Episode 18: “God, Grills, and Girly-Men”

Finally, after three years, Elijah (aka E-Jay) gets a word from the Lord saying, “Go back and face your old nemesis Ahab and tell him that I’m about to rock his world and, if he’s lucky, I might even send some rain his way because – let’s be honest – all the trees are dead.”

So E-Jay walks his emaciated self back to Jerusa-Vegas and heads straight for Ahab’s house (picture Master P’s house from Season 3 of Cribs, but with bigger dungeons).  He rolls up to the door and says, “Wat up Ahab, you big dumbass?” (Yes, E-Jay has some stones.)

And Ahab’s all like, “Oh look, it’s the guy who ruined my life.”  And E-Jay’s like, “Psssh, whateva, you ruined your own life when you stopped praying and started letting your whore wife manage your career.”  And Ahab’s like, “Good point.”

So Elijah tells Ahab to text all the prophets of Asherah and all the prophets of Baal and everyone else who doesn’t think God is awesome and to tell them to meet him on top of this one mountain because he’s ready to make like Ron Artest and crack some skulls.

So everyone gets together up on Mount Carmel.  And my boy E-Jay get’s up there in front of God and everyone and says, “Hey everybody.  Thanks for coming out today.  I think your gods suck.”  (Like I said, the dude’s got some cojones.)

Now the thing to remember about the prophets of Baal and Asherah is that they’re pretty much the Twilight fans of 1500 BC.  And by that I mean: they’re a bunch of little bitches.  So no one says anything.  They just twitter amongst themselves about how Elijah is a hater and how he kind of looks like Osama Bin Laden.

Hearing no objections, E-Jay keeps tearing them a collective new one.  “Would you make up your minds already?!  It’s always Edward this, Jacob that; I swear, every minute I spend with you people I feel like I’m getting more retarded.”

E-Jay says it’s time to figure out once and for all which supernatural being is a baller and which one(s) is a Betty White,  so he suggests they build two grills and throw a slab of Angus on each.  One caveat: they can’t use charcoal or matches or Girl Scout Juice to light them; they’ve got to ask their favorite supernatural star to start the grills for them.

Is this your deity?

Team Baal and Team Asherah may be little bitches, but they also know enough about E-Jay to know that if they back down now, he’ll put them on blast on his next LP, with a song called “God, Grills, and Girly-Men” or something like that.  So they accept the challenge.

The Baalites and Asheraans go first.  They put on a bunch of costumes like they’re going to a midnight premier and dance around their grill shouting out to their gods.  It’s amateur hour at Mt. Carmel: half post-Prom field party, half MGMT video, all fodder for an embarrassing Facebook album.  This goes on for the better part of the morning.  As you’ve probably guessed, Baal and Asherah are about as real as the United States’ chances at The World Cup so, of course, nothing happens.

Around lunchtime, Elijah has had enough.  He starts dogging on the other prophets saying stuff like “maybe your gods are taking a leak, maybe they’re passed out on the pool table, or maybe they’re just real hungover and don’t feel like raining down fire at the moment.”  He also holds up a big sign that says “EPIC FAIL.”  Classic E-Jay

The other prophets are tired and irritable after their morning of dancing so they don’t take too kindly to E-Jay’s lip.  They say, “Screw you Elijah.  Let’s see you do better, you flip-phone-using old man.”  Like I said, they’re at least half retarded.

So Elijah goes over to his homemade Weber and says a quiet prayer his God who happens to also be the Sovereign Lord of the entire universe.  And before he can even finish his prayer, fire falls from the sky and consumes the steaks, the wood, and the entire grill. (I think this probably looked like that part in Independence Day when the laser blasts destroyed New York, Los Angeles, and Washington DC.)

Everyone is stunned and afraid and can do nothing but sit and watch as E-Jay dances around the mountaintop flexing his muscles and shouting “One shot!” like he’s freaking Ronnie from Jersey Shore. When he finishes rubbing it in everyone’s face, he rounds up all the prophets of Baal and Asherah, takes them down near the brook Kishon, and slaughters them.  Hahaha.  Classic E-Jay.

