than his imagination, the wife shall be given two expiration free “Get Out of Sex Free” exemptions, and the husband shall be forced to agree with everything she says for the next twenty four hours.
If a woman interrupts her husband during the last two minutes of an NFL regular season football game involving at least one team with a winning percentage of over .600, the husband shall be given the right to tape her mouth shut for the next two hours.
If a married woman nags her husband for more than twenty minutes in any two hour span, the husband shall be given the one-time right to have intercourse with any woman or goat within a twenty seven mile radius of his home. Should she nag him for more than twenty minutes during the second half of an NFL playoff game, he shall also be given the right to rent his own bachelor pad for six months.
If a woman records herself masturbating with finger, toy, or cucumber, she shall email me the recording at ham@babylboninia.com
If a comedian steals jokes from another comedian, the thief shall tell nothing but knock-knock jokes for the next nine months.
If anyone farts in the presence of a high official or a member of the Hamurrabi fan club, the farter shall be locked in a room with a gassy donkey, and be forced to smell the donkey’s emissions for ten hours.
If anyone commits a robbery, falsely accuses someone of a crime, purchases goods from a minor without another adult present, takes the last cookie out of the cookie jar, or boils a goat in anything other than its mother’s milk, he shall be put to death. But if he has money, he shall pay a fine and spend time in prison. And if he has a lot of money, he shall pay a fine, and a random poor man shall spend time in prison.
If a man is caught watching anything that in any way, shape, or form, can be characterized as a “chick flick,” and he is not accompanied by at least one single woman, or at least one married woman who is known to fool around, then the man shall be forced to wear nothing but a bra and panties in public for the next three hundred and seventy two days.
If a man accidentally puts his hand in another man’s pants, he shall keep it there for at least forty-seven minutes and twenty three seconds, or until the second man sings our national anthem while setting his wrist sundial for daylight savings time.
The Declaration of Independence
Author: Jefferson, Thomas
Published: Philadelphia, 1776
Dear John, George, and all you other British Assholes:
It’s over!
We’ve had enough of your Bullshit!
And—even though you don’t deserve an explanation—we’ll tell you exactly why we’re getting rid of you cigar smoking, fish and chips eating, cheerioing motherfuckers! (And don’t even get us started on that shitty “sport” you call football).
We’ve been taking it up the bum for four score and some odd years, and it’s about time we reclaim our asses.
We’re human beings—and dagnabbitt, human beings don’t deserve to be treated like this (except for women, Indians, negroes, homosexuals, etc.—but that pretty much goes without saying).
And let me ask you something:
What’s the only legitimate purpose of a government?
I’ll make it easy for you.
Multiple choice:
(a) to make life better for the people
or (b) to enable a few selfish assholes to rape the people
I’ll bet you answered “b,” you biscuit munching son of a bitch bastards.
Well—YOU ’RE WRONG!
So guess what?
We have the God-given right to make it “a.”
Now, we realize that sometimes you just have to let some shit slide.
But you’ve been sending over about a million truckloads of shit a day—and we’re up to our ankles in it.
You haven’t done an ounce of good for us in decades.
Why?
Probably because you’ve been too busy forcing us to trade with you, convicting us of crimes we didn’t commit, sending over a bunch of thugs to fuck up our shit, and last but not least, Taking Our Fucking Money!
We made the mistake of trying to reason with you, assuming that you’d eventually act like human beings.
We should have known better.
We do now.
And now we’re free—and we consider you the same as any other country: our enemies in war, and our friends in peace.
In other words, if you so much as try to take another dollar from us, we’ll cut out your fucking hearts and use them to wipe our asses!
Sincerely,
Thomas Jefferson, John Hancock, and A Few Dozen Other Pissed Off Americans
P.S. FUCK YOU!!!!!!
The U.S. Constitution
Author: Jefferson, Thomas; 54 Other Guys
Published: Philadelphia, 1787
We finally got rid of those British Shitheads—and now we intend to do things right.
One
Country, Thirteen Fifty States—we put everything
to a vote, and here’s what we decided:
First of all, you can forget about all of that King and Queen bullshit—‘cause we think we’ve come up with something better: the People’s bullshit.
All
Legislative Powers shall be vested in a Congress consisting of
a bunch of Old White Men Representatives and
Senators periodically chosen by the Citizens.
They shall vote on issues every once in a while, and spend the rest of their time prostituting themselves and cashing checks.
They
shall have the Power to tax the people, borrow money, pay debts,
maintain a military, regulate international trade, decide who’s
allowed in this country, print money, establish a postal service,
make additions and deletions to this Constitution (let’s
just hope they never give the negroes any rights), add new
states to the Union, change the presets on our radio, and decide what
toppings will go on our pizza. (Only the Senate can add extra
cheese.)
The
Executive Power shall be vested in a President who will be
elected every four years through an electoral system that will
soon be is outdated.
The President will head the military, pardon offenses, make treaties, appoint people to high offices, and jerk us around every once in a while with a State of the Union Address.
Any time Congress agrees on a Proposed Law with a majority vote, it shall be passed on to the President, who will then be given the option of passing or rejecting it.
Should he reject it, Congress will be given the option of rejecting his rejection with a two thirds vote.
And should the President reject their rejection of his rejection, the matter shall be settled by an arm wrestling match between the President’s mistress and the second oldest Congressman’s wife.
Oh yeah. A person can’t be elected President more than two times. After all, we don’t want to listen to the same asshole year in and year out for the rest of our lives.
The Judicial Power shall be vested in one Supreme Court and many Inferior Courts that will interpret and apply our laws.
Criminal Trials and high dollar Civil Trials will be decided by a Jury consisting of twelve random people who just want to go home and get on with their lives.
But Wait.
There’s More.
Americans have the right to say shit, not say shit, shoot shit, drink shit, vote for shit (without paying shit), keep their shit private (most of the time), and keep soldiers out of their shit (most of the time).
