Come The Rapture, Who Feeds The Dog?

The day the rapture sweeps the land,
And plucks up true believers,
Among those heathens Left Behind
Are Labrador Retrievers

No Saint Bernard will make the trip
Nor Cockapoo, nor Hound;
The Lord may be my shepherd,
But my Shepherd stays aground.

No Poodles, Pugs, or Pekingese;
No ifs or ands or buts—
The rapture takes God’s faithful,
But it doesn’t take the mutts.

Believers who are worried for
The welfare of their pets
Are offered, now, an answer
If they’d like to place their bets.

“Eternal Earthbound Pets” exists
To serve those Left Behind;
It’s rapture pet insurance, if
Believers are inclined.

Of course, not all believers think
Their pets will all be lost;
Their pets may go to Heaven, too
(Thus saving them the cost)

And Fido sits beside them, cos
In Heaven, all is well;
Together, they can laugh and spit
At sufferers in Hell.

From The Union Leader (Manchester, NH) comes the last pet-sitting service you will ever need. Well, assuming that you are going to heaven. If you’re with me, plan on needing to buy kibble for a long, long time.

As those Christians who believe in the Rapture get taken up into eternity, the pet-lovers among them will have one less thing to worry about if a Langdon atheist has anything to say about it.

Bart Centre, 61, a retired vice president of an international retail firm and current co-owner of Eternal Earthbound Pets, is offering a $110 post-Rapture pet care service. The way Centre sees it, he makes a little money in his retirement, and should Jesus Christ return and the Rapture occur, those snatched up into heaven will have their pets cared for, he said.

Of course, to me, the most interesting thing was the reaction from the editor for Rapture Ready:

One Christian who is having a bit of a chuckle over it is Terry James, general editor for the popular Christian Web site Rapture Ready based out of Arkansas.

“He’s giving somebody the business,” James said. “It’s a scam. . . . Anyone who would take that offer seriously, well, how would you even follow up?”

James said what is true is that Christians who believe in the Rapture do wonder about what will happen to their pets. So many, that James wrote a pamphlet about it. He said though pets will be left behind, if the people in Heaven decide that they miss their pets, they can decide to have them brought up later. He acknowledged that sounded a little screwy, but, he said, it’s what he believes.

“I find it kind of amusing to tell you the truth,” he said of Centre’s business venture. “I don’t begrudge him and I don’t hate him for it. And if anyone is actually foolish enough to buy the service and don’t think to follow up, well, then they are foolish.”

Leaving aside the irony of a biblical literalist making up non-biblical pamphlets telling feel-good stories about pets in heaven, and leaving aside the irony of someone with his beliefs calling any other beliefs foolish, there is a further, less evident (or maybe that’s the H1N1 talking) irony.

I have, in arguments with Rapture Ready believers and their ilk (not using my Cuttlefish handle), been told that they are happy I am going to hell, and that they will greatly enjoy looking down from heaven and watching me suffer in a lake of fire. I have been told that they will laugh, and if they are feeling particularly charitable, they will spit on me, just to watch me welcome this relief from the searing heat. Seriously.

And these people (or, most probably, others who share portions of their world view) are going to miss their dogs in heaven? Terry James makes up a story about bringing up Fido later, but gee, it’s too bad about grandma. If you love her, maybe you can convince more of your heavenly friends to spit on her.

(edited to add: predictably, the commentary on the story is every bit as interesting as the story itself, which will surprise no one familiar with the Union [mis]Leader.)

Cuttlecap tip to commenter Laurie on Pharyngula.

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Cuttlefish Classic: Oh, Wait…

Image: Michael McRae

My God is pretty self-assured, and quite convinced He’s right.
He made me in His image, so He’s green-eyed, blond, and white;
And He’s very, very wrathful with the folks who disagree;
He’ll hold a grudge for centuries—Oh, wait—that might be me.

He’s insecure enough to want to hear how much you love Him
And He never will forgive you if there’s someone else above Him;
He’ll jealously react to any threat to His domain
By smiting all His enemies—Oh, wait—that’s me again.

He’ll make the world a better place for those who think like Him
For those in opposition, well, the situation’s grim;
He’ll call jihad, or else crusade—some form of Holy War
Because He knows He’s always right—Oh, wait—that’s me once more.

