Spooks - Righteous and Otherwise

Today we have yet another chapter in the story of Bob.  I promise not to turn this into a Bob Blog, but I have to share this tidbit of dumbfuckery and the nefarious plot it has spawned. 

Bob (bitter old bitch, for those who haven't read my previous blogs) is a liar.  She lies a lot.  Her problem is that she doesn't have a good memory, which is something a liar really does need.  Years ago, when I first started working at this firm, she told me that the wierdo I replaced had done extensive research on the property on which our building is located, and it was a slave burial ground.  My first thought is why in the hell would she do research on this land?  We're not in the historic district, and the building isn't old.  In fact, my boss had it built.  WTF-ever.  I just blew it off as Bob nattering.  She seems to forget that she's a transplant and I'm a native.  I was also a bit of a museum rat when I was younger and pretty well educated on Little Rock history.  Well, 7 or 8 years go by (or however long Bob was gone - not long enough to make me happy, but long enough that I enjoyed the peace), and Bob's back.  Now, the story is that a lawyer who worked at the firm did research on the land and it was a slave hospital.  WHAT THE FUCK??!!  First, I have a damned good memory.  I might not be able to remember what I walked into a room to get, but I can remember details of a conversation that happened 20 years ago.  Next, slave hospital??????  There was no such thing as a slave hospital.  Slaves either got better or died in the slave quarters.  Now, considering that we're close to the river and to railway access, I would not be surprised to learn that slave labor was utilized for shipping King Cotton.  Nor would I be surprised to learn that slaves died in the area and were possibly buried nearby.  However, the rest of the story should set off every rectal smoke dector within a 5 mile radius. 

The importance of the whole slave burial ground / slave hospital is that Bob is convinced the building is haunted.  The spirits of the slaves inhabit our building.  She hears them, and she smells them.  I'll give to her that sometimes the building has an unpleasant odor, but it has nothing to do with slaves.  Little Rock Municipal Water Works occasionally flushes out the sewer lines in this area and it causes a toilety odor.  Considering they're sewer lines, I would expect such a smell.  A little Febreze goes a long way to solve that problem.  Even seeing the Water Works trucks outside doesn't convince Bob.  She's convinced it's "spirits."  She even told me that she's done an exorcism on the building.  She is truly convinced the place is haunted.  Either that or she thinks I'm as stupid as she looks. 

Now, next delimma.  Bob was supposed to be part-time, temporary help, just helping one of the guys catch up on the filing and paperwork.  When Partner in Crime asked Bob's supervisor when Bob is leaving, supervisor rolls her eyes and says Bob has decided to stay "until God tells her it's time to leave."  Balls Mahoney!  You mean Partner in Crime and I (along with the rest of us poor slobs) have to put up with Bob until skydaddy tells her to give it a rest?  God damn.  Or maybe not.  Being the wicked types, Partner and I cooked up a scheme.  The "executive washroom" that my boss and Bob's boss share has a door from each of their respective offices into the foyer of the bathroom, and then another door to the bathroom itself.  If one of the foyer doors is opened and then closed, it creates a vacuum that pulls the other door closed and makes a loud noise.  Around about 3 every afternoon, everyone on that side of the building is gone except for Bob and me.  Do you see where this is going? 

Partner in Crime and I have decided that every day at around 3, about the time that the ghost of Robert Goulet is messing with my stuff, I'm going to sneak into the bathroom and mess with the doors, then sneak back into my office.  Partner will make some comment to the effects of "did y'all hear a door close" or something.  I feign ignorance, but say it sounded like the bathroom door.  Maybe every now and then strike a match and get that good ol' sulphur smell going, and maybe put a few dead bugs in her office.  Six dead bugs a day for three days.  666.  I wonder if she'll take it to mean that skydaddy is telling her to haul ass?  Or, dog forbid, this could backfire and she'll stick around forever because skydaddy told her we need her to ward off evil spirits. 

Here's Why Your Life is Difficult

Send money and skydaddy will fulfill all your needs.

A few days ago, my niece posted the following as her Facebook status:  "I sometimes wonder why my life is so difficult. I sometimes don't understand this world. I wonder..."  Since I don't think I could say something nice to that, I opted to say nothing at all.  This is one of those situations where it's probably not the time or place.  This particular niece is going through a bad depression, as her mother died approximately six months ago (see my previous blog Eulogy for my Sister-in-Law), and she has a host of other problems.  She was born with physical handicaps - one side of her body is notably smaller that the other.  She has a heart of gold, but mentally, she's a bit slow - not retarded, but a bit slow.  The combination of the good heart and being mentally slow, along with self-esteem issues because of her physical appearance, have rendered her easy prey for the pray.