If you’re accused of shit, the government can’t treat you like shit, or try you again after you’ve been acquitted of shit.
And if you’re convicted of shit, the government’s only allowed to do so much shit to you.
If the government needs your shit, they’ll have to pay you for it.
And they can never do shit to you unless they follow their own shitty laws.
Um… oh yeah. We thought about the whole slavery thing, and decided that that shit was wrong. ….
Sorry.
(And if you want shit for all the shit we forced you to do for free, you’re just shit out of luck.)
All states shall cooperate and get along with each other—and the Country will look out for all of them (although to be honest, we really don’t give a shit about Alaska).
This Constitution outlines the powers delegated to the United States.
If it’s not in here, it’s up to the States and the People.
Amen.
The Difference Between Liberals and Conservatives
Published: Washington, D.C., 2010
Conservatives think liberals are fucking idiots.
Liberals think conservatives are fucking idiots.
Conservatives think liberals are fucking assholes.
Liberals think conservatives are fucking assholes.
Conservatives are conservatives due to their love of conservatism.
Liberals are liberals due to their hatred of conservatism.
Conservatives believe in God.
Liberals think they are God.
Conservatives want us to believe that the Bible is God’s word.
Liberals want us to believe that Jesus was a hippie.
Conservatives want to engrave the Ten Commandments on every doorpost in the country.
Liberals want to tape the Bill of Rights over the Ten Commandments in every Bible on the planet.
Conservatives think that gay marriage will turn the world into one huge gay orgy.
Liberals think that this is a free country, that people should have the right to marry whomever they want, and that if we ban gay marriage, we might as well change our name to Iran.
Conservatives own dogs and watch Cops.
Liberals own cats and watch Cats.
Conservatives shoot first and ask questions later.
Liberals ask questions first and then blame conservatives for everything.
Conservatives stand around at our borders holding guns.
Liberals want conservatives to turn their guns on themselves and pull the trigger.
Conservatives want to stab eyes and remove teeth.
Liberals want to give murderers a sad face sticker and a timeout.
Conservatives think that fetuses are people.
Liberals think that fetuses are a bunch of cells.
Conservatives want to leave everything to supply and demand.
Liberals demand that the government supply them with shit.
Conservatives think that people solve problems, and governments create them.
Liberals think that governments solve problems, and conservatives create them.
Conservatives yell, “Mine, mine, mine!”
Liberals like to whine, whine, whine.
A conservative looks at someone and thinks, “How can I profit off of him?”
A liberal looks at someone and thinks, “How can I convince him he’s wrong?”
Conservatives think people tend to be more productive when being productive makes them more money.
Liberals think people will rape each other when presented with the opportunity to make more money.
Conservatives think that having the government handle money is like having a blind man handle your hernia surgery.
Liberals think that having a free economy handle money is like having Willie Nelson guard your marijuana stash.
Conservatives will tell you that every man has his price.
Liberals would like to tell you that every man has his rice.
Conservatives want to say farewell to welfare.
Liberals want to say farewell to capitalism.
Conservatives think that schools should compete for business.
Liberals think that schools should teach people not to become conservatives.
Liberals think that the government should provide free healthcare.
Conservatives think that free healthcare will be worth exactly what people pay for it.
Liberals think whites are out to screw blacks.
Conservatives think everyone is out to screw everyone else.
Liberals think conservatives are a bunch of deluded, money loving dickheads who would gladly trade the sun for a jar of mayonnaise.
Conservative think liberals are a bunch of deluded, tree hugging sissies who don’t realize that we need to cut down a few trees in order to build a house.
Liberals think that global warming is caused by conservatives.
Conservatives think that global warming doesn’t exist, or that if it does exist, it’s caused by the burps of degenerate liberal drunks like the Kennedys.
Liberals buy tofu and drive hybrids.
Conservatives buy Hummers and drive up the price of oil.
Liberals think that guns kill people.
Conservatives think that guns not only don’t kill people, they actually save people—as long as we each have at least fifteen of them.
Liberals think the UN spreads peace.
Conservatives think UN stands for Unbelievably Naïve.
Liberals want the US to withdraw from Iraq.
Conservatives want the US to attack France.
Liberals smoke marijuana and LSD.
Conservatives snort cocaine and more cocaine.
Liberals root for Fonzie and Chachi.
Conservatives root for Mr. Burns and Flanders.
Liberals think that humans evolved from bacteria.
Conservatives think that Darwin was a homo.
Liberals are nice—until you offend them.
Conservatives are assholes—until they’re reminded that God might punish them.
Liberals sing “Heal the World” and “We Shall Overcome.”
Conservatives sing “Achy Breaky Heart” and “I Wish I Was in Dixie.”
Liberals reenact the Civil War in order to learn about the nation’s history.
Conservatives reenact the Civil War in order to get ready for the rematch.
Similarities Between Liberals and Conservatives
Published: Washington, D.C., 2010
Liberals want to spend other people’s money
Conservatives want to spend other people’s money.
The Budget
Published: Washington, D.C., 2010
The United States federal government collects two and a half trillion dollars in tax revenues a year from people like you, your ex-wife’s divorce attorney (at least someone’s taking money from that son of a bitch), Colonel Sanders, and Gary Shandling (but definitely not me—because I’m way too smart for those sons of bitches).
If you had that money in hundred dollar bills and put it all into one stack, you’d be a freakin’ idiot for wasting your time with such stupid shit.
Really.
I mean, what’s the point?
We know $2.5 trillion is a lot of money. We don’t need a gigantic stack of hundreds to prove it.
But if you were to build a stack like that, it would make it all the way to the end of the universe.
(And that’s the just the federal government’s money. Add state and city taxes, and you’d have to wait for the universe to expand just to make room for your stack.)
And what do they do with all of that money?
