God is for Losers
Clickbait for Atheists
Man, if you’d been raked over the coals like I have you’d turn to God too. In my bitter brokenness I considered two options: surrender to God, or murder.
That’s right, I’m a loser. There’s a big capital L on my forehead that only others can see, others meaning my parents, siblings, teachers, employers, co-workers, little children, dogs, cats. And when I cuddle them, even guinea pigs laugh in my face and leave their little poops on me.
I was an innocent kid; naïve you might say. At seven years old I already knew how to draw cool pictures of cars and a kid I thought was my friend asked me to draw him some. I felt honored. A couple of weeks later he received a whole bunch of stuff from the Hot Wheels toy company. The little bastard had submitted my work as his own.
When I was 10 another kid I thought was my friend kept pestering me to flip baseball cards with him. I gave in and he cleaned me out. He was a real juvenile card sharp. I was so mad I snuck into class during outdoor recess and stole the cards back from his desk and shrewdly hid them in my desk. I got caught and the teacher hated my guts from then on — and loved the grifter.
At seventeen I fell in love with a girl. Man, I really loved her. It turned out she only dated me as a goof. I consoled myself with selfless thoughts like “At least I provided the whole school with some well-needed mirth.”
My grades were poor because I was always distracted by daydreams. Mostly I daydreamed about what a loser I am. And I sucked at sports ever since that same kid who submitted my drawings as his own threw a basketball at my stomach and knocked the wind out of me.
Once I was done with school I did okay out in the real world — a lot of crappy labor jobs in factories and warehouses where I could be anonymous and not have any illusions of advancing up the ladder. On an assembly line you’re just a cog in the machine and I never felt more at home than in that cold hard grey environment. No hope means no hopes dashed.
But after some years even that string of crap jobs and layoffs lost it allure. My true self I realized was being neglected. So I went to a therapist. She gave me all kinds of feel-good self-help advice that was a bunch of crap. I thought it was good advice at first until I overheard her in the next booth at the diner chatting with her therapist friends. I found out I had a nickname: Mr. Inappropriate. That stung, but at least I had a nickname. None of her other patients did.
I knew I was behind the curve. Former classmates were married, had kids, were driving fancy cars and raking it in at diabolical environment-scorching jobs. They hadn’t a care in the world. They were making it and I was clearly not. So after another night of crying myself to sleep over the cruelty of the world in general and narcissistic sociopathic smiley-face predatory humans in particular I got to thinking. That’s when I knew it was either God or murder.
I thought about it long and hard but was distracted by details of the murder/mayhem option. Should I be a serial killer or a mass murderer? That’s a tough call. On the one hand I’d keep everyone wondering when I’d strike next, on the other I’d get it all over with in one fell swoop.
The serial killer approach is a lot more work. All that stealth, disguises and lurking. Lurking is hard on my knees. But they’d give me a cool name, a moniker, like the Shropshire Slasher or the Winnipeg Wanker — something that sounds more mysterious than Mr. Inappropriate — and I could read about myself in the papers and torment the police with cryptic notes left at the scenes of my crimes.
The alternative, mass murder, is kind of lazy — walk into a nightclub or a mall and just mow everyone down with an AR-15, laughing maniacally as everyone tramples one another fleeing for their lives. One upside to this approach is it separates the men from the boys. You get to see who’s a crybaby and who’s an actual hero. I hear it’s surprising to learn who’s who in the cowardice department when they’re being shot at.
After significant contemplation I decided killing strangers wasn’t for me. People think I’m an asshole now. That’s why I feel so broken. Imagine what an asshole they’d think I was if I killed all those people they love. There would be no hope convincing them I’m not an asshole after that faux pas.
Plus I’d have to purchase a gun. Do you know what a good AR-15 goes for these days? What a rip off! And with my mental health record it may prove difficult. I’d have to buy one on the street. From my years of experience with illegal drug use I determined I could get taken to the cleaners on that deal.
So, surrendering to God was my decision. I figured it would be more pleasant than surrendering to the police after indiscriminately killing a bunch of people. The police can be kind of mean. Sometimes they shoot first and ask questions later. I guess it’s part of their training. Also, for some reason, criminals get clumsy inside the precinct and fall down the stairs a lot. Maybe they get nervous after being arrested and photographed using a blinding flashbulb and forget to count steps while shackled and being led down to the dungeon in the dark, for “interrogation”.
