Surely we have all watched with curiosity as “Occupy” protests have erupted around the globe, even in futile places like my scenic home town of McAllen, TX. This fervent movement spread like wildfire all over the world in a matter of weeks, garnering support and media attention faster than a marital lawsuit against Kim Kardashian. Personally, I hate the government and the rat bastard Wall Streeters that landed people of my age group the envied title of “The Lost Generation,” so I was anxious to join the fist shaking, albeit from the comfort of my own home. After all, as The Secret tells us, all we have to do to get things done is send out positive vibes into the universe, right?

These Occupiers, if I understood correctly, were protesting the fact that much of the wealth in the United States (and the world in general) is concentrated in a small group of people, the “1%,” while the majority of people, the “99%,” are languishing in varying levels of dissatisfaction, if not poverty. I can get on board with that. I’d rather most people be provided for, working, and content than otherwise. Who, honestly, wouldn’t prefer that? I’m not sure even those stone-hearted, baby-tear-drinking, dream-shitting-upon one percenters would disagree with that sentiment down in their heart of hearts.
So, we established that we’re discontented about the state of things and as such, we decided to have us an Occupation. Alright, cool. Go team, I like it. Let’s be the change that Obama left on the campaign trail. But after the initial shock-wave of excited rebellion dissipated, people began to ask a very, very important question: What did they want? We know why they were protesting (I’m pretty sure), but what objective were these Occupiers seeking to accomplish?

And that’s where no amount of ugly glasses, varying forms of unkempt facial hair, or unemployed angst could provide a cogent answer. The Occupy protest turned into a really, really large, angry two year-old. It was mad, its arms were crossed in unyielding defiance, but it could not, to save its life, tell you what would get it in the damn car seat. That is why, to date, I would call this movement a failure.

One might pipe up and say “No, Irishman, they have not failed. They raised awareness about the populace’s dissatisfaction with corporations and rich people, fiscal inequality, and percentages.” Okay, I hear you. The problem I have with that is that a movement of this magnitude had a lot of power. To use it just to raise awareness about something with which most people are quite well acquainted is irresponsible and, I would even say, stupid.

What do we do now, then? How could we make this movement into more than a global temper tantrum? I have a couple ideas in mind that I think both sides of the aisle could get behind.

First: Term limits. Think about it. How do corporations get the power that they have? Why do politicians seem so disinterested in accomplishing anything that could benefit their constituents, despite the political consequences? We have a system where politicians are much more concerned with their careers than they are concerned with service of their constituents. This means doing favors for corporations and lobbyists in order to garner the monetary support of numerous political action committees, both for their campaigns and for personal gain. If you limit their terms, the idea of a “career politician” becomes null and void, forcing our leaders to actually lead rather than obsess over partisan rhetoric and accomplish nothing.

Second: regulation of the derivative market. These obscure financial instruments are largely unregulated and, many would say, (including the critically acclaimed PBS production Frontline) played a large part in the financial meltdown in 2008 and in the recent collapse of MF Global. Obama promised strict regulation of this risky market, but has not succeeded in passing anything, maybe because of the strong financial lobby that manipulates career politicians who can be in power for a lifetime.

These are just a couple valid, realistic goals for the Occupy Movement that would benefit our entire country and make their protests more than just an angry blip in history.

The social universe has an unspoken balance in place that ensures that life makes sense. We hang out with people as cool as we are, we date within our acceptable range, and people that are born into wealth and status run our countries. When some son of a bitch tries to upset that balance, bad things happen. Remember the French Revolution? That happened because one of Quasimodo’s descendants landed a smoking-hot art model. The Civil War? Some mustachioed sea donkey from the North decided she wanted to date a studly land owner from Alabama.  Name any natural disaster and it can be traced back to some fugly idiot not following the rules of romance. If you mess with the balance, the universe compensates with blood.

Despite this delicate equilibrium, matchmaking is never perfect. Occasionally it is so uneven that it elicits a deep sense of injustice from our communal soul, sort of like any time Keanu Reeves gets another acting gig. You know something isn’t right. You can feel it. Someone is getting something they don’t deserve.

So, you walking dumpster, how do you make things right once you have a hottie in your white-knuckled, kill-me-to-take-it grip? How do you cope with dating someone that is hotter than you? Grab your Moleskine and take a seat, my child. We have much to discuss.