Believe it or not, they spend every freakin’ penny of it—and then some! (And you thought MC Hammer was bad.)
But what do they spend it on?
$700 billion goes to Medicare, Medicaid, Med-a-wear, and Medicrap. Why? Because we like eating junk food instead of disgusting shit like oranges, apples, cucumbers, tomatoes, and almonds. Ughh!
$600 billion goes to Social Security. That’s right. All of those old fuckers who complain about everything all day are actually getting paid to do it. (Just be glad we’re not paying middle aged married women to complain. That would bankrupt us in about three hours.)
$550 billion goes to defense. Why? Because we have no idea how to get along with others.
$300 billion goes to unemployment and welfare. Which is actually a halfway justifiable expense, if you’re into all of that communist trickle up bullshit. But then again, let’s not kid ourselves—half of the people collecting that money deserve a kick in the ass instead of a check in the hand.
$250 billion goes to interest on our ever expanding debt. In other words, it goes to the Jews—and if things don’t change soon, they’ll end up repossessing the entire country.
$90 billion goes to education and training. For once, a figure that actually seems a bit low—and it would be low, too, if not for the fact that our schools are funded by states and cities.
$75 billion goes to transportation—most of which is spent on moving a truckload of dirt back and forth so it looks like the government is actually doing something.
$70 billion goes to veterans’ benefits—which seems a little unfair to me considering how I risk my life every day asking my mother-in-law to move out, and no one pays me shit
$45 billion goes to the administration of justice—but considering how it took me 173 minutes to cancel my AOL account (and those bastards still charged me for the next four months), I’d say we’re not getting our money’s worth.
$35 billion goes to the environment. In other words, even though the environment is free, the government still finds a way to spend money it.
$30 billion goes to foreign affairs—which seems like a lot to me considering how I only spent $1,500 on my affair with a Canadian cocktail waitress.
$25 billion goes to agriculture—which really doesn’t make sense to me considering how I still have to pay for my fruits and vegetables. (I guess that 22 cent apple actually costs $25,000,000,000.22)
$25 billion goes to community and regional development—but judging by the fact that liquor stores outnumber people three to one in a quarter of the country, I’d say some communities haven’t seen a penny of that money.
$25 billion goes to science and technology—most of which is spent on the President’s video game collection.
$20 billion goes to energy—which makes me think we’re buying batteries from the wrong place. (I mean, Wal-Mart sells 50 AAs for only $3.72)
$20 billion goes to general government expenses (—probably hookers for the Kennedy family. Although according to my calculations, that’s not nearly enough to cover the bill.
And the grand total comes close to three trillion dollars.
But to be fair, the federal government does do a lot for the people, and I suppose all of its spending does make some sense—until you consider how from 1776 to 1912, Uncle Sam and Co. hardly even collected income taxes!
That’s right.
Those motherfuckers went from spending a few dollars here and there to dropping well over 300 Paris Hilton years on an average day.
Which leads me to believe that there are some serious shopaholics running things in Washington.
And to make matters worse, there’s really not a damn we can do about it.
I mean, if your husband blows your on a new TV or your wife spends a fortune on a new outfit (—why you have both a wife and a husband, I’ll never know—), you can at least complain and get him/her to take it back (although to be honest, odds are you’re just going to end up pissing off both of them).
But we can’t stop the government from ending up a few hundred billion in the hole each year.
And as we continue to add to our $12 + trillion debt, at some point someone is going to ask for some of that money back, our entire house of cards will come falling down, and the Angel of Credit will take forty grand out your ass.
So what should we do?
I say we return the country to the Indians, and let those assholes pay the money back.
SOCIOLOGY, RELATIONSHIPS, & PARENTING
Men Are from Mars—And They Should All Be Sent Back
Author: Friedan, Betty
Published: USA, 1963
Your typical married woman can hardly even stand her life.
And no one cares!
Blame it on our culture—a culture that tells women that it’s all about your marriage, your kids, and your home; and that if you don’t have them in the first place, you might as well put a bullet in your brain.
Most wives are so freakin’ brainwashed that they’ll go so far as to start scrubbing the ceiling or teaching their two year old child Japanese just to avoid having a second of time for themselves—because they’ve been told that if they’re not busy with their role as Mrs. Generic Immature Subservient Wife and Mother, they’re nothing.
There is no way a typical wife’s life can be fulfilling.
In fact, if you have a husband, get up right now, hunt that piece of shit down no matter where he is (I don’t care if he’s in the middle of a meeting with the President and the Pope), slap him on his chauvinistic face, and say, “Screw you, screw your job, screw our kids, and screw our home! I’m a human being, too!” (And if your husband happens to be the President, follow up by taking a piss on his oval office desk.)
Because that’s exactly what that fucking asshole deserves.
In fact, it’s much better than he deserves.
Do you think he deserves you?
He doesn’t even deserve you on your absolute worst day.
I’m just stunned that you even considered marrying that misogynistic, abusive, self-centered son of a bitch.
What’s that?
You’re single?
Well, it’s a good thing I got to you in time.
You want to know something about men?
Well here you go: Men are scum.
And that’s on their best day.
Most of the time, they’re so damn scummy that even scum look at them and say, “Those fuckers are disgusting.”
Is there one out there who isn’t scummy?
Yes.
But do you think you’re going to find him?
Get real, honey.
Considering how many lowlife assholes you’ve dated over the years, I’d say you’re more likely to find bin Laden hiding at the Jewish Defense League Headquarters.
Understanding Women (1st Edition)
Published: Los Angeles, 2000
Just give up. There’s no way you’re ever going to understand them.
Understanding Women (2nd Edition)
Published: Los Angeles, 2010
Believe it or not, I actually figured out a few things about women.
And, as you might imagine, it wasn’t easy.
In fact, I think I deserve at least a Nobel Prize.
Make that two Nobel Prizes.