He’s handsome, bearded, steely-eyed, deep-voiced and somewhat haughty
So wonderful, his naughty bits are never seen as naughty
But perfectly proportioned, grand and firm and never shrinking,
A miracle of awesomeness—Oh, wait—that’s wishful thinking.

As I said before, I’m re-posting some of my favorites (and yours, if you let me know which ones) during this kinda sorta Fall Fundraiser Drive (tip jar over there on the right).

This one was from May of 08–I remember it as being earlier than that, but such are memories. It was inspired by a poll in England, in which a majority of respondents apparently believe that god is, indeed, male. Likely white and bearded, too. It’s like the Sistine Chapel is a giant Polaroid shot.

We really like our gods to be made in our own image, don’t we?

Cuttlefish Classic: The Octopus Gods

Image: Michael McRae

Oh, the cephalopods have their Octopus Gods,
With tentacles stronger than steel,
Who have taken down ships with their powerful grips
And made many a sailor a meal.

They win wrestling matches with submarine hatches
Like popping a tin of sardines
Then it’s horrible cries, and tears in the eyes
Of the witnessing Merchant Marines.

Survivers are few, but they swear it is true—
“The monster, it started to throttle us!”
You can vividly note, from the scar on his throat
He survived the attack on the Nautilus.

These powerful deities loves spontaneity,
Thus, are well-loved by their followers
Who all serve as one, having octopus fun
Whether tiny, or submarine-swallowers

When I tell you (no lie) that the octopus eye
Is superior even to Man’s
It’s clear that this creature’s the centerpiece feature
In a sinister deity’s plans

They’ll take down a shark, like a walk in the park—
You’ve seen it on YouTube, I know
And to get to their goal they can squeeze through a hole,
Up the drain, in your tub, to your toe!

So guzzle your Folger’s—these octopus soldiers
Are coming for you while you sleep!
These eight-legged beauties will all do their duties;
Invisible devils, they creep.

So the next time you think, “could one hide in my sink?
Or my bathtub, or even my toilet?”
As a Cuttlefish, I would be seen as a spy
If I told you (besides, that would spoil it).

If you find an appeal in an octopus meal—
Say, for sushi you’ve got a real itch—
The cephalopods have their Octopus Gods
And I’m telling you, payback’s a bitch.

As I said before, I’m re-posting some of my favorites (and yours, if you let me know which ones) during this kinda sorta Fall Fundraiser Drive (tip jar over there on the right).

This one is from my very first month of posting here, when I averaged under 50 readers a day, so it may be new to you. Enjoy!

The Bells! (Arizona Courts Side With Neighbors, Silence Church)


I

Hear the churches with the bells—
Recorded bells!
What a load of excrement their melody fortells!
How they started up one morning
As the neighbors tried to sleep!
With an utter lack of warning
And no beauty there adorning—
A recording! Clearly cheap!
Crying, “Hear, hear, hear!”
To the folks who live too near
To the audio recoding that malevolently wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
From the Christ the King Cathedral and its bells.

II

Hear the neighbors’ busy bells—
Telephone bells!
Hear the litigation their cacophony foretells!
Though the effort was a waste,
Hear them speak to their distaste,
To the Bishop of the church
And to the cops;
As for quietude they search,
Though the heavenly loudspeaker on its perch
Never stops!
At annoyance it excels!
Nearly causing epileptic seizing spells!
How it swells!
How it smells
Like dead Fish! It compels
The neighbors to hotels,
From the staying there and playing
Of the bells, bells, bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
From the taping, no escaping from the bells!

III

Hear the loud, disgruntled bells—
Bishop’s bells!
What a tale of persecution, Here where Jesus dwells!
In the sermons every week
An exemption’s what they seek!
Special treatment for their acts
For the facts are not the facts
In this case!
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the court
In a mad expostulation, even prayer as last resort!
Digging lower, lower, lower,
Though it’s louder than a mower,
And the senses it’s assaulting,
More annoying than exalting
To the neighbors they have to face!
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
What a tale the Bishop tells
Of despair!
Hear him brattle, bleat, and roar
Till his vocal cords are sore!
As he’s breathing in the sacrilegious air!
Yet the congregation’s ears
Filled with twanging
And with clanging
Will ignore the neighbor’s fears!
Yes, the congregation stays
With the jangling
And the wrangling,
And no mercy it displays,
For the begging and the pleading of the neighbors to the bells
Of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
To the painful and disdainful Christian bells!