One rule: Over Compensate
She’s a 10 and you’re a 3. That’s a pretty sizable gap, almost as significant as the one between your two front teeth. You’re going to need to string a rope-bridge across that dark chasm. When people see you with your deafeningly hot significant other, the comments will go something like this:

“Damn, (he/she) is so (hot/attractive/sexcellent). Why is (he/she) with that Seth Rogen look alike? Well, I guess (he/she) is at least (fill in the blank).”

That blank can be filled with a few different things that will help even the score between you and your walking fantasy.

That is one unattractive dude.

1. Get in ridiculous shape.
You can’t help having a Haitian Earthquake for a face, but you can blast your pecks into beautiful oblivion. Work out constantly, get really into triathlons, get ab implants – whatever you want. You need to work your way into the “butterface” zone so people may be able to shrug off the 7 point difference between you and the Greek sculpture you’re dating.

2. Get rich and/or famous.
Ideally this would happen before you start dating a walking masterpiece, but if you somehow win the lottery before buying the ticket you still have options. Are you talented? You’d better hope you are. It doesn’t matter if you’re the world’s greatest tap dancer or if you start the next Google, you just need to be on top of something. It can even be something nerdy like math or writing internet humor, people won’t care as long as they have a good reason not to kill you for upsetting cupid’s system. Hell, you may even be able to get away with being a second or third string celebrity/musician/mogul, you’ll just have to deal with more public anger and ridicule than you would have if you were Seal.

Apparently he's a great musician.

3. Get a horrible disease.
If all else fails, there’s always the “Make-A-Wish Foundation” route. This is the Hail-Mary of dating-up excuses, but it is also one of the hardest with which to argue. Example:
“Damn, that girl is fine. What’s she doing with that retarded hippopotamus?”
“Bro, you’re an asshole. That guy has EbolasyphillAIDS. He’s already died like three times.”
You’re clearly not otherwise qualified to bask in the magical fairy-glow of hotness that shines forth from your spouse, but somehow you’ve earned it by suffering so hard that even Job says “yikes, that sucks.”

Follow these rules and you might be able to avoid getting hit by a meteor for dating someone that even blind people can tell is better looking than you.

Enjoy pointing out who got the sweeter deal in a relationship? Roll on over to SheWonHeWon.com and vote on hotness to your heart’s content!

Watch this video. It’s about 6 minutes long total and the part I’m concerned with begins about 3 minutes and 15 seconds into it, so you can skip ahead if you want. There’s also a transcription below, if you’re lazy. Who am I kidding? I know you’re lazy. Just read the transcription.

http://www.desiringgod.org/ResourceLibrary/MediaPlayer/3371/Video/

This is from a segment called “Ask Pastor John,” where he takes questions from people and does his best to answer them. The question in this situation is:

If you were a youth pastor with two minutes to convince a young man not to sleep with his girlfriend, what would you say? Would your comments be different if you were talking to a young lady?

Good question, right? Every Christian that’s ever been in a romantic relationship has had this issue come up. Where’s the line? If I love her, why can’t we? What about if we keep our eyes closed? Or if I have gloves on? And ski pants? We’re going to get married anyway. Piper provides multiple approaches to answer this question which are generally solid, but he ruins it in a big way about 3:15 when he presents his “second approach” to addressing this issue. It’s jaw dropping. Here’s what he says:

Piper: Number two you’d say: You know, don’t you, that Christ died for you sins? All of them, including your future fornication. When you penetrate this woman, you thrust a sword into Jesus’ side. Think about that. Do you want to do that? Every sin you commit is a fresh sword thrust into the side of Jesus. You keep that in your mind, buddy.

Wow, Pastor John. Wow. I just… I just don’t know what to say. Did you really have to do that? Did you really have to go there, with that, like that? I mean, there are a lot of other ways to say that that don’t involve the image of stabbing Jesus with a penis. You really had no other thought in your mind other than a metaphor that is featured in every single romance novel ever? If the tactic you were going for was to disturb people out of premarital sex, you were completely successful. In fact, I’m not sure you didn’t scare married couples out of having sex. He even pauses to say “think about that,” for emphasis. I don’t want to think about that, Pastor John. Not because I disagree with you, but because I now have the image in my mind of a wiener killing Jesus and I don’t think I’ll ever be the same.