Like her mother and her grandmother before her, she's horribly infected with the god virus.  I look at these three women and I daresay the god virus is a terminal illness.  I watched my mother-in-law and then my sister-in-law put all their eggs into the skydaddy basket to their own detriment.  Waiting on skydaddy to heal breast cancer shaved years off both their lives.  They both thought all they had to do was pray and believe skydaddy would heal them and they were healed.  It's that whole faith the size of a mustard seed bullshit.  While that faith the size of a mustard seed didn't do jack shit, those tumors the size of a mustard seed grew and becamer something much larger and took on a life of their own until they took the life of their host.  While arguably there is an element of malpractice where my sister-in-law is concerned, had she dealt with the cancer years earlier when it was first detected instead of waiting on skydaddy to do something, the malpractice wouldn't have been an issue because she wouldn't have been in the position for it to happen.  No, I'm not blaming her for what happened, but I'm having trouble getting past that anger stage of grief.  But for the god virus, she would more than likely still be here.  I'm angry with those who spread the god virus.  I'm angry with those who use fear and greed to proliferate the god virus.  I fucking hate those who have profited from infecting others with the god virus. 

This particular niece has possibly one of the worst doses of god virus I've ever seen.  There have been times that but for moving in with relatives, she would have been homeless because of the god virus.  She literally gives ALL of her money to TV preachers.  They talk about how skydaddy will reward you one hundredfold for all you give to him, so she gives all and then gets nothing in return.  She is what the fuckers who profit from spreading the god virus look to find.  Not too smart, self-esteem issues, and people who occupy a significant place in her life who not also fit that bill, but are also ate up with the god virus.  She'd actually gone for quite a while that she was doing alright.  She still believed in skydaddy and all that good stuff, but not to her own detriment.  Since the death of her mother, she's had a bad relapse and is once again starting to reach the point of causing herself harm.  Bear in mind, harm isn't always physical.  She has lost the roof over her head and as I understand is couch surfing, and I note that every day on Facebook she posts some praise skydaddy something as her status.  I hold my tounge for a variety of reasons.  My biggest reason is that if thinking that her mother is in heaven where everything is all that the preachers say it is gives her some comfort in grieving, let her have it.  My other reason is that anything anti-skydaddy I might say would create hard feelings and ill will where it's best to not have those things.  In another time and place, however, I'd probably scream:  "Your life is a clusterfuck because you've given up, sat on your ass, and expect your imaginary skydaddy to provide all your needs for your entire existence.  The fucker isn't there.  He doesn't exist, and if he did exist, he's a bastard and he would touch himself at the thought of telling you no every time you ask for something.  He'd flat out beat his meat watching you suffer because of his no answer.  Don't believe me?  Read the fucking bible.  No, really, read it.  Don't tell me what your pastor said about it.  Read it.  Look at how he gets off on hurting people.  The sooner you realize that the bible is nothing more than man's account of war and natural disaster and using a made-up deity and a made-up demon as a scapegoat for it all, the better off you'll be.  Snap the fuck out of it."

All factors considered, that conversation won't take place.  In the alternative, I'd like to kick every living preacher square in the nuts...repeatedly.  They do this kind of harm to people with no remorse.  It doesn't bother them to take from someone who doesn't have it to give and simply tell the poor soul skydaddy will bless them. 

The Story of Bob

As promised in my last bark, today I will give you the story of the Bitter Old Bitch I not so affectionately refer to as Bob.  Maybe I should take it easy on her, because if I was her, I'd be bitter and bitchy, too.  She's about five-foot-nothing, weighs around 200 pounds, and wears ugly, orange foundation makeup - a thick, heavy coat spackled on.  She looks like a goddamned oompa loompa.  Bear in mind that I'm not a superficial person and tend to look for the inner beauty; however, there is none to be found here. 

Bob is from New York City.  She is the living embodiment and epitome of each and every stereotype that anyone from the south ever had about folks from the north.  Prior to the internet and social networks, most of us from the southern US didn't have a lot of contact with people north of the Mason-Dixon line.  We tend to not travel much, and when we do, we either go to California or stay south of the Mason-Dixon.  Our contact with people from north of the Mason-Dixon line - yankees, if you will - was when they moved here.  We called them goddamned yankees.  The reason for this is that as a general rule, the minute their feet hit southern soil, they immediately proceeded to start bossing us around, tell us all about what we have wrong with us, what's wrong with our culture, our ways of life, our weather (as if mere mortal man controls that), and our speech.  Their voices all sound like Kyle's mother from Southpark.  Social networks, starting with the old MSN groups, has been a breath of fresh air to those of us with an open mind, as we can see first-hand that not everyone from the north is a rude asshole.

