Along with that copy of Imprint that I was sent yesterday, someone at the Bell (Scott? Was that you?) slipped in a copy of … oh, it was horrifying … a comic book. Not just any comic book, though, a Crusader Comic, one of Jack Chick’s line of full sized comic book style propaganda pamphlets (unlike the usual smaller sized tracts we usually see). This one was called “Primal Man?”. Yikes. It’s basically a colorized version of “Big Daddy?”, only instead of an evilutionist college professor getting outsmarted by a wise Christian student, it’s an evilutionist movie producer getting outsmarted by a Christian anti-evolutionist anthropologist. There aren’t many of those around, I can tell you, but since Chick is unconstrained by reality, he could just invent one.
The plot line is familiar and bogus. Evilutionist asserts the truth of biology, smug and smarmy creationist makes a series of baldfaced lies in support of his position, and at every step, evilutionist reels and gasps in shock at the persuasive power of utter nonsense. It’s a kind of creationist porn, where the object of their desire simply succumbs to their charisma in a dizzyingly unrealistic fashion — believable to the creationist reader only because they so desperately desire it to be real.
For example, the manly hero of this story makes the execrable moon dust argument, and what does the evilutionist do? The mere utterance of creationist tripe makes him stagger.
Uh, you know that that argument is bogus, right? Accurate calculations, that is, ones that used well-supported estimates rather than an old, worst-case estimate cherry-picked by the creationists, predicted centimeters, not meters, of moon dust. We also didn’t need to send a man to the moon to figure out that there couldn’t be hundreds of feet worth of soft dust piled up — all you needed to do was look at craters with an earth-based telescope.
The comic web page provides more examples of Lying for Jesus, with panels claiming that living snails were dated as old, as were recent lava flows. Every word is long-discredited spin and dishonesty, straight from the old master himself, Henry Morris. It’s an indication of the perversity and persistence of religious thought that Christianity hasn’t simply imploded under the disgrace of the blatant liars who are among its most vocal proponents.
A word of warning, creationists: if you try to pull these kinds of goofy arguments on me, I won’t clutch my chest and cry out, “My life has been a wasted dedication to Satan’s folly!”, nor will I swoon in terror of your brilliance. I’ll probably laugh as I cruelly slice you to ribbons.
Another hint: if you have the opportunity to deliver pizzas to two hot co-eds in their hot-tub equipped studio apartment, you will not hear chicka-chicka-wow-wow music, and offering to help them with their anatomy homework will end with you clutching a ruptured groin, some police officers hauling you away, and no tip.