"Just think of it, stabbing Jesus with your dong"

Maybe he was put on the spot and it was unintentional, but this is a recording. This was edited. You could have gone back and re-shot that particular segment. Why didn’t you? Did you think that was an effective way to convey your point? Any junior high kid that was actually considering asking this question just frantically turned off their computer and hid under their bed. Sex is already an uncomfortable subject for many young people, especially Christian kids. Who are they going to ask? Their parents? That’s a terrifying prospect for Christian and non-Christian kids alike, because it presupposes that our parents would be speaking from experience with each other and sweet Moses please bleach my mind.

More than that, it’s an important subject; if young people can’t get respectful, engaging, normal information from their church leaders about sexuality and its place within Christian life, they’re going to get it somewhere else, like MTV or Dr. Phil. Have you seen that guy? These kids are sincerely seeking advice, trying to do the right thing. It’s not really helpful to tell them that when they’re considering rounding the bases they’re really thinking about penis-stabbing Jesus.

Just as effective, Pastor John.

The problem here is that the delivery overwhelms the message. This is a sensitive subject, one where violent, hyperbolic images have no place. This isn’t Iraq, dude. Leave the Shock and Awe for the military.

People will remember your message, sure – but they won’t take it seriously. They’ll be too focused on how you just scarred them for life, and they’re never going to want to ask for your perspective again for fear of the next horrifying image you may conjure up.

Not good this time, John Piper. Not good.

This is not the article I wanted to write.  When I set out to write a review of MTV’s controversial new reality show Jersey Shore, I had a pretty good idea of how it was going to go.  I was going to write my standard (dare I say “trademark?”), long-winded rant which would combine obscure references, big words, and level one swears to express my deep displeasure with the show’s public displays of douchebaggery.

It seemed pretty straightforward. The show is a vocal proponent of self-ascribed nicknames, the state of New Jersey, and Italian-Americans engaging in non-mob activities. I had (and have) no interest in any of those things, and was confident in my ability to heap scorn on Jersey Whore.

But that was before I watched my first episode.

Fifteen minutes into “researching” my article, a strange thing began happening to me.  It’s the same thing that happened to John Smith in Pocahontas.  And the main character in Avatar.  And Secretary of State Hillary Clinton.  I fell in love with that which I set out to destroy.

Since last Monday, I have watched all eight episodes of Jersey Shore and several of the “After Hours” Q&A sessions with cast members.  During the course of my research, I was forced to modify my article’s thesis.  It now reads: Yo, Tila Tequila, I’m really happy for you and I’ma let you finish, but Jersey Shore is the best reality show of all time.  OF ALL TIME!

I know.  Calling a show the best reality show of all time is a bit like calling the Phoenix Mercury the best team in the WNBA.  It’s not saying much and it’s still not real television.  But it is something.  Love it or hate it, reality television speaks to our culture.  Since the debut of The Real World in 1992, reality television has been increasing in both airtime and, more importantly, influence.  From The Bachelor to The Hills to The View, reality TV is everywhere.

So it is no small thing when I say, with complete sincerity, that the eight juiced-up, fake-baked, foul-mouthed, hard-drinking, hard-fighting, STD-collecting, toilet bowl-hugging Guidos in the Jersey Shore house represent the pinnacle of all that reality TV aspires to be.

Don’t misunderstand me.  The stars of the show are every bit the self-absorbed, inarticulate, non-contributing zeroes you imagine they are.  The Italian-American organizations who criticize the show as “the biggest step backward for Italian-Americans since the birth of John Bon Jovi” are exactly right.  The cast members suck to a degree that is both impressive and remarkably consistent.  As an example, here is one exchange which is particularly illustrative of the lifestyles and IQs we’re dealing with.

(Sami “Sweetheart” and Ronnie are debriefing after their first night of promiscuous sex)

• Sami: Yeah, I had sex.  I mean, of course you’re gonna have sex if you like somebody.  Um, hello!  It’s natural!
• Ronnie: We smooshed. (fist pumps)

They are, without exception, terrible people.  And that is precisely the point.  The laws of reality TV dictate that every show must have a “token toolshed.”  For a reality show to survive it needs a guy/girl/trannie who will stir the pot, say offensive things, get someone pregnant, OD on NyQuil, and generally move the plot forward.  To effectively fill this role, a cast member must lack morals, restraint, basic human decency, and – most importantly – anything resembling self-awareness.