Now that you've had a bit of a background on why we southerners had a stereotype of what northerners are all about, let's get back to Bob.  Bob moved here at the age of 50-something.  She said she had to because her parents moved here.  What the fuck?  It would have been different if she'd been 15 and her parents moved here, but 50?  Her voice does indeed sound like Kyle's mom from Southpark.  In fact, every time she opense her mouth I want to sing the Kyle's mom is a bitch song.  She is bossy, nosey, sneaky and two-faced, and those are her good qualities.  If her lips are moving, she's either lying about something or complaining about something, or putting someone down.  She makes fun of the way I talk, oblivious to the fact that in this area, I don't "talk funny," she does.  I wish the oompa loompa bitch would get a boil directly on her asshole.  Then she could have a pain in the ass in addition to being a pain in the ass.  Partner in crime and I have almost decided to each pee in a cup and then pour it into the carpet under Bob's desk.  That'd give her something to bitch about. 

Now that I've vented my spleen about how bad I hate Bob, I'll move on to something interesting.  I've said before that Arkansas is not the buckle of the bible belt; we're the name tooled on the back of the belt.  However, the southern US doesn't have the market cornered on religious nut jobs.  Bob is a more whacked-out fundy than my grandmother.  That there is a mighty powerful statement.  The thing is, it's a brand of whacked-out fundamentalism that I've never seen.  She's xtian, but she's heavy-duty into all things Jewish.  It would be understandable if she was a Jewish person who converted to xtianity but held onto the Jewish customs, but she's not Jewish/Semitic.  Granted, my knowledge of Judaism is very limited.  I know that it is the father of the Abrahamic beliefs and it's two bastard children (xtianity and islam) are little motherfuckers.   I know there are dietary rules, but I don't know what they are.  Bob wears all sorts of jewelry with xtian and Jewish emblems, has nattered something about prayer shawls, and her bumper is polluted with jebus fish and all sorts of stickers about the buybull says support Israel.  I wouldn't give two hoots in hell what she believes except for the fact that she wants to convert everyone.  She believes Benny Hinn.  She agrees with Fred Phelps about America being "doomed" because we're becoming tolerant of gay people.  And she's convinced our building is haunted.  She says she can smell the spirits.  I think she's just trying to blame after she let out a silent but deadly. 

Whenever I comment that the bad behavior of fundies amazes me, I have to stop and ask myself why it amazes me.  After all, skydaddy is one sorry fucker and apples don't fall far from the tree.  Bob is no exception.  The golden rule is a one-way street to her.  She believes others should treat her as they would want to be treated, but she is under no obligation to reciprocate.  And that is what started the shennanigans with me and Partner in Crime.  Bob just couldn't leave it alone.  She just couldn't mind her fucking business and do her fucking job.  Nope.  She had to mouth off about the collection box for cans to be recycled, the fact that we've had the same fax number for as long as we've been in business, bitched about the coffee pot, follows partner in crime around just staring at her (very weird), and then, the last straw, squawking about my chair AFTER hearing me mention that I needed a can of WD-40 to fix the squeeky wheel.  I've about decided that Bob is a squeeky wheel, and a hunk of limburger cheese dropped down behind her filing cabinet might be good grease.

So Much For A Little Fun

This mentality is more prevalent that you think.

Today's bark was going to be about the creature from hell that has invaded/reinvaded my office.  A turn of events has made that bark take a back seat.  The creature from hell does factor into today's bark, which is now going to be a two-parter.  The next part will be a prequel of sorts to today's episode. 

First, the cast of characters.  There's me, my sidekick and partner in crime, the creature from hell, and the brain-damaged fundy.  The creature from hell will be referred to as Bob - short for Bitter Old Bitch.  Bob was the receptionist at my firm when I went to work there 14 years ago.  She's been gone for 10 years, and she's back doing some part-time clerical work for one of the guys in the building.  She a fundy, nosey, bossy, bitchy, bitter, has a nasaly voice that sounds like a chicken squawking.  Brain-damaged fundy will factor in later.

A wheel on my chair needed to be oiled and was making a particularly obnoxious noise if I rolled around too fast.  I was getting up from my desk and the wheel squawled.  Bob's office is down the hall from mine, and she started squawking, "what was that?  What was that?"  Her voice is like the sound of someone scratching their nails down a chalkboard at a farting contest.  Gilbert Gottfried!  That's it!  She sounds like Gilbert Gottfried.  She kept squawking "what was that" for several minutes until I yelled out "FOR FUCK'S SAKE, IT'S MY CHAIR."  She squawked out something that I chose to ignore (probably complaining because I say fuck a lot) and I went about my business. 

Later that afternoon, I tell Partner in Crime about it.  I was still annoyed.  I told Partner in Crime that I was half tempted to go stand outside Bob's office and rip a loud one and let her squawk what was that about it.  Partner in Crime gets an evil look on her face, holds up three fingers and whispers in a scary movie voice:  "Three days.  You die."  I laughed until I about pissed myself.  That got Partner in Crime laughing.  About the time we'd quit, one of us would start laughing again, and so it went for the rest of the day.  We decided it's like The Ring, only it's The Fart, and instead of seven days, we only give you three.  We're bitches like that and we like it that way.

