Another loooooong day today. Might have time to write something new later tonight, but for now, a favorite I had forgotten about! Don’t worry that it’s about the War On Christmas–I promise, it has a happy ending.
‘Twas the night before Christmas; the Christians all hunkered
In basements of buildings they’d armored and bunkered.
They huddled in silence; they huddled in fear,
With thoughts that the atheists soon would draw near…
(after the jump)
[Read more…]
Ok, this one really takes the “let’s out-Hallmark Hallmark” and runs with it. Cuttlefamily’s first christmas cards have begun arriving–one from a cousin who has an album of christmas hymns out. Seriously. Her cards always–always–have a bible verse, and a poem that is weapons-grade glurge.
So, below the fold… weapons-grade atheist glurge. Do not click if you are insulin dependent. Do not click if you are allergic to syrup. Do not click if you have just eaten.
But if you get the same sort of cards I get from my relatives, and want something equally saccharine to send to them… put on your protective goggles and look past the jump…
A few years ago, I got a really sappy christmas card from the mail carrier. Its true purpose, of course, was to provide an easy way for us to deliver him a Christmas tip. Tis the season, after all. But it started me thinking–how hard can this card-writing business be? Anyway, this one is a two-parter; the outside of the card is just below, and the inside of the card is below the jump:
[front]
As we battle our way through the line at the store
And think to ourselves “there has got to be more”
And wonder where “Christmas of long ago” went,
When the meaning of Christmas was what it first meant…
[Read more…]
(I know, it’s not yet Thanksgiving. A-I’m busy. B-stores have been in christmas mode for a month already. C-you need time to rehearse these verses if you’re going to deliver them at the Christmas pageant.)
From the Cape of Good Hope to the Newfoundland islands,
The sands of Iran to the Panama isthmus;
From Outback Australia to Inverness Highlands
It’s time to take arms in the War Against Christmas!
My weapons are mistletoe, Christmas trees, holly,
A yule-log, and caroling out in the snow;
Sleigh-rides and snowball-fights, eggnog and Jolly
Old Santa Claus, laughing his loud “Ho! Ho! Ho!”
We’ll make them forget all the Truth of the season—
The sacrifice planned by a god up above—
And have them believing some bastardized reason
Like giving, or kindness, or caring or love!
I’ll cruelly and callously help out a stranger
Who’s down on his luck or has suffered some loss,
I won’t even speak of the babe in the manger
Whom God sent to Earth to get nailed to a cross;
When the winds of December conspire to freeze us
I’ll help collect sweaters and coats for the poor,
Neglecting to make any mention of Jesus,
Whose torture is really what Christmas is for.
My hatred of Christmas will focus my labors
On weaving an atheist fabric of lies—
For instance, I’m giving to all of my neighbors
Gift baskets, cookies, and fruitcakes and pies!
I’ll say “Merry Christmas!” I’ll say “Season’s Greetings!”
I’ll say “Happy Holidays—Joyous Noel!”
Intending of course, that with each of these meetings
The Truth About Christmas can just go to hell.
The truth is that Christmas is not about presents
It’s no time for songs, It’s not time to be nice
It’s not time for feasting on turkeys or pheasants—
It’s sin, and redemption by blood sacrifice.
No time to be jolly; no time to be merry
It’s time to be solemn, and grim, and devout!
The heathens might find it depressing or scary
But that is what Christmas is truly about.
Yes, Jesus is really the ultimate reason
And Christmas is really redemption and sin;
The war against Christmas is early this season—
For God’s sake, let’s hope that the atheists win!
A bit of history of Christmas in America, after the jump:
Another oldie. Sorry. But I want you to donate to food banks, before thanksgiving. (non USAians, I just want you to be good people.) This verse, from a year and a half ago, examined motives. At the time, people were concerned that the reason that people donated to food banks was somehow more important than the fact that they do so. I disagree. If you can, please do donate. If you get some sort of reward, or tax break, or special dispensation from the pope, so much the better. If we can make it easy to be good, shouldn’t we? (the penultimate line comments on the notion, expressed by some but not all humanists, that human nature can be trusted to lead to good behavior. I disagree, which is one reason I am not a humanist.)
If we only take donations
With the purest motivations
And our shelves remain half-empty, it’s the hungry folks who lose.
If the sponsors can afford it,
There’s good reason to reward it!
And the altruists can turn their prizes down, if they so choose.
Do not make it any harder
Than it is, to stock a larder,
With a view of human nature based on freely-chosen good!
I don’t care if it looks greedy,
If it helps the poor and needy–
The alternative is hunger, till we give “because we should”.
If a prize or recognition
Brings donations to fruition–
“I’ll increase my odds of winning if I donate lots of tins!”–
You can say that it looks selfish;
I’m not humanist, I’m shellfish!
When we pay for good behavior, sometimes everybody wins!
So I saw a tweet today (I won’t link–go search if you want) that went “FACT: athiests(sic) CANNOT celebrate Christmas. #youreallhypocrites” Silly person; celebrating what currently goes by the name “christmas” started long before her religion did, and trying to tell people they aren’t allowed to eat and drink and celebrate with friends and family just because they aren’t in your club is an exercise in futility. Face it: Christmas is a secular holiday, celebrated by many and ignored by many.
Anyway, this verse is from all the way back in 2007; I was recently reminded of it because someone wrote to ask permission to use it in their family christmas cards. So I’ll tell you more or less what I told them: feel free. If you do anything commercial, we gotta talk. If you want to stuff something in my stocking, there’s a button over at the bottom right hand side of this page. And yes, it’s early for this, but that tweet was just today, and it was a week or so ago that my reader asked, so apparently it’s not too early for people to be thinking about such things.