With Jersey Shore, MTV has for the first time stocked a reality show exclusively with token toolsheds.  Every guy is “that guy.”  Every girl is “OMG…ho bag!!!!”  It’s as if the producers only accepted applications from society’s Douchebag Elite (i.e. DJs, club promoters, assistant managers of fitness clubs, amateur models, and Ed Hardy enthusiasts.)  This makes for a fairly predictable storyline (i.e. posture, argue, drink, fist fight, hook-up, pass out, repeat), but it also makes for brilliant reality television.

As I have said before, reality television is not here to celebrate America’s best and brightest.  That’s what the Country Music Awards are for.  Reality television is for shining a spotlight on all that is base, freakish, and dysfunctional in America.  We watch families disintegrate and coeds get alcohol poisoning and we can’t help but feel better about ourselves.  It’s the feel-good genre of the 21^st century!  With the help of reality television, even the worst parent, the most irresponsible drunk, the most promiscuous cheerleader, and the most fist-pumpingest frat boy can point at someone else and say, “well, at least I’m not THAT bad.”

The problem is, as America accelerates its slippery slide to Sodom, the reality television machine has had to scramble to keep pace.  As real life douchebags strut out of the closet and into Armani Exchange in ever-increasing numbers, the reality show douchebags must rise to an even higher (or sink to an even lower) level.

In that respect, Jersey Shore may have saved reality television.  Vinny, Ronnie, Snooki, Sweetheart, Jolie, Pauly D, JWoww, and The Situation are the new gold standard by which all future television toolsheds will be judged.  These eight have advanced the limits of douchebaggery to heights never before thought possible, and I refuse to believe any actual person will ever equal them.  Or maybe I just don’t want to.

I take comfort in their accomplishment.  I sleep more soundly at night.  Or at least I hope I do. The Jersey Shore season finale is tomorrow night and, judging from the previews, it’s going be an emotionally, spiritually, and intellectually draining hour of television.  Trust me, you do NOT want to miss it.

(In other, unrelated MTV news, I had my first “I have lost all connection with young people” moment last week.  While innocently watching Jersey Shore, I was treated to a public service announcement featuring an apparently nude girl standing in an empty gym and holding a large poster over her lady parts.  The girl stared at the ground in shame while a voiceover intoned, “If someone pressures you to send revealing photos, you can say no.  Because there’s a thin line between him and the rest of the world.”  For the first, but assuredly not the last, time permit me to inquire, “Is THAT what kids are doing these days?”)

PELOSI’S BILL FOR FEDERALLY FUNDED TOILET PAPER OPTION INCLUDES FINES FOR NOT WIPING ASS

POLL SHOWS MAJORITY OF AMERICANS DON’T TRUST POLLS

TEN MILLION CHINESE TROOPS “JUST VISITING,” SAYS OBAMA

WANDA SYKES SHOW IN SECOND SEASON – AMERICANS BAFFLED

15 MORE WOMEN, 6 MEN, 3 HORSES, 4 SHEEP, AND AN END TABLE CLAIM TO HAVE HAD AFFAIR WITH TIGER WOODS

GLOBAL WARMING NOW PERVASIVE, CATASTROPHIC; CHICAGO A TROPICAL PARADISE

CATHOLIC PRIEST CLAIMS TIGER WOODS MOLESTED HIM

OBAMA OFFERS CALIFORNIA TO CHINA AS DEBT REPAYMENT, “NO THANK YOU” THEY RESPOND

AMERICA INVADES IRAN, OBAMA WINS SECOND NOBEL PEACE PRIZE

JIMMY FALLON STILL TELLING JOKES ABOUT PRESIDENT BUSH

PALIN ANNOUNCES RUN FOR PRESIDENCY IN 2012, BABY JESUS CRIES

ILLINOIS SELLS OBAMA’S SENATE SEAT TO MARK CUBAN TO COMBAT RISING BUDGETARY DEFICIT

OBAMA BECOMES FIRST BLACK PERSON TO GIVE “STATE OF THE UNION” ADDRESS

WORLD CUP MAKES AFRICA SEEM ALMOST BEARABLE

WINTER OLYMPICS A SUCCESS, NO ONE NOTICES

FURBY ARRESTED FOR PUBLIC DRUNKENNESS, SAYS, “I USED TO BE ON TOP.”