Sadly, murdering the losing team has since been made illegal.

“That was the worst day of my life,” says Walter Lincoln, a long time fan and a saintly Christian. “It was almost as if Amy [Grant] had died for real. I wept for a while, and then I just crushed my [Amy Grant] CDs with my Bible. It just weighed so heavily on my heart.” It was a dark day, indeed. Our sources tell us that on that day alone in 1999, 14 billion Amy Grant CDs and tapes were destroyed, most of them by ritualistic fire.* According to the RIAA, the demographic that most commonly purchased Amy Grant records changed after March 4th, 1999 from almost entirely Christian to mostly Satan worshippers.**

A ripe target for your holy hand grenade.

We surveyed a group of 1 million Christians on their opinions of Grant’s divorce and the results were significant, but not surprising. 78% said that Grant was “Likely never saved,” 91% said “Vince Gill is the devil incarnate,” and 135% said “’Baby, Baby’ is such a good song.” ***

Fred Phelps, the pastor of Westboro Baptist Church – commonly known for its God Hates Fags, God Hates America, and I’m Completely Insane organizations – had some wise insight regarding D-Day. “It shouldn’t be a day of mourning. It should be a day of celebration. That day, a sinner left the Church. That’s a good thing, y’all! Sinners don’t belong in our Churches, they belong in hell!”

Grant would not return our calls for an interview, likely busy with her new life of sin, but we used our patented Interview Simulator™ to suggest responses that Grant would probably have provided.

Us: Why did you divorce your husband?

Simulated Amy Grant:  Because I hate God. I am pro-choice.

Us: Isn’t divorce a sin?

Simulated Amy Grant: I love to sin. It is my favorite.

Us: Will you ever return to Christianity?

Simulated Amy Grant: Rachel Maddow is fun. I love Satan.

*Source not confirmed, but the odds are it’s true.

**Not actual data from RIAA. They know a lot about Satan though, right?

***We didn’t actually survey anyone.

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.”

HOUSTON (AP) – Popular “Christian” author and “pastor” Joel Osteen realized last week, to his deepest chagrin, that it actually takes eight steps to become a better person, contrary to the seven step plan outlined in his bestselling book Become a Better You: 7 Keys to Improving Your Life Every Day.

During his “devotional time” yesterday, Mr. Osteen realized that he had inadvertently omitted the supremely-important final step, “Makeover your smile with Crest Whitestrips®!  Available for as low as $7.99 at a retailer near you!”

“I can’t believe I forgot to put that in there,” said a distraught Osteen.  “The final key is absolutely integral to becoming a better person.  The other seven all hinge on the successful completion of step eight.”

The news that the first printing was incomplete did not surprise early readers.  Most report feeling completely unchanged by the book, unless one counts the $14.95 that was taken out of their wallet to purchase it.

Osteen has recalled all copies of the book and hopes to have the new edition out by early June.

Area man takes acquaintance’s advice to “have a good night.”

WHEATON (AP) – Area man Terry McRenner had his world rocked Tuesday night when Aaron Thompson – a random acquaintance – suggested he “have a good night” during an unexpected encounter in the frozen foods section of Jewel Osco.

“I hadn’t even considered it, really,” said McRenner of the words received from Thompson.  “‘Have a good night?’  Yeah, I guess that sounds feasible.”

The two men – who know each other from a mutual friend – took a break from shopping for frozen dinners to politely chat about the weather, work, and women.  “We were just talking about the three W’s, and then, out of nowhere, he drops this chocolaty nougat of truth on me, and it was…delicious.  What’s his name?  Adam?  Oh right, Aaron.  Aaron really challenged me that night.”

McRenner left that conversation and went to his apartment, where he proceeded to play Halo 2 and listen to his favorite album – “Supa Dupa Fly” by Missy “Misdemeanor” Elliott.

“All day long I had planned on having a bad night – doing some laundry and listening to my roommate cry about getting dumped last week.  But Alex… er, Aaron is a wise acquaintance.  Because of him, I had a good night.”

