Blasphemy’s easy: everyone must get naked!

Have you ever actually read Leviticus? It’s madness. It’s full of instructions on how to slaughter a goat, what to do if someone spits on you, how to tell baldness from leprosy, and of course, lots and lots of instructions on what you must never ever do. There was something deeply wrong with the people who thought Leviticus 18 was a reasonable set of guidelines — they dwell rather obsessively on nakedness before they get to the one part that all the right-wingers quote.

Lev 18:6 No man shall draw nigh to any of his near kindred to uncover their nakedness; I am the Lord. Lev 18:7 Thou shalt not uncover the nakedness of thy father, or the nakedness of thy mother, for she is thy mother; thou shalt not uncover her nakedness. Lev 18:8 Thou shalt not uncover the nakedness of thy father’s wife; it is thy father’s nakedness. Lev 18:9 The nakedness of thy sister by thy father or by thy mother, born at home or abroad, their nakedness thou shalt not uncover. Lev 18:10 The nakedness of thy son’s daughter, or thy daughter’s daughter, their nakedness thou shalt not uncover; because it is thy nakedness. Lev 18:11 Thou shalt not uncover the nakedness of the daughter of thy father’s wife; she is thy sister by the same father: thou shalt not uncover her nakedness. Lev 18:12 Thou shalt not uncover the nakedness of thy father’s sister, for she is near skin to thy father. Lev 18:13 Thou shalt not uncover the nakedness of thy mother’s sister, for she is near akin to thy mother. Lev 18:14 Thou shalt not uncover the nakedness of thy father’s brother, and thou shalt not go in to his wife; for she is thy relation. Lev 18:15 Thou shalt not uncover the nakedness of thy daughter-in-law, for she is thy son’s wife, thou shalt not uncover her nakedness. Lev 18:16 Thou shalt not uncover the nakedness of thy brother’s wife; it is thy brother’s nakedness. Lev 18:17 The nakedness of a woman and her daughter shalt thou not uncover; her son’s daughter, and her daughter’s daughter, shalt thou not take, to uncover their nakedness, for they are thy kinswomen: it is impiety. Lev 18:18 Thou shalt not take a wife in addition to her sister, as a rival, to uncover her nakedness in opposition to her, while she is yet living. Lev 18:19 And thou shalt not go in to a woman under separation for her uncleanness, to uncover her nakedness. Lev 18:20 And thou shalt not lie with thy neighbour’s wife, to defile thyself with her. Lev 18:21 And thou shalt not give of thy seed to serve a ruler; and thou shalt not profane my holy name; I am the Lord. Lev 18:22 And thou shalt not lie with a man as with a woman, for it is an abomination. Lev 18:23 Neither shalt thou lie with any quadruped for copulation, to be polluted with it; neither shall a woman present herself before any quadruped to have connexion with it; for it is an abomination.

Does anyone else imagine some horny, dirty old goatherder sitting in a tent imagining all the things that inflame him, from his hot sister-in-law to the cute and willing goat in the fold (and…oh, god…his hot sister-in-law with the cute goat!), and furiously scribbling down condemnations of every lustful thought that is getting him steamy and bothered? There’s a kind of growing, frantic sexual tension there as he goes from just imagining his dad naked to the real kinky wild stuff.

You have to see the anti-gay verse in context to appreciate the tattoo this wrestler got.

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So, does he also have a tattoo that reads, “Neither shalt thou lie with any quadruped for copulation, to be polluted with it”? It’s just odd and revealing that he singles out this one verse to sweat over so much that he has to get it permanently inked into his arm.

I have a recommendation for his left arm, though—something from Leviticus 19.

Lev 19:26 Eat not on the mountains, nor shall ye employ auguries, nor divine by inspection of birds. Lev 19:27 Ye shall not make a round cutting of the hair of your head, nor disfigure your beard. Lev 19:28 And ye shall not make cuttings in your body for a dead body, and ye shall not inscribe on yourselves any marks. I am the Lord your God. Lev 19:29 Thou shalt not profane thy daughter to prostitute her; so the land shall not go a whoring, and the land be filled with iniquity.

Uh-oh. So even if this wrestler avoids the temptation to lie with a man, he’s damned by Leviticus 19:28. Heck, at this point he might as well go get funky and wild with a quadruped.

I have very little sole

I have concluded that Jerry Coyne is the Imelda Marcos of evolutionary biology. I want to see a photo of the boot wing of his palatial mansion…or maybe he has a dedicated Boot Garage attached to his home, accessed by a fireman’s slide and a bullet train?

I confess to some disgraceful philistinery, in contrast. I tend to buy one pair of cheap tennis shoes and wear them into the ground, at which time I throw them out and buy another cheap pair. Some day I might have to acquire some style, I suppose.

I don’t think this would make such a great Valentine’s Day surprise

My wife will be relieved when I tell her I don’t think I’ll make chocolate covered squid for her. It’s not that I’d be unwilling to try such a concoction, but 1) I have doubts that that combination of flavors is particularly copacetic, 2) she isn’t a big fan of seafood in the first place, and a gift should be to her taste, not mine, and 3) where the heck would I get squid on short notice in Morris, Minnesota?

An atheist also blesses the Catholic iPhone app

I am very excited about this new technological development. The pope has blessed an iPhone app to help you figure out what to say in confession. I’m not at all interested in throwing away a whole $1.99 on it, but what’s interesting is the potential. Next: an app for priests to guide them in the appropriate penance to deliver. Then we add a little bluetooth/wireless capability to the apps, and confession becomes a matter of walking up to a priest and bumping your cell phones together — instant exchange! Next step: an app that reads your penance — say you’re supposed to say 25 Hail Marys — which then does it all for you, and maybe even broadcasts the recitations to a central repository (Can we call this app iRosary?). Automated contrition, perfect redemption, and all while demanding minimal effort on the part of the over-taxed, ever-dwindling population of Catholic priests.