After all, discovering DNA or splitting an atom is nothing compared to what I did.
But since that apparently isn’t going to happen, I’ll settle for a $50,000 book deal. Anyways, here you go:
What Women Want (In Order of Importance)
Whatever seems desirable to other women
The envy of that stupid bitch (insert name here). God I hate her!
Compliments
The entire contents of 4 department & 3 jewelry stores
To hear the words, “Have you lost weight?”
Whatever they don’t have
To drink the blood of their enemies
Romance
Shoes
Appreciation
The opportunity to whine about something
Attention
Johnny Depp
Sex
Chocolate
Does it really matter? You’re never going to be able to give it to us. Why? Because you don’t give a shit about anything but yourself.
Men who will treat them like queens
Men who will treat them like shit
Men who aren’t afraid to cry
Men who aren’t afraid to rob liquor stores
We shouldn’t have to tell you what we want. You should just know.
Men who can read minds
A back rub. And no, that does not necessarily mean we want to have sex. Ughhh! Do you ever think about anything else?
Children
A break from their children
Some food, damn it! Do you think sticking to a 1400 calorie a day diet is easy? We’re freakin’ starving!
Finding Love
Published: Los Angeles, 2010
Many books, movies, and people will tell you that when it comes to relationships, the best thing to do is just be yourself.
And all of the people giving you that advice are faker than one of PT Barnum’s mermaid prostitute’s orgasms—because they know that if you actually want to end up with another human being, you should start off by being anyone but yourself.
In fact, the real you shouldn’t even make an appearance until, oh, I’d say about three weeks after the wedding. And even then you have to be careful, showing only one small new piece at a time, and giving your partner a chance to get used to each layer before you move on to the next one.
I mean, let’s not kid ourselves—the real you will end up scaring someone away about three minutes into a first date.
After all, people are freakin’ nuts. And three quarters of human interactions consists of making our instable, intolerant, obsessive-compulsive, neurotic, jealous, vengeful, addicted, moody, deluded, and/or ___phobic sides seem like something else.
In other words, the real anyone is destined to have a string of three minute relationships.
But the fake you is capable of making You the Sheep Rapist look like You the Animal Lover. He/she hides and adds so much and arranges everything in such a way that even a sheep rape expert will be fooled most of the time.
Now, I know what some of you are thinking. “How can the fake me find real love?”
And you know I’m thinking?: “How can the real you be so naïve?!”
Real love? Real love?
Give me a break!
I think you need to lay off of the Tom Hanks-Meg Ryan movies.
Or at least realize that if a part II were made, Hanks would spend the entire movie boning Ryan’s sister, best friend, worst enemy, and three of her last five pilates instructors—and Ryan would be sleeping with the other two pilates instructors while plotting to collect on Hanks’s $1.7 million insurance policy.
And if a Tom Hanks-Meg Ryan relationship is that bad, you can only imagine how far most are from real Sleepless in Seattle love.
Yeah, theoretically it could happen. You might find real love
But you might also win the lottery. That doesn’t mean you should spend all of your money on tickets like some asshole, and count on winning it all any day now.
Instead of being that asshole, just be content with a tolerable 10% real relationship, and be glad you’re not in my shoes.
What to Expect After You’ve Been Impregnated: From Zygote to Adult
Author: Spock, Benny
Published: New York, 1946
Chapter 1: Pregnancy
You’re pregnant?
Congratulations! (Unless the father is one of those pro athletes with 237 illegitimate children by 343 different women—in which case you’re nothing but a gold digging slut!)
Now what?
Well, let me start of by saying that no matter what you’ve been doing so far, it’s been all wrong. (Which explains why you need to buy this book right now. In fact, if you don’t buy at least five copies of it within the next five minutes, you’re basically saying that you consider the hundred dollar bill in your pocket more important than your own child!)
Now, here’s what you should do:
1. Read Shakespeare’s Hamlet to your baby from 5:30 a.m. to 7:00 a.m. on all days of the week ending in “-day”
2. Listen to songs that contain frequent uses of the terms “baby” and “folic acid.”
3. Visualize your baby beating Ken Jennings in a game of Jeopardy.
4. Avoid pointing any loaded firearms at your stomach or lower back.
and
5. Go back in time and buy my book What to Expect Before You’ve Been Impregnated.
Chapter 2: Childbirth
OK. This might hurt a little.
But hey—it’s your fault.
I mean, you knew those apples were forbidden!
Chapter 3: Your Infant
I’m not going to bullshit you.
Your infant isn’t always going to be the most pleasant person in the world.
But so what?
Do you think you’re any better?
Do you think your pee tastes like Chardonnay?
Do you think there’s so much as a single person on this planet who can stand to be next to you for more than three minutes at a time?
As far as I’m concerned, you’re a nightmare compared to your baby.
He might whine and moan every once in a while—but at least he usually has a good reason, not to mention the fact that he’s a freakin’ baby!
You, on the other hand, complain about damn near everything day in and day out, like it’s pretty much your purpose in life!
Chapter 4: Your Toddler and Young Child
After about a year or so, your child is actually going to start doing more than just eating, peeing, shitting, and crying. Pretty soon he’ll walk, talk, run, and jump.
Then one day he’ll beg you for some Spongebob Pokemon bullshit or something else he’s been brainwashed to want—and if you don’t buy it, then God help you, because he’ll unleash a tantrum so loud that it’ll be heard in China, Neptune, and 98% of the galaxies in our universe.
Chapter 5: Your Child
By age 3, your child will be unbelievably cute, charming, and fun.
But you’ll probably be too busy with your petty concerns to even notice.
Chapter 6: Your Pre-Teen
Remember that cute little kid capable of warming your heart by doing just about anything?
Well forget about her—because she’s history!
And she’s been replaced by a moody, cranky, ungrateful, spoiled, unreasonable, psychotic pre-teen who will hate your guts 90% of the time, no matter what you do.