In a related story, area woman Breanne Berros had a miraculous turnaround in her health after distant Uncle Shawn sent her a “Get Better Soon” card.

God now taking suggestions on how to perfect His will

HEAVAN (AP) – Due to a recent rise in complaints about God’s plans for our lives, representatives from heaven have announced that God will now be taking suggestions on how to enhance the quality of life for His creation.

Sources say that people have been praying for centuries about their personal suffering, offering incredibly helpful insights and possible solutions to increase happiness.  So, on the 453,117,090,443th day, God created the Suggestion Box.  And He saw that it was good.

Staunch happiness activist Joel Osteen is quickly rising as the hero of this new resource.  “This is a good step for God, but I won’t be satisfied until I’m completely happy, all the time,” said Osteen.  “Oh, yeah, and other people too.”  Osteen’s first suggestion for God was that “Your Best Life Now” would sell more copies than the Bible in 2010.

James Dobson, another member of God’s T-Mobile “Fav 5,” is confident that God knows what He’s doing now.  “We’re really taking the whole ‘ask and you shall receive’ thing seriously now.  We mean it this time.”

God has already received trillions of suggestions, ranging from “guiding the surgeon’s hands in Uncle John’s surgery” to “reciprocated feelings from Stacy” to “world domination.”  Other reported suggestions include “an A on the spelling test” and “that this banana wouldn’t be so mushy, plus a Nintendo Wii.”

There have also been reports of a relatively unknown but highly respected satire website requesting that God provide them with a full staff, funding, and a fan base effective immediately.  Updates to come.

Once again, we must offer up our most sincere gratitude to Stephen Joseph Hoey.  Not only is he a damn decent individual, he also contributed the second and third dispatches.

Not Steve Hoey

I’m a sinner. I know that. The Bible tells me so.

But when I become a pastor, I’m going to need stories about how I’ve struggled. I need experiences that can be easily turned into a metaphor of God’s love.  For a while, I didn’t have any. How was I supposed to change people’s lives if mine had been fairly easy? I mean, sure I lied and struggled with lust, but who hadn’t? I needed something more effec­tive. More…evangelistic.

I heard about this “Homeless for a Weekend” event sponsored by my college and decided to go.

I ditched the rest of the group almost immediately upon arrival. Why? They were sissies. I wanted action. The real, uncensored part of Chicago that you don’t see on “weekend homeless vacations.”

So I went to Michigan Avenue.

Not much luck there. Fantastic shops, but no hate crimes. I continued on. Some­where near Wells Street, I found some homeless people. I almost puked from the stench, but I just kept thinking about how many pagans would come to know Jesus because of my experience.  I started talking to them about home­less people, and how it’s their fault for not trying hard enough. A minute later, they were beating me. I’m not sure why… but at least they were trying hard at some­thing.

I could feel my testimony getting bet­ter as my body lay motionless on the ground.

Sometime later – I couldn’t say when, precisely – a group of teenagers picked me up and inspected me. I didn’t hear much, but I do remember the words “whitey,” “princess,” and “general tso’s chicken.”  Before they could do whatever it was they had in mind, some other guys with guns and knives ambushed us. I could only assume from what I learned in soci­ology class that this was a gang war.  One of the gang members handed me a switchblade. Desperate for a redemptive story, I sought out who I assumed to be the other gang leader. I jumped him from behind and stuck my switchblade into his side.

Murder?! NOW, I have something to be redeemed from!  I could have stopped stabbing the gang leader. He was past dead. But I just kept going, because I thought, “This will make a great sermon illustration some day.”  Upon my murder, I was accepted into the gang. We partied hard that night. There were drinks, women, and as I snort­ed my third line of cocaine, I couldn’t help but smile because of the impact my story would have on future generations. “For Christ and His Kingdom indeed!” I said, as visions of sugar plums and talking dinosaurs danced in my head.

