My Non-Surgical Lobotomy

**Editor's Note - Once again my brother Paul has supplied me with content, compensating for my abject shiftlessness. I hope you enjoy. - Ryan**

I handed her two hundred dollars, slapped her ass and sent her on her way. She was worth every penny. I took a picture of the hotel room. Beer cans were strewn on the floor, ashtrays overflowed, white powder laced the coffee table and the bed sheets were satisfyingly disarrayed. This picture would serve as my final souvenir of my hedonistic ways. It was time to give up my life of debauchery. I needed to start planning my long term future. I’d recently perused various religious texts in search of posthumous solace. One religion appealed to me beyond all others: fundamentalist Mormonism.

I’d decided to become a FLDS Mormon for three important reasons: I wanted to let god take care of my problems; a harem of servile wives sounded appealing; and lastly I wanted to indulge my narcissism to the fullest. Though I will miss my vices and possibly my mind, I felt it was necessary to hedge my bets. Eternal damnation sounds like a real downer.

I’m tired of thinking for myself. Grappling with the modern zeitgeist of an ever changing world is hard work. Learning new concepts makes my brain hurt. Solving problems takes ingenuity and tenacity. I’ve seen the light. There is an easier way. I just have to shut off my brain, let my eyes glaze over, feel the drool accumulate in the corner of my mouth and give myself over to the power of prayer. Mormonism, like most religions, states that everything that happens is God’s design. Adopting this philosophy would mean I become immune to criticism and accountable for nothing. I can finally stop thinking and put myself in the church’s capable hands. I will be able to hide behind dogma and antiquated notions without ever again having to wrestle with complex scientific ideas like a heliocentric solar system. That always sounded like witch talk to me. The Christians should have burned that trouble-maker Galileo at the steak when they had the chance. From now on ‘God did it’ will serve as my all encompassing answer to every question. I wonder how I will keep my ears and mind insulated from common sense and rationale. Hopefully there’ll be a seminar. Instead of trying to fix my problems or think through a dilemma, I will simply drop to my knees and beg a celestial dictator to deal with them. Being a Mormon is going to be swell.

One aspect of fundamental Mormonism I’m eagerly anticipating is the bonanza of obedient wives I’m entitled to. The FLDS split from mainstream Mormonism in the early 1900s when plural marriage was renounced and practitioners of plural marriage were excommunicated. People probably have a very negative view of the quality of Mormon woman given the recent news coverage on the raid of the FLDS compound in Texas. People who watched the endless coverage on CNN may be put off by the unusually high number of FLDS women sporting the uni-brow, but I won’t be so easily dissuaded. While I agree that most of these women fall on the wrong side of homely, I hold out hope that I can mine a few diamonds in the rough.

The best part is that the religion demands the obedience and fidelity of its women. I won’t have to go through the hassle of being an interesting and thoughtful person to earn their loyalty and respect. I won’t have to be genuinely interested in them either nor will I have to suffer the indignation of treating them as equals. I will be able to keep them in line with threats of eternal damnation and excommunication. This is going to be keen.

Where Mormonism really sets itself apart from other religions is that it has gone that extra mile to appeal to the megalomaniac in everyone. Other religions offered perks that piqued my interest. For example, certain sects of Islam promise the bizarre and excessive benefit of seventy-two virgins upon death. That is mighty tempting, but I prefer a girl who’s been around the block a few times.

Becoming a Scientologist would give me the chance to rid myself of those pesky body thetans that were planted there by intergalactic warlord Xenu. While Xenu has been a thorn in my side for some time now, the advantage of ridding me of him and his inflicted maladies doesn’t compare to the impressive afterlife benefits package offered by the Mormon religion. In addition to the eternal bliss that is a staple of most religions, I will have the rare opportunity of becoming a god myself with dominion over my own personal planet. Yes, Mormons actually believe this. That is what ultimately sold me, though I often wonder if I’ll be required to pray to myself. That wily Joseph Smith truly knew how to buy loyalty and manipulate the masses. As God of my own planet, my first order of business will be to banish all the Mormons and import some strippers. Being a god is going to be super.

Mormonism isn’t for everyone. Though I relish the idea of becoming an empty-headed polygamist deity, it probably won’t appeal to some. Still, I would encourage everyone to seek out a religion or belief system that discourages independent thought, appeals to narcissism, peddles easy answers, coerces through fear, represses human sexuality, spits in the face of gender equality and holds superstition in higher esteem than reason. People should decide which combination of some or all of these appeals to them and chose their religion accordingly.

Whether it be Jesus, Moses, Zeus, Muhammad, L . Ron Hubbard, or the morning horoscope, people should have a messiah whose teachings they obey without question. Who needs a brain when insecure men in goofy hats can tell us exactly how we should live our lives. If everyone does his or her part we can forget about that bleak time known as The Age of Enlightenment and go back an ideal time where science, literature, art and women are kept under the thumb of religious dogma: where they belong.