Chapter 7: Your Teen
Don’t even get me started on your teen.
Chapter 8: You’re Broke
So you spent all of your money on the twenty five year old who still lives in your house eating your food, and seems to think he’s some sort of Vanderbilt heir.
Big deal!
You should just be happy you spent it all on something worthwhile, instead the stupid shit you would’ve bought had you used birth control twenty five years ago.
And don’t think your child owes you a thing.
I mean, what have you ever done for your parents?
What?
You give them a call once every three or four days?
Oh—well excuse me while I go get your Daughter of the Year Award!
I can’t believe you even brought that shit up.
And if you did, get up right now and buy my book No—You Don’t Deserve a Daughter of the Year Award.
RELIGION
The Bible
Author: God
Published: Jerusalem, 60
Where should I begin?
Um… How about the beginning?
Although I suppose I could tell you what happened before the beginning.
But then again, I don’t want to take all the mystery out of it.
I mean, in this business, if you just put all of your cards on the table, odds are you’re not going to end up with a bestseller.
So let’s just start with the beginning.
In the beginning, there was nothing.
Kind of like a dark, empty region in outer space.
Although there wasn’t any darkness at all. Or space. Or time.
Wait—maybe there was time.
I don’t remember—it was such a long time ago.
Anyways, the point is, from nothing, I created something.
Why?
Uh… just listen to the story and keep your mouth shut.
First there was light. And it was good.
Then there was a sky, water, and land. And they were good.
And then there were plants. And they were good.
I was on quite a streak.
So I followed up by adding a sun, moon, and stars.
And—you guessed it—they were good.
Then there were birds, fish, insects, and animals.
They were also good.
And finally, I made human beings in my own image. (Well—pretty much in my own image. Aside from the fact that I don’t have any toenails. And I’m invisible.)
And they were good.
And that was it.
An entire universe.
It took me a week. (In fact, I finished a day early and spent Sunday watching football. —By the way, I started on Monday—)
I’m God.
No big deal.
But remember when I said human beings were good?
Well—I might’ve jumped to conclusions.
(In retrospect, I probably should’ve spent an extra day on them.)
I mean, I gave you one rule.
“Don’t eat the apples on that tree.”
That’s it.
And what did you do?
You ate the apples on the tree.
And to make matters worse, you didn’t even own up to it.
Instead, everyone was pointing fingers at someone else.
The man blamed it on the woman.
The woman blamed it on a talking snake.
The snake blamed it on a talking bush.
And the bush blamed it on the Democrats.
I was mad.
I probably should’ve just hit the reset button and started all over.
But I thought to myself, “Well, they might not be perfect—but they’re not that bad.”
Besides, I figured having imperfect humans would make things a little more interesting.
I mean, no one’s going to care about a world full of sinless saints.
So instead of killing you, I punished you.
Your days of free room and board were over
But to be honest, I think the change was for the best.
I mean, sitting around all day eating fruit really isn’t much of a life.
So I relocated you.
And then what happened?
I turned my back for a millennium or two, and the next thing I knew, you were abusing the hell out of each other.
So I, uh, did a little remodeling, and dropped some of you off in Turkey.
And a few hundred years later, I decided to choose a random guy.
Why?
Do you ever stop with the questions?!
Anyways, I told my chosen man he’d be entitled to a Promised Land.
But I didn’t give it to him right away.
Why?
I’ll tell you why!
If you just hand things over to people, they usually won’t think much of them. But make them wait a half a millennium, and believe me, they’ll treasure it like it’s the Holy Grail. (I mean, even nowadays, a few thousand years later, they’re still pretty attached to their land.)
Anyways, I sent my chosen one’s descendants to Egypt, and made them wait a while. Although to be perfectly honest, I thought they were still hanging out in their native land. I got a little distracted with running one of my other universes, and I just plumb forgot about them.
(But on the plus side, their stay in Egypt made for a pretty good story.)
So I led my people out of Egypt, gave them a few hundred laws, made them wait another few decades (—again, you gotta make them wait—), and gave them a chunk of land about the size of New Jersey.
And all in all, I’d say they had a pretty good time there.
But they ended up worshipping other gods (I tried to tell them I was jealous, but they just wouldn’t listen), and I more or less brought their kingdom to an end.
-INTERMISSION-
But after a while, I felt like the market was ripe for a sequel—so I sent my son down to shake things up a bit.
Or did I send myself down?
I’m not sure.
Either way, my son and/or I took the form of a bearded long-haired fellow in sandals, and went on a mission preaching to and healing the people, turning water into wine and ice into popsicles, riding reindeer and delivering gifts, hopping around in a bunny suit and laying chocolate eggs, building a flying treehouse out of magic wood, and using the tree house to go from town to town with my twelve partners in Christ.
Part Two was hardly anything like Part One—and most people really noticed.
In fact, one group was so upset about the changes that it banded together and killed me.
(I don’t want to say who, but I’ll give you a clue: it starts with a “J,” and rhymes with “Jews.”)
I knew what was coming, but I decided to go with it.
Why?
Well, if you must know why, I’ll tell you:
Because I told you a long time ago that I’d be rejected, persecuted, and killed.
Why?
If you ask me one more question, I’m going to have Zeus send a lightning bolt down there and toast your tuchis.
But getting back to our story, I rose from the dead, did my thing for a few more weeks, and then relocated uptown and moved back in with my self and my other self.
Oh yeah: Don’t steal, don’t kill, love others, say your prayers, take your vitamins, wear clean underwear, do unto others, yada yada yada.
Amen.
P.S. I hate cigarettes, bundles of wood, and FAGS (Fundamentalists Against Gay Sex).
The Commandments (I Never Said There Were Ten)
Author: God
Published: Mount Sinai, 1300 BC
Being one of my chosen people isn’t exactly a walk in the park.