IV

Hear the judgment of the bells—
Judicial bells!
With the judgment of a Solomon, their legal might compels!
The opinion of the court
Now, the Bishop’s will, will thwart,
With legitimate authority to bear!
In every case they see
They require you and me
To be fair
And the people—ah, the people—
Like the Bishop with his steeple—
See him there!
See him twisting and denying
With his sanctified hot air
Parsing words that border lying
They are neither true nor holy
They lie partially or fully
All to fools!
And his church it is that tolls,
His recording, there, that rolls
Rolls
Annoyance from the bells!
And the Bishop fairly swells
From the pride of ringing bells!
At the pulpit, now he yells;
Wasting time, time, time
Now convicted of a crime
For the ringing of the bells
Of the bells—
Wasting time, time time
Now convicted of a crime
For the tolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells—
For recordings of his bells,
Wasting time, time, time,
And the bells, bells, bells,
Which he sullied with his crime,
In the playing of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells—
For the blasting of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
For the playing of the tape-recorded bells.

With humble and sincere apologies to Edgar Allan Poe.

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Halloween Horrors!

It’s almost time for Trick Or Treat,
And now I’m in a panic—
I’m doubting if my candy is
Sufficiently Satanic!
The needles, pins, and razor blades
(Which used to be tradition)
Are terribly old-fashioned now;
I need new ammunition!
The local Coven gave their curse
As every Coven should,
But will that really be enough
To drive away the Good?
The fundies warn us all about
The evil of this day—
How just by eating candy, we
Become the Devil’s prey!
But I wonder, as I always do,
As kids come to my door,
With all the curses I have cast,
Perhaps I should do more?
I’ve made a perfect pentagram
Of skittle, corn, and dud,
Then baptized all my candy in
A newborn infant’s blood.
While waiting for the mess to dry
I reveled with a goat—
Now every child’s candy sends
Some evil down their throat.

The last I’ve ever had such fun
I don’t remember when—
Too bad I’m not as scary as
The folks from CBN.

Yes, the folks at CBN (this is a google cache–apparently some things are too stupid even for CBN to leave on their site) helpfully write to warn us about the real Halloween.

Halloween is much more than a holiday filled with fun and tricks or treats. It is a time for the gathering of evil that masquerades behind the fictitious characters of Dracula, werewolves, mummies and witches on brooms. The truth is that these demons that have been presented as scary cartoons actually exist. I have prayed for witches who are addicted to drinking blood and howling at the moon.

While the lukewarm and ignorant think of these customs as “just harmless fun,” the vortexes of hell are releasing new assignments against souls. Witches take pride in laughing at the ignorance of natural men (those who ignore the spirit realm).

Decorating buildings with Halloween scenes, dressing up for parties, going door-to-door for candy, standing around bonfires and highlighting pumpkin patches are all acts rooted in entertaining familiar spirits. All these activities are demonic and have occult roots.

The word “occult” means “secret.” The danger of Halloween is not in the scary things we see but in the secret, wicked, cruel activities that go on behind the scenes. These activities include:

Sex with demons

Orgies between animals and humans

Animal and human sacrifices

Sacrificing babies to shed innocent blood

Rape and molestation of adults, children and babies

Revel nights

Conjuring of demons and casting of spells

Release of “time-released” curses against the innocent and the ignorant.

Another abomination that goes on behind the scenes of Halloween is necromancy, or communication with the dead. Séances and contacting spirit guides are very popular on Halloween, so there is a lot of darkness lurking in the air.

Damn, all I ever did was decorate the house and eat too much candy.

Cuttlecap tip to PZ, of course.

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Anglican-Catholic Horizontal Transfer

It’s all over the news, it’s all over the blogs, it’s everywhere, you can’t swing a dead cat without hitting a discussion of the Pope’s recent invitation to Anglicans. A group of Anglican priests, upset at recent changes in their church (changes which slowly, glacially, tectonically, move the church from the bronze age into the early iron age), are considering the Pope’s invitation to return to mother church. I suspect that an even more conservative sect will soon be considering Oogg’s invitation to return to the trees.