Dear Jesus, Will you Lend me a Hand?

Dear Jesus/Allah/Buddha, or any other less popular deity that may be reading,

Being all-knowing, I don't have to tell you that this is my first formal correspondence to you. I realize I haven't exactly been the most devout of followers, what with my tendency to deny your very existence(s) but desperate times call for desperate employment of cliches so please bear with me. I need to confess to whoever is reading that more-and-more frequently I find myself gripped by murderous urges. I fear that I am on the very brink of losing control over these ravenous, homicidal impulses.

What I ask for is simple; I seek the strength to not to choke to death the next guy I see walking out of the men's room without washing his hands. It's not that I don't think these clueless douchebags deserve to die, I absolutely do. It's just that, well, I'm really looking forward to the fall TV lineup and most Canadian correctional facilities don't provide convicted violent criminals with 'round-the-clock, intra-cell access to cable television. What I seek is the mental fortitude to channel my precious hatred towards something constructive, like simply spitting in their mouths or employing Hammurabi's code and slipping them the classic Stink Palm.

If you can't grant me the desired cerebral mastery, perhaps you could enlighten me as to how these complete fucking asshats lack the basic social awareness to realize that most people do not want to shake hands with their dicks. Or the last filthy skank they banged or the armada of genital parasites she deposited on their stinky pubes.

Failing all of this, perhaps you could use your divine influence and provide these shit-eating r-tards with the grade eight scientific education required to realize that one's cock and surrounding area (ballsack, chocolate piehole and much-maligned "taint") are a breeding ground for bacteria and viruses. They need to know that it doesn't necessarily matter that they had a shower this morning or last Tuesday, micro-organisms will grow where it's dark, moist and otherwise disgusting; specifically, their crotch.

I think they could also use a reminder that their time is far less important than they think it is and that the extra 15 seconds it takes to clean that pee of their hands is not going to prevent them from accomplishing anything meaningful. Unless they were going to commit suicide, in which case, maybe you should just let them be.

Thanks, God (or Gods), I really appreciate it. Oh, and while you're at it, would you mind giving flesh-eating disease to all those jackasses who nonchalantly touch their balls in social settings? Sweet.

Your new best friend,
Ryan

Even God Thinks Christian Music Sucks Nuts

"Dozens injured as floor collapses at Christian rock concert in Abbotsford" announced the front page of the Province website yesterday morning. Evidently, Friday night during a concert by "multiple Covenant Award(!?) winning Christian music group," Starfield, the floor gave way, sending about 70 people into the church basement and just a few feet closer to hell.

Although no one was killed, several of the tone-deaf, pasty-faced, virgins were rushed to hospital, tearily looking skywards and asking, "why, God, why?"

Well, the answer is pretty obvious. Clearly, even God thinks that Christian rock music is super lame. I've had a listen to some Starfield tracks, courtesy of their mascara and mullet-heavy website and I'd like to think, if there was a God, that in all his infinite wisdom he'd have way better taste than creepy lyrics such as "Precious lamb, our freedom's in your blood." What is it with Christians and infantile farm-animal metaphors anyway?

Sheep jokes aside, I can easily picture God on the night of the concert hanging out with some of his deity buddies, holding his hands over his ears and wincing in disgust: "Hey, Buddha, Krishna, come over here, check out this wrath! I am gonna smite these geeks something fierce. Zeppelin rules!!!"

One of the most interesting aspects of the Province's 'story' was the fact that a good 30% of the text was cut and paste from frantic posts on Starfield's Facebook page. It seems as if writing for the this bastion of hard-hitting news requires little more than the ability to right-click on social networking websites. This blatant affront to journalism would disappoint me if I wasn't already under the impression that there isn't a single person working at the Province with an I.Q. above 90.

The prevailing sentiment amongst the semi-literate faithful posters was that God was somehow inclined to watch over the victims and that the Province readership should "pray for them all."

Seriously? Are these people so truly and mindlessly deluded by their unsubstantiated faith that they fail to see the delicious irony in this 'tragedy'? Operating under the presupposition that God is omnipotent and therefore controls everything, he's the sonofabitch that brought the roof down to begin with. I think it would be, to say the least, pretty statistically unlikely that he'd be remotely interested in the welfare of casualties, much less be receptive to blubbering pleas for his mercy. Does the fact that this happened in a structure dedicated to his worship not even remotely illuminate the blatant truth...that there is no God, but if there was, he apparently prefers the Chili Peppers?

So there you have it...God favours those with taste and is not above taking out his anger at your shitty musical preferences by collapsing a church on your head. Additionally, as I may never get the opportunity again I'd like to point out that, if the name of your band even remotely conjures up comparisons to a laconic, lasagna-loving, comic strip tabby, you should probably think about changing your band name to something a little less gay. Like the Ball-Licking Fancy Pants.