I expect you to follow a few rules—and if you don’t, then… um… I’m really not going to like you.
My most important law pretty much goes without saying, but I’ll point it out, anyways: Don’t mate different kinds of cattle. Very few things annoy me more than interracial cows.
Let me preface the next rule by telling you a little about myself and my history.
For starters, I’m a pretty emotional guy. Some might even call me… insane. (By the way—if you ever call me that, I’ll send ten plagues and seventy seven aftershocks right into your colon.)
If, say, my toaster doesn’t work, I’m liable to pretty much lose it. If my favorite TV show is cancelled, I might destroy an entire network. (Take that, Dumont!) Whenever I watch Beaches, I’m in tears by the opening credits. And when I heard the one about the rabbi and the priest, I laughed so hard that Manischewitz came out of my nose.
And of all of my emotions, one stands out more than the others: jealousy.
You can’t even begin to imagine how jealous I am. When I heard rumors that the Angel Billy was converting to atheism, I contemplated committing a murder-suicide (—which, oddly enough, would’ve made that godless bastard right—although he would’ve been too dead to know it.)
Now, back in the really old days when I was running one of my former universes, I designated a group known as the Setilearsi as my chosen people.
I gave them land, laws, protection, holidays—the works.
Then one day I saw a few of them worshipping another god—and that was it. I flew into a mad Yahwetic Yahwrage—and the next thing I knew, their entire universe was gone.
So what’s the moral of this story?
DO NOT WORSHIP ANY OTHER GODS (—especially that rat bastard Baal)!
I don’t care if your best friend, Madonna, Tom Cruise, Kirk Cameron, and the Dalai Lama are all telling you how hip their god (notice the lowercase g) is, or even if that “god” (notice the quotation marks) personally comes down there and hands you a suitcase full of cash.
It’s all about me, me, and only me.
And I expect you to do more than just worship me.
I want you to love me using all your strength, all your heart, all your soul, and 3% of your unblemished lambs.
Alright?
OK.
Moving on…
Do not misuse my holy name.
You know what? Just forget my holy name, period.
From now on, refer to me as “God. James God.”
And that pretty much wraps it up.
Just kidding.
There’s a bit more.
For starters, honor your mother and father.
And yes—I really mean that.
I don’t care if your parents are Joe Jackson and Joan Crawford—I want you to pretty much do whatever they tell you to do. (Unless, of course, they tell you to worship other gods—in which case you should choke them with wire hangers and/or throw stones at their heads.)
Let’s see…
What’s next?
Don’t work on my holy day.
And when I say work, I mean anything and everything resembling work. No sewing, cooking, writing, shaving, channel changing, jar opening, toilet flushing, or time traveling.
I don’t even want you to stand up quickly, light fires, listen to “Light My Fire,” organize your wallet, hold in your burps, sing “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad,” or play Paperboy on Nintendo.
And keep my other holy holidays. Blow into a ram’s horn on New Year’s Day, humble your soul on the Day of Atonement, watch the Ten Commandments during Passover (or Jingle All the Way if you’re a reform Jew), watch Gilligan’s Island during Sukkot, make a pilgrimage to Pico and Robertson on Columbus Day, add Gentile blood to all of your baked goods on Iron Day, and for God’s sake, don’t give gifts on Hanukkah like a bunch of pagans.
Don’t kill. (Unless, of course, there are a bunch of Canaanites minding their own business on your promised land. And that ever happens, I want you to kill, kill, and then kill some more.)
Don’t steal. (Unless, of course, you come across some Indians living on a new continent. Don’t even pay them $24 for Manhattan. Just take it.)
Don’t commit adultery. (Unless, of course, your spouse is going out of his/her way to piss you off.)
Don’t lie. (Unless, of course, you’re lying about the adultery you committed.)
And
don’t covet your neighbor’s wife, home, land, slaves er,
um servants, animals, Pokemon cards, toilet plungers, chest
hair (unless you live next to Tom Selleck), mustache (unless you live
next to Tom Selleck), license to kill, or limited edition Elvis
yarmulke. (You can, however, covet his shikse mistress and his 4.37%
APR fixed loan.)
OK. This next one is going to sound a little weird, but just keep in mind that what’s weird for you guys might be perfectly normal up here.
Circumcise your males as a sign of our covenant.
Which brings us to our next rule: wear clear pants and underwear at all times. (I want you to remember our covenant as often as possible, and not just when you’re taking a piss).
And in order to complete the look, grow a really long mullet, a really light mustache, and, if possible, shave a Jewish star into your ankle hair.
Oh. And don’t cross dress.
Men should dress like Clint Eastwood in The God, the Bad, and the Ugly, and women should dress like that robot on Small Wonder.
Actually, women should wear wigs, and wigs on top of their wigs.
On second thought, I want women to cover every square inch of their bodies with black cloth, leaving the smallest of holes for their eyes, and covering those holes with a layer of tinted plastic. (Reform Jews, however, don’t have to wear any underwear underneath.)
Don’t marry non-Jews. (I hate interfaith couples more than I hate interracial cows.)
Don’t boil a goat in its mother’s milk. (I’m very serious about this one. In fact, just to be safe, let’s make it: “Don’t boil a goat in any other goat’s milk.” You know what? Just to be really safe, let’s make it: “Don’t eat any meat or dairy foods within six hours of each other.” You know what? Just to be really safe, avoid meat during odd numbered years, and dairy during even numbered years.)
Don’t have sex with animals. (Although, I’m not real strict about this one. I mean, in the grand scheme of things, doing an animal really isn’t that big of a deal. Provided, of course, that the animal has split cud and chews its hooves. Or is that “has split hooves and chews its cud?” Um… just don’t screw any pigs, dogs, or elephants. And if you’re going to have sex with animals, be careful not to draw any blood.)