You say your faith won’t let you hate?
Treat gay folks worse that you treat straight?
Be sexist? Or discriminate?
It’s time to start your search!
You want a group that’s really great,
That’s never seen as second-rate;
Where folks like you can all relate:
Come join the Catholic Church!

See, ever since your church began
When Henry lusted after Anne,
You’ve looked upon the Vatican
With envy, so it seems.
The Pope, you thought, was superman;
You’re secretly a papal fan:
Good news! Just shout that angl-I-CAN
Fulfill my Catholic dreams!

The offer that we now present
Is one way we can circumvent
Our numbers problem; your dissent
Adds members to our herd!
Of course, to open up our tent
Some ancient rules must now be bent,
But only by a small percent
We’ll modify God’s word.

So join the group that’s grand in scope;
That gives the world its greatest hope
That claims to have the One True Pope—
Your old ways, disavow.
One final thing, to help you cope
As on this brand-new path you grope:
In showers, never drop the soap—
Cos you’re a Catholic now.

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Which Is Witch?

An extremely sad story today from the BBC, although with a better ending than hundreds of other such stories.

Five women were paraded naked, beaten and forced to eat human excrement by villagers after being branded as witches in India’s Jharkhand state.

Local police said the victims were Muslim widows who had been labelled as witches by a local cleric.

As may be expected, at least two theories are offered to explain the violence–the religious superstition itself, or as a cover for economic motive:

Hundreds of people, mostly women, have been killed in India because their neighbours thought they were witches.

Experts say superstitious beliefs are behind some of these attacks, but there are occasions when people – especially widows – are targeted for their land and property.

Just as we so often call an animal dangerous, when we are a greater threat to them than they are to us, it is clear that in this village, wickedness was less a characteristic of the witches than of the accusers.

And so, in a bit of role reversal, a bit of MacBeth:

First villager:
Thrice the local clerics call’d

Second villager:
Thrice and once the mad mob thronged

Third villager:
Cameras on! ‘Tis time, ‘tis time.

First Villager:
Round about the village go
Take the five and drive them so.
Rend their clothes and strip them bare
Beat them in the village square
Know the bible must forgive:
“Suffer not a witch to live.”

All:
Double, double, toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

Second villager:
Muslim widows, old or rich,
Labeled by the clerics: “Witch!”
Helpless women, now we see,
Targeted for property.
Hundreds watch, and some join in
To stone a witch, it is no sin—
Treat them to a sacrament
Of filthy human excrement.

All:
Double, double, toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

Third villager:
Stunted morals, blunted hearts,
Faith, its tyranny imparts,
Son and daughter, father, mother,
Join as one to fight The Other,
Holy scripture, clerics’ will,
Economic needs fulfill.
Superstition, prejudice,
Religion leads to things like this—
Mere accusation will suffice;
Five women, now, serve sacrifice.
The village now will cast their blame
And thus preserve their own good name.

All:
Double, double, toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

Second Villager:
Cool it while the cameras roll;
When they leave we’ll take our toll.

Video, for those who wish.

Oh, the really sad thing? From the BBC website:

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A Modest Proposal (Jennifer, Jennifer)

Inspired by the comments (though not the actual initial post) on PZ’s post here. My verse is more a response to the general issue than to the specifics of the posted incident.

Jennifer, Jennifer, got herself pregnant,
The poor, irresponsible slut.
See, boys will be boys, so it’s up to the girls
To be moral, and keep their legs shut.
But Jennifer, Jennifer, couldn’t be bothered;
She led her young Billy astray.
They met, after classes, at Jennifer’s house,
And now there’s a kid on the way.

Jennifer, Jennifer, wants an abortion—
She says she’s too young for a baby—
But the law of the land says abortion is murder;
The answer is no, and not maybe.
See, murder is murder; we cannot condone
The destruction of innocent life.
And Billy, of course, is an innocent, too,
And he’s much, much too young for a wife.

So Jennifer, Jennifer, finds herself caught
In the view of a watchful Big Brother,
And Country and Church have a task on their hands—
How to keep the babe safe from its mother.
If murder is murder, for fetus or child,
Then surely assault is assault;
A fetus is damaged by drinking or smoking,
And all of it, Jennifer’s fault.

