zoomtarded

So after buying her dinner, C tells me that there is a woman studying her blog and many others and that I should add mine to the list to help her out since “they don’t seem to have to be good”. Argh! This pain hurts worse than the wedding night [Mimi-ism] which I won’t go into except in this meta kind of a way. [/Mimi-ism].

Well Caoimhe, who my wife informs me is “some pretty 22 year old” can rot in blogger hell reading BLOGS because I have a JOURNAL! I don’t want to be part of her research. Journals are serious things that have a thousand words in each entry and such whereas blogs are for people who read tabloids. My wife probably reads tabloids. I wouldn’t know since she is always doing interviews with pretty graduate students about her impact on the blogosphere and I never see her because she and the anonymous author of ddmmyy are always attending symposiums and conferences on the tectonic scale that their bitter witticisms have once they are released to an adoring web.

The intellectual discourse surrounding blogs that this Caoimhe character, if that is her real name, (it would be very bloggish for Caoimhe to turn out to be a balding Dutch man creating personas for some graduate course in “cyber facades in a post-modernist Europe” or some such crap subsidised by the EU turd mountain) has stirred up lead to C pondering the politeness of studying the goings on in her little virtual semi-detached house on the interweb without permission. As I tried to watch some Ally McBeal spin-off and considered how to turn the meal into something a little more, shall we say, Barry White, C was sounding like a younger, taller, Irisher, kinder Mimi Smartypants in meta mode, “if the blog is publicly available then are all its contents fair game for the public to chew on or do real world social rules still apply?”

Way to ruin a man’s one chance at redemption Caoimhe! That wedding night will haunt me. Seriously though, I should have wrung a bit more guilt out of my wife for her inadvertent besmirching of Zoomtard’s good name.

This post was meant to be an demythologising of Galileo, the astronomer who was meant to have stood up to a Catholic Church who hated him. Turns out the Galileo loved the church, was always biggin’ up the church and had a bunch of Popes as his friend but he got caught up in the whole reformation thing and bad things happened but it was all ok until revisionist historians with atheistic agendas got their hands on him and warped his memory. Warped our memory of him that is. His memory can’t be warped since it was contextually stored in the neurons of his brain which long ago ceased to exist as anything someone could call a brain.

But that won’t happen since I have spent the last 6288 hours or so helping C with her English thesis which is all about JM Coetzee and post-modernism and responsibility and representation and other things I am not quite clever enough to grasp fully. Still, she is astonishingly capable and is turning 2500 words of incoherent but astounding insights into a readable essay on post-modernism. I married a genius.

Albeit a genius who blogs instead of journals.

The Galileo thing was meant to be an example of the theological sketchpad side of Zoomtard and it would lead into an idea I have had for a book which I may one day write if IVP realise they are my biyatches. But you won’t find out about that now, which is probably for the best since Captain Democracy would rob the idea and claim it was hers because she is an awful cold calculating cow who cares for nothing but her own advancement.

I have to give a talk at a university in February on the topic of the Da Vinci Code. I think I have brought this up before. But I am definitely delivering the talk in the pompous style of the text and its hero, Robert Langdon, and totally in a strange 3rd person:

“The young theologian stood before the audience of students, some of the best and brightest in the land, in a harsh, modern lecture theatre, his heart pounding. In the stark strip lighting he concentrated on his memory. If he was right, and he was almost sure he was, it was just three more paragraphs before the conclusion of his talk. The number seemed random but he knew it was precisely co-ordinated by the shadowy conspiracy of liberal types who sought to hide the truth of Christianity from the world for thousands of years. His words reverberated in the minds of those assembled, knocking down the powerful totems of scepticism and doubt they had built their world around. Through his dazzling smile, rugged good looks, his voice deep with gravitas, his greying temples and the use of his not inconsiderable academic learning he will start a revolution in their lives. They will leave the modern hall occupied by so many greats before them, aware for the first time that Christianity is not the biggest fraud in history.”

Maybe I’ll sex it up a bit in the moment. But I think it would be a fitting homage to Dan Brown and his formulaic page turning poison. Opus Dei with monks. Who would believe such nonsense? Most people it would seem. Irritatingly gripping tosh is not the place to go when you are researching early church history. Why does it seem so difficult for people to go to the Non Fiction part of the library when trying to find out where theology and history meet?

I am becoming increasingly confident in my driving ability. My hot little Escort and I are starting to get to know and like each other. As I get to know someone, the immaturity slowly comes out and people know why this site is aptly called Zoomtard. Today I started a new immature car related game (I have a whole lifetime of this to look forward to!) which I call “Auto Spiritual Warfare”. This is a variation on “Zoomy is Jean Luc Picard”. In that game, I ironically mocked Trekkies in a way I thought was hi-larious. I pretended to be in charge of StarFucker Enterprise or whatever its called and that we were being attacked by Daleks or something. The game basically consists of me shouting what I think are Trekkie like things while veering wildly across the road. Well, “Auto Spiritual Warfare” is the same thing but I put on a stern theologian’s voice and I pretend demons and ghosts and stuff like that are rushing the car and the only way to avoid it is veering on to footpaths and things like that. The car is the best thing ever.

I have now topped my magical thousand word mark and so I will go and ontologically terrorise some 17 year old atheist on OKCupid.