And that pretty much wraps it up.
Just kidding.
Don’t pick up a soda can with your left hand.
Don’t watch more than four episodes of Walker, Texas Ranger in one day.
Don’t wear brown shoes with purple socks.
Always wear purple shoes with brown socks.
Plant as many trees as possible in Israel.
Open as many Kosher Chinese food restaurants as possible in New York.
If you’re going to see a Mel Gibson movie, be sure to buy a ticket to another film in the Cineplex.
Build a “Rupert Murdoch” cyborg in the 20th century, and use him to secretly control the media.
Don’t follow false prophets. (You can test a prophet’s authenticity by holding him up to light and checking for a Star of David.)
Don’t name your children after Bible characters.
Don’t run around the duck duck goose circle counterclockwise.
Don’t listen to Tupac while wearing a Biggie T-shirt.
Don’t weigh yourself more than twice a week.
Don’t refer to me as G-d.
All Bible themed video games must have something to do with Onan.
If you ever happen to rape a virgin, you’ll have to marry her and buy her mother a Mercedes.
Don’t flush your toilet for #1s on Earth Day.
Add our eleven secret herbs and spices to your chicken soup and gefilte fish dishes.
Feel free to skip past Numbers, I Chronicles 1-10, and II Vishnu 5-40.
Don’t call Dionne Warwick or her friends.
Bet on the Dodgers to win it all in 1963 and 2197.
Thou shalt stop using the King James Bible by 1902.
The Gospel
Author: Jesus
Published: Jerusalem, 30
Love your neighbor as yourself. Unless you live at 358 North Rockingham Avenue at any point from 1974 to 1995.
Do unto others as you’d have others do unto you. Unless you’re into S&M.
Do not do unto others as Bill O’Reilly would like to do unto Obama.
Don’t even think of doing unto others as Al Franken would like to do unto Bill O’Reilly.
If someone hits you, turn the other cheek. If someone takes your coat, give him your shirt. And if someone hits you and takes your coat, you pretty much have to become his slave for life.
Forgive and you will be forgiven (of a sin of equal or lesser value). Offer not valid in blue states Limit of two per person per day Cash value: $0.0001
If someone wrongs you seven times and apologizes all seven times, you must forgive him. But if he wrongs you an eighth time, all bets are off. And if he wrongs you a ninth time, I’ll personally come down there and help you retaliate.
You can’t serve both the Mets and the Yankees; you can’t serve both God and money; you can’t serve both red wine and blue cheese.
Knock, and it shall be opened unto you. … What? … No one answered? … Well, then, try ringing the bell. … Still no answer? … Well, then just break in. Hey—no one ever said saving your soul would be easy.
Let him who is not stoned cast my next movie. And for God’s sake, stop portraying me as a British guy with long hair and a Jesus beard.
The kingdom of God is like the thing that happened after that guy did that thing to that other guy. Can you believe that guy?
The kingdom of God is like the opposite of your friend Tom’s decision to marry a stripper.
The kingdom of God is like a casino with no expenses and plenty of drunk gamblers.
The kingdom of God isn’t “here” or “there.” It’s right over there. No—over there.
If a blind person is leading a blind person, both will end up in a ditch. If a tasteless person is leading a tasteless person, both will end up watching Freddy Got Fingered.
God is good. Everyone else is pretty annoying.
Blessed are the hungry—for they shall be filled. And as for those who aren’t hungry—they might want to consider sticking a finger down their throats.
The first will be last, the last first, and the middle… um… uh… the middle will remain in the middle.
Nothing can stay covered, nothing can remain hidden. In other words, I know exactly what you did at that company Christmas party last week—and it’ll only be a matter of time before everyone else knows, you freakin’ pervert.
Don’t let your left hand know what your right hand is doing. And believe me—I know exactly what your right hand has been doing, and so does your wife.
A rich man ended up getting richer, and spent his days and nights devising ways to protect his new wealth and ensure he would never be in want in the future.
A few days later, he dropped dead.
The End
If you so much as think about a woman sexually, you’re committing adultery. You’re thinking about one right now, aren’t you? Jesus Christ! I just told you not to, and one second later, you’re doing it. You’re just like that guy Adam.
Ask not what your religion can do for you. … On second thought—go ahead and ask. What can your religion do for you? Everything.
Beware of all false prophets, all fat bearded men in red suits, and all infomercial pitchmen promising $19.99 miracles.
To hang on to your life is to lose it. To let go of your life is also to lose it. So how can you save it? Find out next time on… The Gospel
The Creed
Author: The Apostles
Published: Jersusalem, 31
I believe in God the Father, his son Jesus, daughter Judy, and Jane his wife. Or, um… forget about the last two.
Jesus Christ, our Lord, was conceived by the Holy Ghost, and born of the Virgin Mary, on Christmas Day, 0 AD. Or is that 0 BC?
Either way, he came down to save our soles, and he gave mankind a brand new shoe.
Um… wait a second. That doesn’t sound right.
He came down to save our souls, and he gave us a brand new religion.
Well, maybe not brand new—but let’s just say it was slightly used and recently upgraded.
Anyways, he was crucified by Pontius Pilate, only to rise from the dead and ascend to Heaven—and nowadays, he sits at the right hand of God the Father, and right behind some lady with a big hat who’s blocking his view.
And one day he shall come again, judge everyone, and, um… well—we’re not sure what he’s going to do after that. But odds are it’s going to be really religious.
I believe in the one and only Holy Catholic Church (and not those annoying door to door Mormons), the forgiveness of sins ($1,000 for the first sin, $500 for each additional sin), the Final Judgment (and don’t think you can just walk out without paying your tab), and the Judgment Finale (with special guest star Chuck Norris).
The Reformation
Author: Luther, Martin
Published: Germany, 1517
If Jesus were alive today, he’d hate the Catholic Church more than he’d hate the Jews (—and he’d hate the Jews more than he hates Satan).