You may be wondering why I, an atheist, would think this would be a fabulous development. I’m dreaming of the day when I buy a network ready Confession app, fill out its list of sins honestly and accurately, and walk up to a priest running iFather and do a confessional bump…and watch his cell phone detonate in his hand. It’ll be awesome.

The threat of competition

For a moment there, I was worried. Here I was, putting the readership to work writing a best seller based on the magic power of pope guts, and then Charles Stross, a real writer, writes up his own treatment based on the same premise. Fortunately, he has also announced he will not write it.

But man, while the principled writers with standards are going to turn up their nose at this, you know every contemptible hack who scribbles up potboilers for sale in airport bookstores is pouncing on the idea right now. Write faster, people! We have to be more contemptible and more hackish if I’m going to exploit this market opportunity!

Have I ever told you how proud I am of my Scandinavian ancestry?

I am descended from Vikings, and I try to bring that wild-eyed berserkergang ferocity to blogging. But have you ever seen Swedes cook?

YEEEEAAAAAH! That’s the way to do it. You should have seen me this morning, when I was preparing the vegetable soup that will be simmering all day for our dinner here (yeah, it’s a vegetarian soup. What can I say? I’m only half Scandinavian. The blood has been thinned with that of those domesticated English and Irish and Scots). I was flinging the big knives around viciously, and I’ll tell you, their own mothers wouldn’t recognize the bodies of those tubers and onions and whatevers when I was done with them.

Here, you can also learn how to make meatballs or spaghetti the Swedish way. Oh, and dessert, anyone?

And while you tremble in fear at the fury of the Northmen, keep this in mind: these are the Swedes. The Norwegian edition would violate the Youtube terms of service, and would probably feature much more herring mayhem.

(I probably shouldn’t have said that. If the Swedes hear of it, it will stir their competitive instincts, and they’ll strive to outdo even the hypothetical Norwegians, and then…Ragnarök.)

Eye of the beholder

The other day, this comic was posted on Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal. Would you believe those crazy conservatives at the National Organization for Marriage — those blinkered bozos who think letting gays marry will destroy the fabric of society — posted it on their forums?

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It’s rather strange — the comic shows a bunch of kids who are aghast at the weird old fashioned way babies used to be made. The humor in it is that you have to realize that they aren’t at all horrified by their technology, but find the old ways incomprehensible. It’s actually mocking the rigid antiques, but NOM just thought it was saying something awful about future developments. Today’s comic is on the same theme.

Zach Weiner handled it beautifully. It turns out the NOMers were hot-linking the image, making it easy for the SMBC crew to swap in a new image promoting equality, so the NOMers discovered a liberal message from Thomas Jefferson and a rainbow tainting their blog.

I’m smarter than that. I am not hot-linking the image at all, so Weiner won’t be able to change it on me when he discovers that I have a very different interpretation of his cartoon.

It’s obvious. The cartoon is telling us that in the future, scientists will resurrect, or build robot duplicates of, Isaac Asimov to teach our children about sex ed. I, for one, welcome our Asimovian sex instructors, and am pleased that Zach Weiner won’t be able to modify the illustration above to praise Arthur C. Clarke, instead. Neener neener.

The Papacy Pastiche

So, you know, I had this idea for a novel. I started it, but I’ve since discovered that jewel-like prose and engaging story-telling is a little bit hard, and when I couldn’t finish the whole thing over lunch, I’ve sort of given up. But then I had another brilliant idea! I’ll put up the first significant piece of the story, the really really important part, and let you people finish the rest for me. Just post the subsequent chapters in the comments, and I’ll splice them together and publish them and make a million dollars, and even more when I sell the movie rights. I’ll be sure to include your names somewhere in the endnotes.

[Read more…]

Who would want them?

What an odd news item: there is a rule that the Pope can’t be an organ donor. My first thought was ick — he’s rather decrepit, and if I ever require an organ transplant, I’d rather the source were a young, stupid motorcyclist who doesn’t wear a helmet. The Catholics have other reasons, though.

Vatican officials say that after a pope dies, his body belongs to the entire Church and must be buried intact.

That’s rather morbid and weird. Why bother? It’s not going to be intact for long, and it’s actually going to belong to the worms and bacteria.

But it’s this part that blew my mind.

Furthermore, if papal organs were donated, they would become relics in other bodies if he were eventually made a saint.

I would never have thought of that. Ever. That’s really twisted. What about blood transfusions, then? A few popes are known to have fathered children, too—are they and their descendants actually considered holy relics, too?

I also had this brilliant idea for a cheesy serial-killer thriller novel, too. Pope after pope murdered and butchered, and the killer implants bits and pieces into himself…and then a team of ninja jesuits is commissioned to defend the murderer from the secular police, since he is after all now a sacred artifact of the Catholic church. Conflict! Car chases! Long abstract discussions of the nature of good and evil! Halberd-wielding fanatics vs. Carabinieri with machine guns! Evil madman manipulating the church while preying on it at the same time! Papal gore! And then, in a triumphant ending, a courageous atheist cutting through all the bullshit and taking out the killer while making some sardonic one-liner! “Nothing is sacred, meatsack!” BAM!!!

If you steal my idea, I want royalties.