I thought to myself, “Man, the only way this could get any better would be if I spent the night in prison.” Sure enough, it was in God’s plan for the police to catch me bathing in Buckingham Fountain, and I was escorted to an 8×8 cell at 3:30 a.m. I knew in my heart that this is exactly what Paul must have felt.

So I’m writing this letter that you all may grow in your love for God, that you may be redeemed from your less impressive sins, and that my words might do a mighty work in your hearts.

I, Stephen, write this greeting with my own hand. Remember my chains. Grace be with you.

Another gem from our collegiate correspondant Stephen Hoey.  Approximately 60% of the events described in this article are factual.  The remaining 40% were stolen from the movie “Gangs of New York.”

What up bros and brominas? This post is gonna be a bit on the stubby side because it’s tourney time and my bracket is kickin some serious ace! (Booyah kasha!  Respect!)

I just wanted to say a few words about something that’s been on a lot of people’s minds recently.  No, not the economy, tans, or Obama’s retard joke.  I’m talking about Lent.  Some of you may not believe that The Chadster observes this ancient religious season.  And you would be correct.  Typically, I observe only two seasons: football season and off-season.  But this year I had a change of heart.  Actually, one of my bro-mates bet me fifty bucks  I couldn’t go a whole month without saying the F word.  I told him, “Brodank, make it $75.00 and The Chadmeister will be “F” free until Easter.”  Later, I found out this is called “giving something up for Lent.”

I did a bit of research on the intertron about this whole Lent thing.  I remember going to church with my mom when I was little and the pastor would come by and smear Oreo crumbs or protein powder or something on  our foreheads, and then we would all be sad for awhile, but I figured that was just a Des Moines thang.  Turns out it’s called Ash Wednesday (not Hash Wednesday like I thought) and it signals the beginning of Eastertime.  Also, lots of people give up lots of different stuff for Lent.  Dudes give up beer.  Chicks give up eating. Homeless people give up working (Haha! Just kidding, but not really).  Catholic people even do what I did and quit saying a word for Lent (their word is “hallelujah” which I think is some kind of Christian swear).

Now I’m no expert on religion or Easter or anything, but I think my experience giving up the Ole F-bomb for forty days has given me some words of advice to help anyone out there who is dealing with life without something they love…NO FREAKING WAY!!!!! Sorry, monster dunk in the Oklahoma / Michigan game.  Anyway, like I was saying, here’s some stuff for you people to ponder while you’re starving yourselves:

1) Give up something manageable: Dudes that give up alcohol, or ESPN, or making out with their girlfriends are setting themselves up for failure.  That’s like if I would have tried to give up all swear words.  Give up talking for a month?  Impossible.  I’m not Superman, you know?  Pick something small that will impress your friends and help you feel better about yourself without making your life suck for the whole Spring.

2) Have someone there to keep you on track: You’ve gotta have a bro there to keep you focused when you feel like quitting.  Like me. I told my boys every time I say the F word, I’ll stand against the wall for 30 seconds and let them huck frisbees and racket balls at me.  Couple shots to the head and I never want to say the F word ever again.  (By “never” I mean till April 13th.)

3) Remember why you’re giving it up: I’m going to buy some DMB tickets with my $75.00.  I’m not sure how much you’re getting paid to give up whatever you gave up, but think about all the sweet stuff you’re gonna buy.  It helps.

4) Find a good substitute to fill the hole: I’ve been saying things like friggin, mother trucker, and just the letter “F” to help me communicate during my time of sacrifice.  If you’re trying to go cold turkey, you’re gonna go down quicker than a Keystone keg in Panama Beach.  Gave up Facebook?  Get yourself a mySpace account.  Gave up chocolate?  Gorge on Nutella.  Whatever.  There’s a Nicotine Patch out there for every addiction and you gotta hit that thing morning, noon, and night if you want to survive.

