It’s like PZ-bait. I can’t help myself.
I received two packages the other day. The first was a substantial box, and when I opened it, I discovered a Bible, something called the Amplified Bible, a CD called “He is exalted” with recorded sermons just in case I was illiterate, a bookmark with a quote from Proverbs, a thank you note for allowing them to share the word of god with me today, and a copy of Bill Wiese’s “23 Minutes in Hell”, which purportedly documents in graphic detail an account of the author’s brief sojourn in Hell, just in case the nice approach didn’t work on me. Apparently someone decided to buy the missionary package from some commercial gospel outfit and send it to me.
Wow. Look at all that slick stuff, all just for me, because someone loves and cares for me so much.
Well, you can guess what happened next. I converted. I found Jesus in a box of cheesy books from a religious supply house. How could I not? That’s what it was all for, wasn’t it? I’m sure when someone waves a Bible at you, you find it irresistibly persuasive, right?
So then I turned to my second package, a slim and floppy thing, hardly impressive next to that box. But within it, I found a message…a message I needed to hear, that was perfect after my sudden conversion: SAVE YOURSELF, MAMMAL.
Hallelujah, I said. I will save myself. I don’t need any gods or fairy tales, I will save myself. And mine eyes were opened, and I saw the glory. And I read the funny pages therein, and they were profane and twisted and hilarious, and I did fall on my knees and praise Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal. The box is forgotten, totally displaced by one slim treasure of great truth.
And that is how Zach Weiner saved my life and my sanity.
Hmmm. He does look like a kind of skinny Nordic Jesus, doesn’t he?