“SEXT” RAPIST GETS DEATH SENTENCE; JURY SAYS, “C YA”

ABC’S “BIGGEST LOSER: RELAPSE” CANCELLED, AMERICA LOSES HOPE

LOST’S SMOKE MONSTER REVEALED, OBAMA TO GUEST STAR

KANYE INTERRUPTS OBAMA’S NOBEL PRIZE CEREMONY, SAYS “DESMOND TUTU WAS BETTER”

Thanks to Christian Gonzalez and Kent for contributing headlines to the list.

What you’ll definitely witness and likely take part in, however, is the time-honored practice of the Christian Knock-Off. You see, we Christians don’t like to be original. We’re rip-off Jews, what are we supposed to do?

We take what the “secular” world produces, and we say “Hey, that’s super rad! But since it’s secular it’s probably going to hell along with everyone at MSNBC and Stephanie Meyer. We should make our own version of it so that we can make sure it goes to heaven too!” From music to movies to t-shirts, if you make it, we’ll take it, throw it in the washer a bunch of times so it shrinks and fades, draw a cross on it with a Sharpie, and sell it at LifeWay.

Remember back in the day when YouTube exploded like Octomom’s v…oracious appetite for childbearing (and life-ruining)? Music videos became relevant for the first time since MTV decided to change its programming strategy from “Music” to “whatever sucks and will destroy happiness and souls,” talentless pubescent zit-bags with webcams all over the world found a way to express their talentless pubescence with ease, and the Motion Picture Association of America and the Recording Industry Association of America found a whole new way to satisfy their hunger for all things related to lawsuits and making everyone hate them. It was a beautiful thing.

Fresh off of the loss of Jessica Simpson to 98 Degrees, Evangelicals needed us some beauty. Rather than, you know, participating in the normal trend with the rest of the world, we made “GodTube.” It’s like YouTube, but it’s for God. So only God can use it. Or something. Anyway it’s Christian, so tell your pastor.

Go back a few years before that. Remember when boy bands started tearing up our hearts? Anyway, we Christians lamentably had a boy band all of our own. The sonic equivalent of religiously motivated castration, plusOne – whose name signifies absolutely nothing except a possible reference to a wedding invitation – hit the scene in 2000. Their line-up consisted of 5 moderately-attractive-but-fantastically-moral Christian dudes singing songs about Jesus. Which makes a lot of sense, you know, to sing songs about Jesus using a genre that is known for its romantic songs marketed to pre-pubescent girls. Somehow I feel dirty, having just thought about the whole thing.

What about reality TV? You just cringed, didn’t you? You know what’s coming, just like my toilet knows what’s coming after a meal at Chipotle. Get it?! Crap. The joke is that it’s crap. One Christian reality TV show is called “The Uprising.” I said “one” on purpose. There’s more than one, but because I love you and this hurts me more than it hurts you (seriously) I’m only going to talk about this one. The central conflict of this particular show centers around whether or not a few pro skateboarders will decide to be “born again.” I’m fairly sure that will give people more delusions about God than anything Richard Dawkins could write.

Ever heard of the blog “Stuff White People Like”? It’s pretty funny. An original idea. Wasn’t long before the Christian “me too!” version popped up as “Things Christians Like.” It’s pretty funny, but can we really be proud of a good imitation? Thank God everyone else keeps having original ideas, otherwise we’d be stuck with Carmen and the PowerTeam.

I’m not going to even mention every single ridiculous Christian t-shirts you can still purchase at your local Christian bookstore. Those go without saying. I’ll mention an all-star though:

The product of Christianity's finest minds

How are people supposed to trust that our faith is relevant when our art and culture is not? Can we be “not of this world” and the “salt of the earth” without having what amounts to the store-brand version of secular culture? Only Kirk Cameron really knows. Speaking of which, if you’ll please excuse me, I’m going to finish writing a letter to Kirk Cameron about my script for a Christian vampire flick called “Sondown.”

