Tag: bible

Myths

by earlthepearl137

Educated people don’t believe in unicorns. Or mermaids. Or Atlantis, Bigfoot, or the Fountain of Youth. These are dismissed as charming myths—cultural artifacts with no empirical backing. And rightly so. We’ve combed the forests, dredged the lakes, and carbon-dated the ruins. No horned horses. No fish-women. No golden cities.

But God? That’s different.

Despite the same lack of physical evidence, belief in God is not only accepted—it’s revered. Taught in schools, sworn on in courtrooms, and invoked in campaign speeches. The same minds that scoff at fairy tales will defend divine presence with philosophical rigor and moral urgency.

This isn’t a jab at faith—it’s a spotlight on the intellectual gymnastics required to hold both positions. The educated skeptic who demands peer-reviewed proof for mythical beasts will often grant God a pass. “It’s about faith,” they say. “Transcendence. Meaning.”

But why does God get the exemption? Why not the unicorn, who at least has the decency to sparkle?

Maybe it’s not about evidence at all. Maybe it’s about utility. God offers moral scaffolding, community, and cosmic comfort. Unicorns offer glitter and horn-based combat. One gets a cathedral; the other gets a Lisa Frank folder.

So, we believe what serves us. Not what’s proven. And maybe that’s the real myth: that educated people believe only what’s true.

This isn’t a call to abandon belief. It’s a call to examine it. To ask why some unproven ideas are cherished while others are ridiculed. To recognize that even the most rational minds are shaped by culture, emotion, and need.

And if we’re going to believe in things unseen, maybe we should give the unicorn a second chance. At least she never started a war.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

Happy Thanksgiving to All, even “Uncle Bob”

by earlthepearl137

Three weeks ago, the country was divided into those who would be voting for Donald Trump and those who would be voting for Kamala Harris.  With the election now over, those divisions no longer exist. Now, we are all Americans who will be living through another Donald Trump Presidency.  We’re all in the same boat now, except that half of us are optimistic about the next four years, and half of us are dreading them.

I am a never Trumper, but I am not too worried about what Donald Trump is going to do simply because I am old, real old.  I am 76. My aging body might not even last until the end of his Presidency.  For that matter, Trump is older than me, so his aging body might not last that long, either.  He already looks like he’s melting.  So, like my Mom always said, “Never trouble trouble, ‘til trouble troubles you, for trouble, like a bubble, that you’re troubling about, may only be a cipher with the rim rubbed out.”

Many of my friends are in the other camp.  They drank the Kool-Aid DJT was dispensing and are expecting him to “Make America Great Again.”  It would be nice if four years from now, I could say, “Wow, I’m shocked, but you were right.  The United States is great again.”  However, I feel that, instead, I will be saying, “I warned you assholes that this was going to happen.”  Only time will tell what I’ll be saying in four years.  So, let’s focus on the present. 

Tomorrow, families and friends will be gathered around the Thanksgiving table, gorging on food before sitting down to watch football while their waistbands are pressing cruelly against their stomachs.  Perhaps, there will be some political discussion, but I hope that everyone will remain calm, try to keep things civil, and remember that we all have much for which to be thankful. If you have trouble calming down, just remember the words of a wise old soothsayer, “This too shall pass.”

Happy Thanksgiving to all, even “Uncle Bob.”

Peace & Love, and all of the above.

Earl

Give Us Barabbas

by earlthepearl137

The story of Barabbas is found in all four Gospels – Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. According to the Gospels, Barabbas was a despicable prisoner who was being held by the Roman authorities at the time of Jesus’ trial and crucifixion.

As a token to the Jews during Passover, The Romans would free one prisoner.  (Kinda like the way the President pardons one turkey on Thanksgiving.) Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor, brought out Barabbas, a notorious robber, who committed murder during an Insurrection, and he let the crowd choose between releasing either Jesus or the evil Barabbas. Pilate could find no fault in Jesus, so he was surprised when the crowd called out, “Give us Barabbas,” and screamed for Jesus to be crucified. Pilate then washed his hands and said, “I wash my hands of the blood of this innocent man. The crowd said, “Let his blood be upon us and our children.” Anti-Semites, like Hitler, have used that line for centuries as an excuse for exterminating Jewish people.

