Megsie

A man [...] is the image and glory of God; but woman is the glory of man.
1 Corinthians 11:7

Dear Desperate Single Christian Man,

I know you are wondering, probably even this very second, as you stare forlornly into the tube sock you know you should not masturbate into (Jesus is watching you!), when (oh when!) will God bring me a wife? Your soul cries, nay, bleeds, nay, GUSHES with yearning and longing and wanting and hoping, and other hyperbolic similes. “WHY, GOD?!” you ask, your broken-hearted interrobang echoing throughout the room, like a pinball, caught momentarily between two bouncy pinball walls. But God says nothing back. Heartbroken, you wad up the sock, toss it across the room, and open your Bible to Ephesians 5:22-23 to read about the ideal wife from the divinely-inspired mind of a closeted gay man. Paul and I have so much in common, you muse, slowly turning the sacred pages, meditating carefully on every word as if it were written for you, not some Mediterranean church established (and ended) nearly two millennia ago. God has the perfect Christian bride for you, waiting even now in heavenly storage, needing only a little dusting before she can take her rightful place beside (but a little below, but still equal!) her godly head, her husband. You. You need only to wait and pray, and faithfully read your Joshua Harris devotionals.

So who is this incredible bride young Christian men so fervently pine for? Well, as one Bible-thumping, high-water-pants-wearing EBFC (Eligible Bachelor For Christ) elaborated for our convenience: she is someone worth fighting for (okay so far – every woman wants to be idealised! Because that’s what Chivalry was all about! It had nothing to do with objectifying women as a prize in a testosterone-fueled conquest! Noooo…), she is modest (no strippers, check), she willingly subsumes her dreams into her husband’s, doing whatever it takes to make his manly (and therefore more godly and important) dreams a reality… Wait, WHAT? To quote our EBFC’s mentor: “if you marry, [...] find a gal who shares your vision, not some independent vision, but who is interested in aligning herself with you, and pursuing together a common vision and goal that will draw you [together] … .” (Emphasis mine). That sounds… Healthy.

Then, our intrepid EBFC wanders on into a tangent of extra-Biblical proportions wherein our young bachelor extrapolates that his imaginary potential future mate should not “escape into collections” to avoid facing the trials of life (unless, presumably, she’s collecting something gender appropriate like kitchen utensils). These insidious collections include such wicked extravagances as “horses, wine, pets, food, [and] spending money”. Too which I respond, respectively:
1. WRONG. One can never have too many ponies.
2. Jesus disagrees. Wine gets the party started. Holla!
3. Uh, horses are pets, Captain Redundancy. Seriously. Why do you have to make them their own bullet point? It’s like you’re specifically trying to point fingers at certain girls you know who may or may not have antagonised you shortly before you wrote this pathetic blog. You KNOW I like horses. Why do you have to rub it in, huh? HUH? Moving on…
4. Food collections? You mean, like a pantry? Or what…? Hey, boys! Check out my bagel collection! Some of these bad boys are from as early as 1989! Mint condition! Minus the mold.
5. This is a valid concern. Girls should not be collecting money. They should enter into a marriage contract completely destitute so they are forced to rely solely on their husband, or “head”, to provide for them. In Jesus’ name, amen.

Now that we’ve identified the Ideal Christian Bride, let me share a little secret with you: God is not going to bring you a wife. Assuming there is a God, he’s much too busy ignoring the prayers of AIDS-afflicted African babies and blessing tenfold the pocketbooks of American televangelists to spend time finding a wife for a loser like you. You’re on your own, buddy. All alone. Just you against the world. Single. Uno. All by yourself. Okay, you can get off the bridge now, I’m here to help…

First, let’s identify the core of the problem with a quick quiz. Your perpetual singlehood has nothing to do with your standards for a potential mate being too high and everything to do with you being such a desperate creep that you’re scaring away even the desperate single Christian ladies, of which there are an abundance, and trust me, they don’t scare easily (seriously, their standards are “Loves Jesus” and “Wants Babies”. That’s it).