So I chose the light rather than the darkness. Some of you no doubt think I took the easy way out and that I’m an even bigger loser than before. That’s okay because I’m nestled in the bosom of God, and you can’t hurt me there. But before you judge me, hear me out.
Surrendering to God isn’t as easy as it looks. You must follow commandments, like Thou shalt not kill. That was a hard one for me, as you can imagine. But I can’t have my cake and eat it too, so once I chose God I had to give up on the killing spree idea. Plus you’re supposed to go to church and hand over some of your dough, which they use to feed starving children and homeless tornado victims. And you’re expected to memorize prayers and profess your devotion to the Lord and all that. Some call it meaningless mumbo jumbo but I’ll tell you, it was easier than memorizing algebra. And algebra doesn’t get you into heaven. It only gets you into analytic geometry, which is pure hell.
As soon as I got to church the speaker dude started telling us that we’re all sinners. We’re broken — all of us. We can’t be fixed without surrendering to God. I started to feel at home with all these fellow losers. I felt a generosity of spirit I never felt before. I began to feel sorry for all the winners, all those narcissistic sociopathic smiley-face predatory humans out in the real world of no-nonsense atheism and pure reason.
My eyes were opened to the fact that a rational mind was a rationalizing mind with the kind of reasoning ability that can justify anything with convoluted pretzel logic. For example, when it was learned that rear ended Ford Pintos explode, the bean counters at Ford decided it was cheaper to pay out wrongful death settlements than to retool and redesign the cars to be safer.
I discovered how difficult it is to be a Christian. Everyone thinks you’re a fucking moron. They mock you and ridicule your “sky fairy” and point out how the Bible is filled with bad science. And they think God was a meanie, especially in the Old Testament, and that the Hittites didn’t deserve to be slaughtered for fornicating and worshipping the idol named Baal and wanting to annihilate the Israelites. They try to pick it all apart, finding fault with every passage, interpreting everything literally with jaundiced eyes while praising the subtle metaphors and symbolic nuance of Joyce and Marquez.
And then they try to blind you with science. Even as their own cosmology points to a Big Bang — a clear beginning to the universe — they fudge the data with outlandish multiverse theories that can’t be tested. Anything to diminish even a hint of God’s hand. They can’t even explain where their own physics came from as they begrudgingly admit that physics is a discovery not a human invention.
Evolutionary biologist antichrist quack Richard Dawkins claims God is a delusion while stating that evolution is nothing but an arms race between predator and prey, as if there were no joy whatsoever in being alive. Mr. Know-It-All with the snooty British accent can’t even explain how the first living cell popped into being or how binary sexual reproduction got started. And then there’s Daniel Dennett, the cognitive science philosopher and Santa Claus wannabe, who claims your brain is nothing but a computer, which by natural extension means a whale is a submarine and a bird is an airplane.
Then the real fun begins as all these winner atheists start the cherry-picking contest, which is almost as much fun as an Easter egg hunt, which they refuse to engage in because of the religious connotations of the Easter Bunny. They’ll single out horrible church leaders of the past as if they themselves never made any mistakes. And they’ll point to today’s loudmouthed evangelical bigots as the ultimate representatives of all Christians, which is like saying all Germans are just like Hitler.
I’d better calm down before I get all worked up and start killing atheists. That would be a sin, although according to their own unassailably impartial logic it would be perfectly acceptable. I am reminded of all those genius atheist mass murderers like Stalin and Mao. And let’s not forget Pol Pot who killed all the bespectacled people who he assumed were smarter than everyone else. He used his atheist logic to determine smart people make dumb people look bad — and he’s right. They do. But killing them with no conscience whatsoever isn’t something Christ would have done. I’m pretty sure about that.
Surely the atheists will accuse me of having been emboldened in my fellowship with losers. It’s true, there is strength in Numbers. And in Exodus, and Ecclesiastes. Ha ha. That’s Bible humor. You want to hear another good one? Jesus saves; Satan invests. Ha ha. Pretty funny, right? I have more but they’re kind of blasphemous. Ask an atheist about those jokes. They’re much better at jokes than loser Christians. They don’t fear God so they can be more ruthless, which means “without any ruth”. Ruth was a famous lady in the Bible. You might want to read about her when you’re done with Camus or Sartre explaining how meaningless life is. Do it before atheism poisons your mind and you decide to pick up a gun.