I digress. The point is, I’ve been busy. The content on the site has been mostly driven by Kent and hilarious contributors. I receive a loud voicemail every other day from Kent that is almost entirely comprised of vulgarities and racial epithets that don’t apply to me. I’m sorry buddy, but you just can’t coerce hilarity out of someone. It has to come from inspiration.

And well, I found some inspiration the other day. The following is my commentary on a list from a website called “The Frisky” about what you should teach your sons about women. What kind of website has that kind of ridiculous name? Good question. It’s a site by women, for women. Anytime a woman writes something about how men work, what men think, or generally anything about men, you can almost guarantee that it’s completely wrong. This list is a decent example of that, although I do agree with some of what it says. The rest of it… well… You’ll see. Here it is. The list itself will be in bold, my comments will be in italics. Bon Appetit, gluttons.

1. Pick your battles.

Right on. Some stuff just isn’t worth the blood and violence. Like with Iraq, you know? After we got into the thick of it we realized, “hey, this might have been better to avoid.” Love is like that. Love is like Iraq. Yeah, that’s it. Remember that, all you single kids. Love is like Iraq.

2. Walk on the outside (closer to the street) of your female companion.

Also a good point. Although I’m not sure that the ladies over at The Frisky know the origins of that rule – it started back in the day when roads weren’t paved. The man walked on the outside in case there was mud or water in the crappy streets. If there was a splash from a passing horse or cart, he’d take the brunt of it. See that? TTM just educated you. You’re officially not wasting your time.

3. Saying “You’re being crazy” is never an appropriate response, unless you want her to go postal on you.

Hmmm… I mean, I get what she’s saying here. That’s probably not a productive thing to say in an argument, but essentially point #3 says that calling a woman crazy makes her crazy… which in effect proves the statement correct, doesn’t it? And going “postal” usually refers to really violent actions, i.e. a disgruntled postal worker shooting a bunch of people. So what you’re saying, Friksy (which coincidentally was also the name of my first dog, RIP) is that calling a woman crazy will turn her into a murdering psychotic.

4. Cooking, cleaning, and taking care of kids are things men can actually do as well as women.

True, true, maybe. Maybe it’s just me, but when my Dad would take care of us while my Mom was sick or out of town, it was a drastically different experience involving lots of microwaved food and diapers made out of newspaper.

5. Keep backup supplies of quality chocolate in the house for her to raid.

True. Chocolate is like catnip for women.

6. Buying tampons and other feminine products shouldn’t embarrass you –everyone knows they’re not for you.

Pshhh! How do they know they’re not for me?! I’m not buying that crap, like I’m gay or something. Chhh. Dumb chicks. (Seriously though, dudes don’t like doing this because it’s kind of weird and gross, not because they’re afraid people will think they’re bleeding out of their vagina.)

7. Women like compliments and gifts.

Men like beer and nudity. And compliments and gifts.

8. Earning less than her shouldn’t be emasculating.

Earning less than him shouldn’t activate the inferiority complex that your loveless father ingrained in you as a child.

9. Be on time, even if she usually isn’t.

That way you can make her feel really guilty about always being late and use it as a tool to manipulate her! Brilliant, Frisky!

10. Don’t be a pouty puppy when shopping with her.

Don’t make him go shopping with you if you don’t want to deal with him inevitably hating it. Studies have shown, actually, that women enjoy shopping because for them it’s a sensory experience – they enjoy the colors and textures of the items, making the experience very stimulating for them.  Mens’ brains, however, aren’t wired to appreciate the same stimuli. Suck it, Frisky.

11. Find out what her favorite flower is.

Conceded. Good point. Otherwise you’d never have a good card to pull out when you screw something up.

12. If you like her, then don’t buy her shoes; it’s bad luck.

Sounds like someone is inserting a little bit of their own personal narrative into this guide. I feel like some dude’s name should be italicized at the end of that statement.

13. Smiling and nodding aren’t the same as listening.

Thought vomiting isn’t the same as talking.

14. It’s OK to cry in front of her, but keep the blubbering to a minimum.

Wow. “Be vulnerable, but only to the extent of novelty. Any real vulnerability isn’t welcome.” Someone is a little dysfunctional.