Last night, history repeated itself.  The crowd chose to free a notorious robber who was guilty of murder committed during an insurrection, which he led.

On November 18, 1956, Nikita Khrushchev said in a speech to America.  “Whether you like it or not, history is on our side.  We will bury you.”

Last night, whether we like it or not, we started digging our own grave.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

Paradise Lost

by earlthepearl137

Today, I asked Claude to write a parody of the John Milton poem Paradise Lost in the irreverent British style of Ricky Gervais, but performed before an American audience, with Donald Trump, of course, in the role of Satan. After a few tweaks, we got this:

So, there’s this dude called God, right? He’s made the universe and everything, but he’s pretty ticked off because his favorite angel, Donald J. Lucy-fer (it’s a tremendous name, really the best), has gone and thrown a yuuuge tantrum. Apparently, Lucy-fer didn’t like God’s new policy of “worship me or else,” calling it “fake news” and a “total witch hunt.”

Well, God’s not having any of that. He kicks Lucy-fer and his gang out of heaven faster than Twitter banning an account. Down they go into this place called Hell – imagine the worst Trump property you’ve ever seen, but on fire. We’re talking “We have the heats.” It’s like someone took Trump Steaks and cranked them up to well-done with ketchup… for eternity.

Now Lucy-fer, who we’re calling Satan because it polls better with evangelicals, is seriously pissed off. He’s thinking, “We’re gonna make Heaven pay for this. It’s gonna be great, folks.” So he slithers up to Earth, not so much auditioning for “Snake’s Got Talent” as hosting “The Apprentice: Garden of Eden Edition.”

Meanwhile, God’s gone all NSA, watching everything on his celestial TV (which, by the way, has the best ratings, just fantastic). He sees Satan coming but does he do anything? Nah, he’s playing 4D chess, apparently. “My son will sort it,” he says. “He’s got the best words.”

Down in Eden, the world’s first gated community with a strict no-clothes policy, Satan finds Eve. Now Eve’s never seen a snake before, let alone one trying to push Trump-brand apples. “Listen, honey, you gotta try this fruit. It’s gonna make Eden great again, believe me.” So she does, and then she gets Adam in on it too – it’s a perfect phone call, really. Suddenly, they realize they’re buck naked and go into a panic like they’ve just found out their tax returns are being audited.

God finds out because of course he does – he’s got angels, the best angels, in the FBI (Fruit Bitten Intelligence). He goes ballistic. “Adam! You’re fired!” Adam, being the first man to throw his wife under the Access Eden bus, replies, “She made me do it! Grab ’em by the apple!” Real presidenti– uh, chivalrous, dude.

So God kicks them out of Eden. No golden parachute, nothing. Just a flaming sword at their backs and a lifetime of “I’m Eve, and I don’t really care, do U?” jackets. Eve’s thinking, “All this for an apple? I thought the Trump Diet was all about McDonald’s.”

The story ends with Adam and Eve wandering off, probably to invent locker room talk and the phrase “I’ll release my medical records when Eden releases its birth certificate.” And God’s up there planning the mother of all redemption arcs involving his son and a bestseller called the Bible – because nothing says “art of the deal” like a flood and some plagues before the big finale.

And that, folks, is Paradise Lost – where the snake talks like he’s at a rally, the humans are dumb as rocks (the best rocks, from Trump Quarries), and God proves he’s got a flair for the theatrical that makes WrestleMania look like community theater. Thank you, and don’t forget to tip your waitress – she’s working for minimum wage in a universe created by an omnipotent being who, I assume, has some good people on both sides.

Peace & Love, and all of the above.

Earl