It’s a really sweet verse, but now I’ve written enough that I’m gonna have to put it after the jump: [Read more…]
“… I reckon I’d be a pretty miserable, angry person with a chip on my shoulder if I also believed that I was no more than worm meat at the end of the day.” –from an email to PZ, a couple of years ago. I’m reposting this one from the old blog, because A) it bookends the “nothing to live for” verse of a couple days ago, B) it was also featured on the Good Funeral Guide blog I wrote about yesterday, and C) I can’t believe I hadn’t already reposted it. I am told that this verse has actually been used at some living wakes, for people who aren’t yet dead.
When we are dead, we’ll feed the worms
And other stuff that writhes and squirms
And if you cannot come to terms
With that—well, use your head!
There are no ifs nor ands nor buts:
Bacteria within our guts
Will start to eat us; that is what’s
In store, once we are dead.
Yes, life is short and full of toil,
And when we’ve shuffled off this coil
Our carcasses will start to spoil—
There’s nothing wrong with that.
Our share of fish or pigs or cows,
And all the chicken time allows,
Is done. It’s only fair that now’s
The worms’ turn to get fat.
Should we die young, or old and gray,
The laws of nature we’ll obey
And spend our heat in mere decay,
Replenishing the Earth;
“Three score and twelve” may be our years
For love and laughter, hope and fears
And then—mere smoke—life disappears;
No heaven, no rebirth.
And with no heaven up above
Nor hell we ought be frightened of
It’s best we fill our lives with love,
With learning, and with fun!
Don’t waste a lifetime while you wait
For halo, wings, and pearly gate—
This is your life, so get it straight:
You only get the one!
I’ll have no moment lost to prayer,
To cleanse my soul and thus prepare
For passage to… THERE’S NOTHING THERE!
Those moments, all, are wasted!
I’m only here a little time
Before it’s bugs and worms and slime;
I’ll eat and drink my life so I’m
Delicious when I’m tasted!
I was listening to NPR the other day (it was brief, and I don’t remember which program it was that I heard a snippet of), and heard a man speak of the death of his mother, which happened many years after he and his siblings had left the Catholic Church. As non-believers, and more importantly, as individuals independent of any faith traditions, he and his siblings were at a loss: what do you do with the body? Not in the sense of “do we just let her lie there and decompose?”, but more in the sense that they had no rituals, no traditions to follow. (More, after the jump:) [Read more…]
So I’ve been having a bit of fun at a tiny little internet backwater. Hey, it’s what I do sometimes. Don’t judge me!
Anyway, I noticed today that somebody invoked the idea of “Last Tuesdayism” which (by the blog author’s argument) all of us, in order to be intellectually consistent, must remain agnostic about. Thus, today’s little ditty.
Only last Tuesday, a quarter past four,
The universe was, when it wasn’t before!
The whole of the universe started to be,
Which it hadn’t at all, at a quarter past three.
Existence itself, in the blink of an eye;
No reason for billions of years to go by.
Of course, it looks old—that’s the way it was done,
Looking old from the instant it all had begun;
The universe looks like it has a real past,
And one that seems incomprehensively vast
It seems there are billions of years to explore
But it started last Tuesday, a quarter past four.
The earth and the heavens, the sun and the stars,
The mountains, the oceans, the cities, the cars,
The falsified memories that seem to be real,
Each trip to the doctor, each holiday meal,
Each nursery school freeze-tag or hide-and-go-seek,
Each one an illusion from early last week.
Each fossil was planted, and each sacred scroll,
Each childhood memory, made up in whole,
Your very first friend, and the first one you kissed
Another illusion to add to the list.
No God whatsoever creating a scene,
And nothing at all from before 4:15.
There is no “last month”, and there is no “last year”,
Just Tuesday and later, that’s perfectly clear.
The scientists’ “billions of years” is a guess,
Like the people who say it’s six thousand or less—
They each claim their evidence tells them what’s true,
And they haven’t a clue that they haven’t a clue.
So how do I know what I’m telling you now?
If it’s all manufactured last Tuesday, then how?
You can’t trust the science; religion is bunk;
You can’t trust your senses, cos all of it’s junk;
No possible way that the real truth can show,
So how do I know it? That’s it—I just know.
Religion and science are two different ways
We can look at the world—that’s what everyone says.
But really, why limit ourselves just to these?
My Tuesdayist view is as good, if you please!
It’s as old as the others, so please don’t ignore—
Cos they all started Tuesday, a quarter past four.
As usual, more after yon jumpage: [Read more…]
I don’t have any time today, so here’s something from 2-1/2 years ago, that nobody read back then:
John Holbo of Crooked Timber has newly acquired a wonderful old book, in which he finds a poem, “The Atheist and the Acorn“. Go read it! Then maybe my little verse will make more sense.
Methinks this “God” is strangely made
For something of such worth,
An introspective theist said
As plucked he up a single blade
Of grass, from off the earth:
Behold, quoth he, this tiny thing,
This single blade of grass,
Enough to make Walt Whitman sing—
They grow in millions every spring
Unnoticed as we pass.
But God counts every single leaf,
Each hair upon your head
(For bald men, he just counts their grief)
The reason that we know? In chief,
It’s what the Bible said.
But where is God when good men die
In wars, fought in His name?
He counts the grass—He can’t deny
He hears the wounded moan and cry—
He sits there, to His shame.
He mustn’t think; he mustn’t doubt,
This theist on the lawn;
His worship must remain devout;
One thought that he might do without
And poof—his God is gone.
He cannot help but smile and nod
It feels so good; so right.
He’d looked upon the face of God
And found it merely a façade—
And now he’s seen the light.