Your Correspondent, Who Desperately Wants To Be Your Personal Trainer

A lot of folk have been complaining about the intervals between my updates and their near infinite length. The first thing that must be said to them is that they don’t know the meaning of infinity. The second thing that must be said to them is that unless they want me to slide into a state of telling stories that humiliate a little Chinese girl or worse again (in what is claimed by one “expert” to be the funniest update ever!), plumb new depths of laziness and fill in a form about 2004, then you will wait and you will like it.

The depressing thing about my website is that I put a fair amount of thought into it. I know. That is appalling. Not as appalling as this though. So a result of this thought is that I am going to categorise my postings from now on under two headings.

The first category is Belgian Waffle. Its kind of formless, random, seems like a good idea at first but then never sits right once you start digesting it.

The second category is Cross Shaped Waffle. This category signifies WARNING! because the update is going to be a theological idea that I want to put down somewhere and give it space to mature up into a full blown heresy.

So that is the way it is going to go. I hope no one has any problems with this and if they do, they can go back to reading makey upey lists about the last year instead of my pretentious turd stirrings.

Your Correspondent, Double anointed by Benny Hinn himself.

It seems my wife, of all people, doesn’t believe me and my pal Andy could have called the PDs the Pathetic Demoprats in 1987 when were 5 going on 6. It is true though. Andy’s dad is either the Platonic form for a PD, or the PD’s god; I can’t be sure which. But the fact remains that he endorsed our political satire.

He also, I remember, one night when we were about 8, came home from Switzerland with chocolate for his son and his son’s friend and then spent dinnertime explaining what DIRT Tax was and why it was so bad, (he was right!). We just wanted to pretend to be in Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark.

So, wifey, believe me when I say we engaged in subversive acts of political word play while in senior infants or I will make you listen to Free Association until you beg for arsenic.

Your Correspondent, Reconsidering marriage to Wife after Salt N Peppa wrote that song about me.

There are many things to love about the Internet. Vulgar singing cats. Radio I can listen to. Information about what is in drugs. There are many things I love about people. Women, for example. The things people make. Their softness.

But we all know the great disadvantages of the Internet and of people. When people and the web come together bad things sometimes happen. This “sometimes happen” is latin for bulletin boards. They are the crèche of the web. A bulletin board is a virtual pool of coloured balls you can drop a group of slower adults into and they shall make noise and throw things at each other for hours on end.

I recently got into a bulletin board debate that dealt with the issue of porn. Now, regardless of the fact that porn is addictive, misogynistic and clinical this particular man of letters claimed that it was a benign and under-rated ART FORM. Porn isn’t an industry. Its art. You see they are not paid to fuck; they are funding their creativity by charging small fees for the DVDs.

On top of this ludicrous claim, this PhD candidate wanted to brandish anyone who disagreed with him “repressed”. Being repressed is the worst thing anyone can be in our society. Which is funny because being repressed actually is a really bad thing but only in the sense of apartheid in South Africa or Penal Laws in Ireland against Presbyterians and Catholics. Being repressed in today’s West is a sickness that means you aren’t liberated enough from the shackles of your older social conditioning to accept the ever-present, newer social conditioning which says you should have sex with everyone who’ll let you and sell the videos if you can.

Women not being able to vote is repression. Based on theological, sociological and feminist arguments, opposing porn is not repressed. It is in fact, opinionated. Porn really is a serious issue though and it is eating away at the lives of millions of people. Check out x3 Church to see the response that I have thrown my weight behind.

Speaking of women voting, women in the US were able to stand for election in 1788 but they weren’t able to vote until the 1920s. How screwy is that?

I remember a sketch show I once saw where some comedians set up a stand at the Lilith Fair looking for people to sign a petition “Against Women’s Suffrage”. Lots of people signed. Idiots. Identify them and take their vote away since they are obviously stupid enough to be manipulated into voting for folks like the Progressive Democrats (this is what they look like).

While I am on the anti-democratic visionary platform, do you know who else shouldn’t be allowed to vote? People who drive their kids to schools they live within ten minutes walk of. Now that I got myself a hot whip, I am getting mighty tired with these fools who somehow think that it is safer to put their children into automobiles, clogging up the roads for important psuedo-theologians like me, dirtying up the air for their little babbies lungs, denying the kinder the only bit of exercise their Playstation 2 bloated bodies are likely to get in their day, than get them to walk, risking a paedophile or paediatrician from jumping out and kidnapping them. Driving cars is the most dangerous thing most of us will ever do. Except maybe vote for the PDs.

It gets more dangerous if you are driving your kid home from school and you don’t make them put their seat belt on or even get them to sit down. Instead, let them roam free as a wild animal, jumping up and down on the back, almost as if they aren’t travelling in a half ton of metal moving at 30 miles per hour. Well done Miss Mommy. You are officially stupid and reckless. Here is your bulletin board membership.

My best friend and I, although he won’t remember this, had a great time during the 1987 General Election making fun of politician’s photos as they hung from pylons. We nicknamed with PDs the Pathetic Demoprats, which is surprisingly good for five year olds. I liked Alan Dukes the best. He looked capable and trustworthy. He had management hair. Regrettably, the electorate didn’t listen to my well argued views in favour of Tinfoil Gael and so this country is the shithole of cars crowded with uniformed obese children that we suffer today.

Your Correspondent, Angry that the perpetrator has never been brought to justice