15. Personality goes a long way.

Trying to justify your ugly boyfriend, huh?

16. At some point she’ll be more important than your mother.

Unless your name is Oedipus! BAM!

17. You will never completely understand women.

That’s because they’re crazy. Oh, no! Please don’t shoot me!

18. Oh yeah, and no woman will ever be good enough for my baby!

I don’t even know what the hell this is about. Freud? Where are you?

He didn't know Jesus was such a stickler.

recently read the Gospels for the first time during a segment of the MTV Special True Life: I’m Joel Osteen. “Ya know, I decided it was about time I toughed it through all four Gospels. They’re super long but I mean, I am a pastor, right?” Osteen said laughingly in his charming Texan accent. The author of Your Best Life Now, a theological dissertation concerning the Biblical hermeneutic of success, was shocked at the lack of material prosperity present in the words of Jesus. “I tell you what, I don’t get it. Where’s the prosperity in the Gospels? Jesus didn’t own anything really. Not a yacht, not a Merc[edes], or, well, whatever their equivalents were back in the 1600′s when He was alive. What would that be, a carriage? I don’t know. You get my point.” Osteen went on in shock as he described how Jesus told his followers to give up everything and follow Him, rather than telling them to “invest everything wisely in solid mutual funds” or how “being a good steward means being successful in the stock market.” The story of the rich young man was apparently the straw that broke the pastor’s back. “And then, and then, Jesus goes and tells the rich guy to sell everything and give it to the poor? Everything Jesus? Everything? You can’t be serious.”

The experience has completely derailed work on Osteen’s next book Your Bestest Life Now. “What am I supposed to tell people? When God came to Earth, He was poor? Come on. No one is going to buy that,” Osteen said as he dismissively sipped on a Perrier. “If people are going to do this whole ‘Christian’ thing, there’s gotta be something in it for them. And what’s the Gospel offering them? Spiritual wealth? Treasures in Heaven? What does that even mean?” Osteen is also unsure of how to incorporate Jesus’ words regarding the ease with which the wealthy enter heaven: “A camel through the head of a needle? Give me a break. That’d take a miracle.”

In order to avoid any confusion between his writings and the “poverty” of the Gospels, Osteen has decided to have bookstores categorize his books as Christianish rather than just Christian. “See that? See what we did there? We’ve got Christian in there because that’s P.C., but we threw the ‘ish’ on the end so that people know it’s not so Christian that it’s not about money. We dodged a big one here, we really did,” said Osteen.

This article is satirical and is thus completely fictional. None of the quotes are real and are not intended to be used as such. Joel Osteen was not involved in the writing of this article and is not associated with us. He also has a lot of money and could probably sue us into the Revolutionary War, which is why I’m writing this right now. Just as a side note – this article was originally going to run in the Whittenberg Door, but they apparently have lost their funding or something so I’m running it here, assuming we’re not competing with their readership.

Mr. Jones and me… ba da dum dum dum da dum… Gawd I love this song. Is the singer Black? He could be from South America I guess… Like Puerto Rico maybe. Is that South America? Whatever, they all speak Spanish. His dreads are intense. I wish I had dreads. Man that would be so bad-A. I wonder if his dreads are what gives him that beautiful, chocolate pudding voice. Like Iron Man’s suit or something.

Man, this guy behind me is really following me close. I’d better step on my brakes to show him that I’d like for him to slow down. There you go buddy, see? Chill out. We’re all gonna get there eventually. Dang, he’s back up in my trunk again. What’s his problem? Speed limit is 45, I’m going 40! That’s plenty fast. Does he know what an accident at 40 miles per hour would do to your body? It would turn into a bloody violent mess. I guess he didn’t pay attention to those videos they showed us in driver’s ed. What was that called? Faces of death? No matter, that’s not gonna be me, bucko.

Alright, time to teach him a lesson. Just gonna ease down to 35 here to send a message to Mr. Speed Racer back there. Yeah, you noticed that didn’t you? Well I don’t respond well to tailgating. Now you see who the boss is, don’t you? Maybe next time you’ll appreciate 40 miles per hour when you have it. You don’t know what you got till it’s gone… Paved with some dice, with a foot on Marky’s cot. That’s a Counting Crows song too, right? Yeah it is. Marky’s cot… I wonder if he’s talking about Marky Mark Wahlberg.