You don’t have a girlfriend because (choose one):

A. You are a know-it-all religious freak.
B. Your special brand of Bible-sanctioned misogyny is NOT the kind of jerkiness that attracts women.
C. Your idea of a good time is a sausage-fest — an evening spent playing video games and/or board games with your nerdy, pimply, also inexplicably(!) single Christian guy friends.
D. All of the above.

The correct answer is “D”. Now that we’ve identified the problem, here are ten simple solutions for you:

1. Nice guys don’t finish last, losers do. Put down the Bible, go learn some social skills and start treating women respectfully (i.e. NOT as prizes).
2. Take a shower.
3. Really, take a shower. Please.
4. Consider NOT dressing like an Amish boy.
5. Stop obsessing about how evil sex is (unless you’re married! Then, best! Thing! EVAR!) and go get laid, or at least rape a sock puppet. Sex is normal and healthy, and a biological necessity, so please, for the love of Jesus, masturbate (NOT in front of a woman, though. That is not attractive. At all).
6. Stop obsessing about the woman you want God to magically bring to you and start dating.
7. No, ogling a girl at Bible Study is not the same as dating, you have to actually use real words and Ask. Her. Out (ideally, use words that will define your intentions such as “would you like to go out with me?” as opposed to, “so… uh… Want to hang out sometime? With all of our mutual friends around, of course… Hehehehehe… WWJD?!”).
8. This point isn’t relevant to all of you EBFCs, but… a lot of you hardcore single Christian guys in your late twenties to thirties send off super-strong gay vibes. If you like men, you like men. Jesus can’t fix that. Maybe you should accept it and move on with your life.
9. Stop obsessing over Biblical roles and fantasising about chivalry. An intelligent woman wants a partner, not a savior.
10. Wait, I forgot that you don’t actually want an intelligent woman, you want a submissive wife. Beg your pardon, sorry for wasting your time. Carry on as before.

Bemusedly,

Megsie

Dear Members of the U.S. Military,

Let me just preface this by saying that I support you. Really, I do. At one point, I even had one of those yellow ribbon magnets on my car. Then it got dirty and stopped sticking so I had to take it off and rather than spend $5 dollars to get a new magnet, I got a Subway Five Dollar Footlong and while I enjoyed it’s overly-processed, wilted, barely edible goodness I thought about how you fought and died so that I could have the freedom to eat at Subway. I know I haven’t said it lately, so, thank you. It was delicious.

Also, just because I was loudly against the war in Iraq and have vague, largely unsubstantiated negative feelings about the war in Afghanistan does not mean that I don’t appreciate that you are living in a desert without real American amenities like beer and TiVo (do you even get to watch Dancing With the Stars? HOW DO YOU SURVIVE?!) because I totally do. I know that you only do it to protect my freedom and ensure that Dick Cheney’s Halliburton stocks don’t fall. So again, thank you.

No, but really, ever since you got a facebook it’s been very difficult for me to take you seriously. I know that all the bullshit that goes along with your daily life as a soldier bee in a big hive must really take it’s toll, but the bitching and moaning is starting to get on my nerves. You’re supposed to be a hero, and heroes don’t whine. Heroes plant flags and build schools and hug children and kill terrorists; UNCLE SAM SAYS, HEROES DON’T WHINE. If you get deployed and end up getting killed by an IED do you really want your last facebook update to have been something like, “Sgt. Pepperdinkle is a huge dicktwat”? Because that would totally make an awesome quote at a memorial service.

I’ve seen the Go Army/Navy/Marines/Ninja Monkey High-Speed Fighting Squad commercials talking about how you can be a hero and pay for college at the same time. I call bullshit. Not on the college bit. That’s totally true, as long as you can manage to avoid severe PTSD so you can actually function in society without waterboarding a baby (I’m not mad, really. That’s the only way to make those terror babies talk so that they will reveal the location of bin Ladin’s uber top secret desert bat-cave). No, the problem I have is with the first part. I think, by and large, with only a few glaring exceptions (ABU GHRAIB) you’ve done admirably. You deserve a hero’s homecoming. But some of you are making it really hard for me to keep romanticising your profession when your facebook page is full of normal-people griping. God, it’s like I’m not allowed to have delusions about ANYTHING anymore. It fucking sucks.