5) Keep your eyes on the prize: All good things come to an end.  Fortunately, so do all horrible things.  Remember that one day soon, you’ll have all the Dr. Pepper, Starbucks, reality television, or – in my case – bad-A swear words, that you could ever want.  Start thinking today about how you’re going to binge on April 13th to celebrate the end of your self-inflicted torture.  Some days that’s the only thing that keeps me going.  I’ll tell you one thing, this whole gawd-awful ordeal has definitely made me appreciate Easter more.  I used to think it was all bunnies, boiled eggs, and jelly beans.  Now I realize it’s about saying “no” to the things you love for a little while, so that they’ll be that much sweeter when you can say “hell yes!” to them again.

I know that first F-bomb on April 13th is gonna be sweet. Like seeing a bro for the first time after he’s been on vacation or in the hospital or something.  I’m gonna scream it at the top of my lungs.  Think of your own special Easter moment like that and you’ll be fine.

Until then, keep fighting the good fight.  And go Tar Heels.

Ding Dong…

Hi there! My name is Robert. Can I have a minute of your time to talk to you about Atheism? Thanks so much!

Do you know where you’re going when you die? Not sure, huh? I wasn’t either, until I found the saving knowledge of Atheism. Now I have the answer to that nagging question. Do you want to know what that answer is, friend? I’ll tell you: Nowhere! There is nothing after death, just a big, beautiful void. We are born, and then we die! Simple as that. Isn’t that easier to think about then those big, ethereal, lofty concepts of “heaven” and “hell”? I sure think so! I mean, who wants to go to hell? Certainly not me! I say eternity, you say void! Eternity? Void! Eternity? Void! Hahaha, I love cheers.

What’s that? Oh, why thank you, I’d love a glass of lemonade!

Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yes. Did you know that God doesn’t love you? Hah, well, it’s not because you’re not lovable! No sir.

It’s because God doesn’t exist. There’s not a lot of time left before the world ends, and when it does, you’d better hope that you don’t believe in God! Because if you do, well… Then you’ll be wrong! And who would want to die wrong? You don’t look like a die-wronger. Are you? Are you a die wronger? I hope not.

You know what else isn’t going to happen? God isn’t going to judge us for all we’ve done. That’s right, there is no supreme moral authority! Last night when you stayed up until 3am squinting at a scrambled version of Skin-a-max, no one cared! God didn’t see that; how could He see that if He didn’t exist?! Gosh, that makes you feel peaceful inside, doesn’t it? Sure does me, or maybe that’s your fantastic lemonade! Hahaha, I’m just being silly.

Really though, Jesus doesn’t love you. He probably existed, but He was just a man, perhaps even a schizophrenic! You don’t like crazy people, do you? I hope you don’t, or I’ll have to leave this lemonade and run out the door! Hahaha! Oh I’m just joshin’ with ya!

What’s that you say? Oh, this book I’m carrying? Hah, no no no, this is not a Bible. Wouldn’t be caught dead with one of those! This here is a leather bound copy of Stephen Hawking’s A Brief History of Time. This book is called Science, and it’s what we Atheists believe in. The cool thing about it is that it changes literally every day, unlike all those “theistic” religions with their dusty, thousand-year-old tomes.

So what do you think? Would you like to become an Atheist?

Great! I’m so happy that you’ve discovered the real truth. If you could just repeat the following statements after me; you’re moments away from becoming an Atheist!

Dear Self,
I hearby choose to believe in only what I can see, touch, taste, or have sex with. I choose to believe in myself, my own happiness, and not in the Boogey Man. I choose to make “carpe diem” my new mantra, savoring every smile, flower, and sexy celebrity tabloid I can find. I choose to seize every opportunity, because today could be the last chance I get to drop acid. I choose to stop feeling bad when puppies die or when my uncle bites it, because that would take away from my enjoyment of TMZ while on acid.  I choose to believe that Evolution chose to put me at the top of the food chain which makes everything else on Earth my bitch. I choose to believe in freedom.

End.

Fantastic! You’re an Atheist now! Welcome! Now that you’re an Atheist, there’s a few things to remember: every single day, you must not believe in God or any religion. You must party like there’s no tomorrow.

Thanks so much for your time, and God bless! Hahaha, just kidding!

Photo copyright Zoomtard on Flickr