Darnit, what is this guys problem? I can’t believe he’s flashing his headlights at me. I’m not gonna speed up. I’ve made that abundantly clear. You’ve been tailgating me, and now you have to deal with your punishment. Somebody has got to teach you how to be a safe driver. I bet you don’t even have your license, do you? I don’t even want to think about whether or not you have insurance.

Uh oh, that green light up there has been green for a while. I’d better slow down some more in case it decides to go red on me. Looky there! Better safe then sorry. It’s going yellow. Stop time. What is this guy’s deal? He’s honking at me and looking like he’s punching his car.

Seriously man, take a chill pill.

I love that saying. Chill pill. It rhymes, it makes sense, and it just rolls off the tongue. I need to get that on a t-shirt… Oh!  Or a bumper sticker! Oh man, that’d be hysterical.

Really though. Speeding is against the law. He should be thanking me for saving him from getting pulled over.  This is absurd. Sorry big guy, but this is a two lane road with solid lines in the middle. No passing. What in the heck? He’s trying to pass me! Alright 2 fast 2 furious, it’s time for me to awaken the beast that is the Chevrolet Aveo. Just gonna speed up enough to get him to realize that passing isn’t going to happen today… What? He just… Does he know what that finger means? I just… I can’t believe it.

Well just you wait, you jerk! What goes around comes around.

End Inner Monologue

An alternate inner monologue consists of the first 30 seconds of this song:

That, loyal TTM readers, is what I’ve been telling people for the past two weeks. The whole world has been in mourning, and I have been loving it. Did you see all those prisoners in the Philippines that did the Thriller jig? That little diddy got more news coverage than the tsunami I used to destroy Australia. JK I didn’t do that, but for real it was a great decoy. We tried doing something like that here in hell to celebrate, but tormented souls don’t dance so well when they’re on fire and are being reminded of all of their worst nightmares at the same time. I know. Lame.

Anyway, even the Iranians stopped protesting their most recent election to mourn the loss of MJ. I’m sure they’re happy that they aren’t so distracted by all those stupid shows about “revolution” and “injustice” that were always on so that they could catch all the beautiful specials that have been on CNN, NBC, ABC, CBS, Telemundo, CNBC, MSNBC, FOX, FOXNews, E!, and Lifetime. It’s just like I said to them, “Hey guys, look over there!” and when they turned to see what it was that I was pointing at, I destroyed any sign of democracy in their nation and any hope of change. And they didn’t even care! It was like I was a fat kid in a candy store, or a pedophile at the Harry Potter premiere. I was in absolute hell! Oh, that’s good for me, by the way.

The saddest part about it all is that now Michael Jackson is truly dead. The funeral is over, taxpayers are paying for it, (boo-yah! Count that one more point for me, sluts!) and the world is once again concerned with “real news.” I can no longer go around tormenting humans without anyone caring because everyone is too busy forgetting about that time MJ settled out of court for $25 million for not molesting a child. Do you know how many old ladies got hit by cars because the driver was busy watching Sparkle Jackson (or whatever her name is) cry on their iPhone? Let me tell you the number was higher than usual, just like I was higher than usual on PCP. And by PCP I mean on pain and suffering, I don’t do drugs. You should totally check them out though, they’re like candy in pill form.

I rained out over 500 weddings, I cursed the Chicago Cubs (again), I provided giant zits for hundreds of first dates, and you know that worthless idiot two cubicles over that plays Facebook Scrabble all day long and absolutely loves Puddle of Mudd? Yeah, he got a promotion. I was spilling hot coffee on so many brand new shirts and blouses that it became a habit. There are some upset demons with stained J. Crew shirts down in hell, let me tell you.

But that’s all over now. For two weeks I was running around the world with impunity.  It was like I had just gotten one of the lightning bolts in Mario Cart and everyone else was slow and tiny.  Now I’m just plain old Yoshi again. I mean I guess it’s cool how some people in the world are still sad. Naturally, I dig that kind of thing. And I guess it’s good that Latoya, Janet, and Jermaine Jackson are all back in the spotlight again. They do such good work. I guess I’ll go back to subversively scaring children as “The Boogie Man” or “Eddie Murphy” again. Oh well…