13 Oct 2004
When I was but a wee young stripling of a lad I remember continually arguing with my parents after one occasion when I made the fatal mistake of being honest with them. I had just smoked my first few spliffs down the bottom of the garden and foolishly, and perhaps because I was freshly stoned, I presumed that Mum and Dad would understand my curiosity and would leave me to it. I mean, the authors I was so enamoured with at that time were all prescribing healthy doses of all sorts of pharmaceuticals; Huxley liked his mescaline, Kesey his LSD-25 and Burroughs his smack, to name but a few; and I thought that the rents would take my mild investigations into these matters with a nurturing pat on the back. This was not the case.
Hence followed two years of them shouting at me that I needed counselling and me replying in shrieks that it was them who needed help to deal with the reality that,"everybody smokes, man!" I mention this as it was in the broiling depths of such an argument that I arrived at the realisation that continues to irritate me to this day and may well force me to start a vicious bombing campaign. In an attempt to justify the smoking of marijuana I cited the Rastafarian ‘religion’ as an example of the benefits of weed. My father bellowed his query,
"What the fuck has that got to do with anything?!"
"The rastas all smoke copious amounts of ganja!"
"And what the fuck has that got to do with anything?!"
I answered,"How many wars have the rastas started? How many? Fucking none, that’s how many!"
"So, I’d rather be a pothead than a fucking Christian! Look how much fucked up shit they’ve started! The crusades, the beheadings, the lot!"
You may be surprised to hear that such a lucid revelation as this did nothing to aid the family’s general disagreement with my habits. However, all that has passed now and, incidentally, it turns out that my policy of honestly was perhaps for the best. Time, as per normal, has dulled the wicked edges of my parents’ fear and worry and now we discuss weed openly and I have turned into the family’s social worker. Any parent who has worries about their child’s habits is referred to me. My consultancy card reads thus: Bruce Campbell, Ex-Junkie and Man of Chemical Wisdom, for all your Child’s Habits Concerns. Anyway, I’m rambling. What’s my point? (That would be the weed Bruce! – Dad)
That’s it. The ‘lucid revelation’ that the majority of man’s conflicts have been caused by disagreements in religions stuck with me. Let me clarify for you. Religion is a belief in, worship of, or obedience to a supernatural power. The operative word here being ‘belief’, and perhaps more accurately ‘faith’, which is a ‘blind’ belief. I mean, I believe in this beer that I am drinking because I can see it, feel it, taste it and it makes me giggle. Accepted that it could still be but a figment of my imagination but that is getting into a philosophical arena that has no place in this discussion. I do not have faith in this beer because I do not need faith as I have a basic and provable belief. Faith is the kind of belief you have when you cannot prove the existence of something. Faith is nothing more than a strong presumption and we all know what Presumption was the mother of, don’t we? Yes, that is right, "Presumption is the mother of all Fuck-Ups!"
Noone can argue that God had a son named Jesus or that Allah is the only god and Muhammad is his prophet and mean it unless they are drunk on faith. Any logical person has to see that such ramblings are merely hopeful ideals that exist for many reasons, the major one being that mankind as a species feels it necessary to try and distance ourselves from the rest of the earth’s animals by alluding to some divine preference that only we enjoy. I could argue this point ad nauseum but for those who already know this to be the case, the above paragraph is sufficient and for those who are raising their voices right now in dissent, there is no argument that will stop your unhealthy delusion. Perhaps a slap round the head with a big wet herring might help but I doubt it.
Stop. Before you religious zealots out there start arguing the point that religion is necessary to make everyone get along, just forget it. I am not religious at all and I am the nicest and most helpful person I know. Almost. The point being that I am nice because I prefer to be nice and enjoy the benefits of being nice. It is purely a selfish action on my behalf with perhaps a dribble of altruism in it derived from a sense of empathy, which, actually, is selfishness again. I have no problem with anyone unless they have issues with me and then only because I am an animal and I want to survive.
This is why I am considering starting an underground hardcore cell of the Common Sensical Atheists Against all Religious Twats Brigade.
p.s. For any government agencies that have found this diatribe as a result of searching for the words "terrorist group" and its ilk, please calm down. I am far too apathetic to organise an appointment for a haircut let alone anything that might involve accurate timing or measurement of plastique. Look at the title for Kerist’s sake!
But anyway, how did you happen to find my blog? Just wondering of course.
And I will try my very hardest not to drown, unless I'd like to.
p.s. do you own any exorbitantly lengthy scarves, percahnce?
Anyway, to be honest, I have the same lack of regard for spelling as I do for religion. As far as I am concerned the whole objective of language, including the facet of spelling, is to communicate and as long as understanding is shared I do not care how the words are spelt. So there, once more.
And Christians didn't invent beheadings - the French did (or have at least perfected it) :-)
I do not think that 'beheading' was invented but rather more discovered and I suspect several millenia before Christianity was spat onto this world. All it would have taken was two horny cavemen with one cavewoman between them and the sharpened thigh bone of a recently eaton Probactrosaurus Rozhdestvensky. Et viola, je suis sans head.
Look, it's only me. Thought I'd wind you up a bit but couldn't be arsed.
We really shouldn't be talking, so - sorry.