If Jennifer, Jennifer, falls down the stairs
Then the baby inside could be harmed;
And since that poor child is a ward of the state
It is right we should all be alarmed!
So Jennifer, Jennifer, needs to be safe
For the sake of the babe in her womb;
To keep the poor innocent safe from all harm,
Let’s keep Jennifer locked in her room.

But Jennifer, Jennifer, isn’t the first
Nor the last to be pregnant, you see.
The task that’s before us—protecting our children—
Is crucial, I think you’ll agree.
With the passing to law of my modest proposal,
I honestly think we’ll prevail.
It’s simple: Each woman who finds herself pregnant
Must spend the next nine months in jail.

Jennifer, Jennifer, shielded from harm
In a cell with a toilet and cot
With a closed-circuit camera, an unblinking eye,
For the safety of Jennifer’s tot.
When at last you deliver your new baby boy
We’ll whisk you right out through the door;
We care about kids while they’re inside your womb—
Once they’re out, we don’t care any more.

…

And Jennifer, Jennifer, can’t find her Billy—
Besides, he’s too young for a wife—
She weighs her alternatives, looks down each road…
And reluctantly takes her own life.

And the church says a prayer for the baby unborn
And a heartfelt and tearful farewell.
But Jennifer, Jennifer, so says the church,
Will be heading directly to hell.

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Step One: Get On Your Knees…

PZ reports on a helpful manual put out by the Catholic Truth Society: the Prayer Book For Spouses.

The book contains prayers for every stage of marriage and family life, including engagement, planning for parenthood, pregnancy and caring for children and elderly parents.

The prayers, written by a variety of authors, are interspersed with Catholic teaching on the meaning of marriage and family.

But of course, the media attention they are getting is for their “Prayer Before Making Love”. Go figure.

My wife and I are nervous wrecks—
The church is getting into sex!
They’ve come up with a book describing how we ought to do it.
But maybe it’s not all that bad;
I’m calmer now, but just a tad—
Before I just dismiss it, guess I’ll buy one and look through it.

Hmmm….

Step one: you get down on your knees…
Hey, I could live with rules like these!
And pray to God for tenderness, and purified intent—
A union that does not deceive,
A loving spouse, to whom to cleave…
I liked the bit on kneeling, till I found out what it meant.

The handbook’s authors claim to be
The “Catholic Truth Society”
A group of (oxy)morons who believe they’re doing good;
So, sex for them is holy duty,
Not some chance to knock some booty
Earnest prayer is foreplay; they’re a bit misunderstood.

Putting God back into screwing—
If that’s really what they’re doing
Then the way they go about it is, to me, a little odd;
A religious genuflection
Could diminish my erection—
And that’s quite the wrong direction, if she’s gonna say “Oh GOD!”

Atheists Over-Consuming, Says Man On Gold Throne

Some priests take vows: stability,
Obedience, and chastity,
Some take a vow of poverty,
And then, there is The Pope.
Some give up almost every thing
That modern life can surely bring
But look upon that Papal Ring
With lust, or greed, or hope.

They gladly take authority,
Relieving folks like you or me
From any need to think, you see,
Then listen to our sins.
To hear some girl or boy confess
How lust has made their life a mess
Brings fullness to a priestly dress
The minute it begins

“I’ve coveted my neighbor’s ass,
When, such a lovely little lass,
She dressed right by the window glass–
It’s quite a frequent bother!”
If it were not for fear of God
And Satan’s massive cattle prod
I swear a priest would shoot his wad
With every “Bless me, Father…”

And now the Pope, on throne of gold,
Decides to blame, so we are told,
His enemy from days of old–
The folks who don’t believe–
For lust for power, ego, greed,
For taking more that what they need
Rejecting his ascetic creed
And giving earth the heave.

He has the gall to preach restraint
And act the part of slighted saint;
I have to tell myself, “how quaint!
He acts as if we care!”
Surrounded by his gold and jewels,
Pontificating papal rules
To sycophants and silly fools…
Humanity, beware!

Perhaps restraint is what you want if
You are going to say this, Pontiff–
Seems a bit too nonchalant, ef-
fusing thoughts like these,
Ensconced in your luxurious palace,
Sipping from your golden chalice
It frankly, Ratzi, feels like malice:
Authority? Oh, please.

Cuttlecap tip: PZ.