The Bible contains God’s complete message to all of mankind—and yet, the Catholic Church is telling us to forget about it, and follow a bunch of rules made up by some lunatic guys wearing funny hats.
If it were up to the Pope and his team of thugs, we’d bury every copy of the Bible on the planet, and spend Church sessions reciting Klingon gibberish while rubbing our bellies and tapping our heads.
And to make matters worse, the Pope thinks he’s CEO of Christ Enterprises, and he’s claiming we can buy forgiveness for our sins by donating money to the Church.
But guess what?
God doesn’t care what the Pope has to say.
He cares about what He Himself had to say.
The only way to salvation is through the belief that Jesus is the Messiah, Bruce Wayne is Batman, and fat-free foods can still make you fat.
How do I know?
It says it in the Bible.
Where?
Um…
Look—it doesn’t need to say it.
OK.
I said it.
The Qur’an
Author: God
Published: Mecca, 632
Before I get started, let me just say that you should be reading this in Arabic, and only Arabic.
If this text isn’t in Arabic, you might as well be reading a blank piece of paper.
You got that?
OK.
Now, allow me to introduce myself.
I’m God—the Most Gracious and Merciful, the Most Merciful and Gracious, the Master of the Day of Judgment, the Master of the Day of Groundhog, the Being High and Holy, the Ayaholy Moly, the Decider of All Fates and Point Spreads, the Award Winning Director of the Creation and the Flood, the CEO Who Sees and Knows, and the… uh… you get the point.
I
am to the universe what the Jews are to the media—in other words, I
pretty much run it from top to bottom. (The only thing I don’t
control is the media itself—which only goes to show you what a
stranglehold Mr. Redstone Rothstein and Company have
on it.)
I created the universe.
And I revealed a revelation for man to revere and revel in.
I revealed my way to Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Jesus, and a bunch of other guys with beards.
But before I go on, let me make this 100% clear: I’m not Jesus.
I mean, think about it: Do you honestly believe I’d make my one appearance on earth as long-haired sandal-wearing Jewish carpenter?
Get real!
I mean, that is so not my style.
If I were to come down to earth, it would be in the form of someone like Jack Palance, or a combination of Alex Keaton and Marty McFly.
I sent Jesus to spread my message to mankind—but like a game of telephone, you corrupted his Gospel and turned it into some hippie religion.
And those who say Jesus is the Son of God are sons of you know what in my book.
O you who believe!
Believe this: Believers who believe in what they ought to believe should believe me when I tell them that believing in me will cause them to believe that believing in me is the only belief that they ought to be willing to believe is worth believing.
Behold, the only religion in my sight starts with an I and ends in an M—and I’m not talking about indosmokism.
I’m the one to worship, and I’m the one to seek.
I sent my religion to mankind through my Messenger—and now it’s up to you to obey Him and submit to Me.
Now, I know what some of you are thinking: “What’s in it for me?”
Well, if you follow my way, you’ll get what’s behind Door One, but if you follow my competitors’ ways, you’ll get what’s behind Door Two.
Or you can just take a million dollars right now.
What?
You want the money?
Well—you just failed my test, you money loving infidel.
Believers who follow my way will end up in Heaven, while unbelievers who abandon my way will suffer in a Hell I prepared while constipated and paying my income taxes.
What’s Hell like?
Well, imagine yourself in Hawaii, eating fresh pineapple, and living with the girl or guy of your dreams.
Hell is pretty much like that—except Hawaii is Detroit, the pineapple is sour chunky goat milk, and your dream girl or guy is a gorilla giving you a root canal.
And that’s the Heaven part of Hell.
In the Hell part of Hell, Detroit is Iran, the sour chunky goat milk is stored in a donkey’s anus, and the gorilla thinks you slept with his wife.
On the plus side, however, you’ll get to meet a lot of interesting people—like Alexander the Overrated (better known as Alexander the Great to you), Genghis Khan, Napoleon, and the Jews behind your favorite movies and TV shows.
But all in all, you’re not going to have a very good time.
And you can check your watch all you want—but you won’t be going anywhere.
Heaven, on the other hand, is kind of like a water park with a seventy two to one female to male ratio.
Unless you’re a homosexual male, in which case there will be a seventy two to one male to male ratio.
Or, wait a second—if you’re a homosexual, you can pretty much forget about going to Heaven. Unless you happen to be perfect in just about every other way.
(By the way—women don’t really count)
Let me show you how it works.
I judge everyone on a 1 to 10 scale—1 being a homosexual Satan-worshiping prime minister of Israel, and 10 being the opposite of a homosexual Satan-worshiping prime minister of Israel
Praying five times a day counts for one point, yelling “Death to America” five times a day counts for one point, avoiding gay sex counts for two points, believing in me counts for five points, refusing to acknowledge the existence of Israel counts for 0.9 points, and being a good person counts for 0.1 points.
Ten points can be redeemed for one entry to Heaven and one backstage pass.
Nine points will get you just the pass to Heaven.
Eight points are good for a ticket to Heaven’s Eternal Waiting Room.
Seven points buys a ticket to Slightly Worse Than Neutral Land, as well as a timeshare that will entitle you to three weeks in Heaven per year. (Keep in mind, however, that a year in the afterworld is 52,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 weeks long.)
Six points can be redeemed for a pass to Slightly Worse Than Neutral Land, and an afterlifetime subscription to the Jewish Journal.
Five points will get you into Hell’s Heaven.
Four points will get you into Hell’s Wyoming.
Three points are good for a pass to Hell’s Hell, along with a solar powered pocket fan (3200 year warranty included).
Two points buys entry into Hell’s Hell’s Hell, and a T-shirt that says: “I’m a complete piece of garbage—and all I have to show for it is this T-shirt, two horns, and a hell of a full body suntan.”