Social media is destroying my confidence in the military. Like most Americans, I’m only half-way paying attention (just enough to change the channel and surreptitiously wipe the drool from the corner of my mouth) and if I wanted to hear someone bitch about the trivial annoyances of their daily lives I would just read my own Twitter updates. It’s like we’re in a competition to see whose complaining is the most justified and I KEEP LOSING. Honestly, having to hear about how you got only 3 cumulative hours of sleep in the past two weeks, had to take sand baths every day and eat grubs at every meal is really bringing me down. The only thing that could possibly make this worse is if there were some organization giving laptops to underprivileged third-world kids. It’s like my misery will never be miserable enough now that you’re pissing on the internet. You’re ruining it for the rest of us. Seriously.

Get your shit together, soldier. In the meantime, I’ll be masturbating to that picture of a soldier petting a puppy after deposing Saddam Hussein. I’ll bet HE doesn’t have a facebook page.

Love,

Megsie

Dear Semi-Literate English-Speaking Public:

Please refrain from inflicting your pathetic linguistic gyrations on the rest of humanity. If you are too lazy to learn to write in an intelligent (or even intelligible) fashion, yet you still insist on exercising your right to free speech (even though you sound like a lobotomised monkey), please do not be alarmed when the rest of society, the elitists (you know, the ones who listen to the “gotcha media”), are unwilling to listen to you. Our main concern is, “should we feed the monkeys so they shut up, or just let them starve?”. Democracy would be much improved if the rabble were caged.

I am, in theory, in favour of a free, democratic society, but only because I don’t believe any person, or religious or political group, would be an improvement over the current mess. Eugenics is a lovely idea, but seems to inevitably lead to genocide. Various groups have tried perfecting their societies on the basis of race, gender, and religion, perhaps it is time that we try weeding out the stupid ones*.

Exhibit A: Last year, I went with my aunt, uncle and cousins to the local fair. We spent a great deal of time looking at the art displays. Some of it was quite good. More of it was mediocre (technically decent, but boring). The bulk of it was trash. Worse than trash, because someone had taken the time to turn usable canvas into atrocities depicting disproportionate limbs, bleeding colors, and comically faulty architecture. There was an entire section devoted to art from kids and teens. Distorted anatomy, heavy, scrawling pencil lines and even stick figures were the norm. I was not truly appalled until I realised that the number next to each child’s name did not denote age, but grade. These were not infants lacking motor skills, but middle-school to high-school aged children. We breed mediocrity, then proudly put it on display. A six year old drawing stick figures and calling it art is adorable. A sixth GRADER drawing stick figures should be encouraged to spend more time on his math homework. Or be sent to the salt mines.

Exhibit B: I saw this message on a friend’s Facebook wall from a girl who I know of, but have never met (though I know her sister, and she is aptly described by the first part of this blog). I have copied verbatim what the girl wrote on my friend’s page:

“did ur dad say anything bout a text inviting ur fam to my bday party tommorow night? i didnt hav abything fogered out until monday, so i get it if u guys cant cum”.

Please take a moment to pick up the pieces of your throbbing brain from around the room. (My favourite part is the unintentional (?) reference to ejaculation at the end – perhaps this party will be better than the rest of the message indicates.) This is why I’m pro-abortion. Read it again. Go take some ibuprofen. I rest my case.

Love,

Megsie

Note: *I don’t mean the people who are “slow” but still contribute in countless, irreplaceable ways to society. Just because someone is not a brain surgeon does not mean they aren’t valuable. I’m referring to the people who physically capable of working, but refuse to. Criminals who take what other people have earned. People who reproduce like rabbits without regard for the well being of their children. People who wallow in filth and ignorance. No, not wallow, but revel in their own idiocy. If you think I’m exaggerating, go check out PeopleOfWalmart.com. Free abortions for all suddenly seems like a much better idea, doesn’t it?