I’m Such an Idiot.
I’m such an idiot. A complete dolt. If you were to cut my head off, I’d run around like a chicken, all jumping and flapping and excreting and whatever it is they do because they are so dumb.
I do one thing, one tiny little thing that takes a nosedive, and I spend the rest of my existence to date correcting it.
I had gotten tired of watching you petty little humans poke at animals with sharpened sticks and doing each other from behind without so much as a “hello, my name is..”. I decided to throw you ugly primates a bone and scatter around some primitive written words. Soon enough you picked up the art of writing, and your evolution took off from there.
I had to go and do it. I got drunk one night, really drunk. When you’re an immortal like me, life gets boring after a while and you find yourself lost in the drink night after night, just to take the edge off the agony of existence.
I wrote it. I went and wrote it, and that was my first mistake. It was just a collection of bullshit stories. I was so drunk that the stories didn’t even make coherent sense: It was just a bunch of rambling around one very angry and childish central character who threw fits all the time.
Well wouldn’t you know it, but I dropped the damned thing in the tavern. Somebody found it, shook my vomit off and well – BELIEVED the damned thing.
Next thing you know they start mutilating themselves, emulating one of the worst parts of my book! Do you know what you retarded hairless monkey’s started doing? You started cutting your damned foreskins off!
Holy fucking OUCH! That’s where most of your damned nerve endings are! You stupid retards.
It didn’t end there though. They started murdering people in the name of the main character in the book. They actually thought my bullshit was real. Can you believe that? It’s complete FICTION and they’re MURDERING people! Over absolutely nothing too I might add. Just utter madness.
A thousand years of bloody mayhem went by, and I soured in my own corpulence. It was then one drunken stormy night that I decided that I had to fix my mistake, and I wrote another book. This book was about the son of the main character in the old book. I made him not into an angry childish idiot, but a peace loving hippie good for nothing beatnik. I figured that the people would drop the old book in favour of this new one, simmer down a little and just get on with life and love already.
It wasn’t too long after I cursed myself for not knowing your imbecilic nature as of yet. You didn’t adopt the new book and take it to heart, oh no. A group of you broke off with the old and new book (while claiming the old one didn’t count any more), and some of you stayed with the old book, saying the new book was all lies and they would just sit tight and wait for the ‘real’ new book.
And there started my hundred year migraine.
The new book people flourished, spread, thrived, and converted people to believe in the new book by treat, convincing, conniving and threats. Soon they had an empire, but it wasn’t a peace loving beatnik hippie free love pot smoking empire. Oh no.
These people wanted blood.
I admit that while drunk I probably don’t write very well, but COME ON! How can ” You are all sinners” and “He who is without sin cast the first stone” NOT be any clearer? Yet not only did these people kill outsiders, they killed their own too, and for the silliest reasons imaginable.
And so I tried it yet again. Maybe a third book would set balance to the planet. I got smashed on tequila and wrote something akin to the first book, but way bloodier.
Don’t judge. Tequila does some mad things to a man. You’ve all been there. You’ve all woken up to a coyote ugly, and let me tell you this: A thousand years ago just about EVERY woman was a coyote ugly.
Anyways, I think a traveler from the east picked up this vomit soaked book and took it back with him. His people adopted it and their belief in it grew strong.
So what did the people with the middle book do? Went over en mass and started slaughtering the third book people! What the hell! I just don’t get it!
Then the middle book people discovered North American, and started burning innocent women for being something called “witches”. I don’t think I ever mentioned something called “witchcraft” in any of the books. I’ll have to borrow a copy and see for myself. Hey, it’s been a few thousand years and I’ve gone through enough alcohol to power a Linsay Lohan house party. I can’t be expected to remember every detail, ok?
And so it continued. I wrote a book and now a bunch of retards walk around with white shirts and black ties annoying people in their homes. I wrote another and now people won’t get blood transfusions for their sick children. I even had a go at science fiction but a cult grew around that too.
So now, here I sit in my newest disguise as a lowly water quality technician in probably the only relatively sane country left on this stinking planet. I sit here and write this inane blog, wondering if one day someone is going to collect these works and start worshiping poo.
Trust me, it won’t have been the strangest thing to happen.
Do you know what’s funny about Christians? The same thing that’s funny about every other religion. Every single religion claims to be right without proof. They don’t need proof, all they need is faith. That doesn’t stop them from trying to push their “proof by proxy of old goat herders drunk scrawlings” off on you. Of course, had these same people been born elsewhere, they’d be making the same arguments for a different religion. Yea, beliefs based upon geography, that’s some real good shit right there, boy.