The next morning, I walk in and devilishly whisper "two days."  The giggling starts.  Then we decide we want to make a you tube of our juvenile shenanigans.  The Fart comes from the chicken-chokin' Wanker Monkey with a devil's moustache and tail. 

Chicken Chokin' Wanker Monkey

If you hear chicken-chokin' Wanker Monkey rip one, you die in three days.  This was a Friday and the adult supervision (aka the bosses) gone, so we spent the day fucking off on Facebook with Wanker Monkeyshines.  Two grown women who are rather girly spending the day making juvenile fart jokes about a Wanker Monkey who kills off an old biddy with evil, supernatural farts and putting it all on Facebook for others to laugh at, too.  Happy times.

Well, we thought happy times until someone sends Partner in Crime a private message.  The message nattered on that he didn't want to say anything at first, but we're uplifting Satan and there's no innocent fun involved if we're uplifting Satan.  He then went on about skydaddy would do something bad to Partner's child if she continued to uplift Satan.  Yeah, he used that "uplift Satan" language a lot.  Partner in Crime got pissed at the fundy, deleted all of the posts from her wall, and the good mood was gone.  Fundy is a parental unit for Partner in Crime, so that accounts for her fun being ruined.

I held my tongue.  No benefit would have come from talking smack about Partner's parent at that moment.  She was already hurt enough.  However, I was pissed.  I wanted to choke Fucktard and scream at him.  We cannot uplift that which does not exist.  It blows my mind that some people out there are so fucked up about kissing skydaddy's ass that they have tunnel vision.  Chicken chokin' Wanker Monkey with a devil's moustache and tail is somehow "uplifting Satan."  What the fuck ever.  If Satan existed, he'd be laughing his red ass off at our shenanigans.  Then, there's the whole business of skydaddy doing something to Partner's child because he's pissed at Partner.  Who would want to worship a bastard like that?  You've uplifted my enemy, so I'll kill your child.  Fucker. 

I felt really bad for Partner in Crime.  We'd been having fun all day long - a well deserved Fuckoff Friday.  Then she gets that message from parental unit.  To see how it upset her that he acted like that upset me.  It has to suck to have a parent that ate up with skydaddy syndrome.  There is no innocent fun, just kiss skydaddy's ass.  Never mind the fact that she's a grown woman, it's still a tragedy to see a parent shoving their fears and superstitions down their child's throat.  He wrote in his message:  "Think about your child.  Do you want any harm to come to her because you're uplifting Satan?" 

How about this, Fundy Fucktard.  Think about YOUR child.  Do you want any harm to come to her because you're a tunnel-visioned, superstitious asshat?  Never mind.  Don't answer that.  Your actions already have.   

Next bark:  The Story of Bob

Nine Idiots in Black Robes

Illustration from http://politicallyillustrated.com/index.php?/news_page/lpnh/2414/

Today I'm barking at The Supreme Court of The United States ("SCOTUS").  They handed down a real doozy this past week.  In a 8-1 decision handed down on March 2, 2011 in the case of Snyder v. Phelps, 562 U.S. ____(2011), SCOTUS determined that Fred Phelps and his band of inbreeds (hereinafter collectively referred to as "Westboro") has the right to annoy and harass grieving families at funerals.  This ruling gave us a glimpse at what to expect from Obama appointees Sotomayor and Kagan.  No surprise that Roberts, Thomas, Kennedy and Scalia came down on Westboro's side.  The surprise was that Breyer and Ginsberg ruled in favor of Westboro and Alito was the lone dissenter. 

I promise to try to keep this reading as a blog and not a legal brief, but considering the topic and what I do for a living, I apologize in advance if I don't meet that goal.  For those of you not familiar with the case, Fred Phelps, pastor of Westboro Baptist Church, was sued by Albert Snyder for emotional distress after Westboro picketed the funeral of Snyder's son.  Matthew Snyder was a US serviceman who was killed in action in Iraq.  Westboro's claim to fame is picketing funerals, particularly military funerals and the funerals of any high-profile person, holding up signs proclaiming "God Hates Fags," "Fags Doom Nations," "You're Going to Hell," and "Thank God For Dead Soldiers."  They get as close to the funeral as the law of the municipality in question will allow, and they make it a point to never get any closer than local ordinances allow.  I point this out because the madness is quite methodical.  They keep themselves from being arrested for trespass or for any violation of local law, thus making the fight about their alleged right to berate the bereaved.

Much has been printed and discussed about not only this case, but about Westboro's actions in general.  Westboro commits all of its acts hiding behind the shielding cloak of the First Amendment.  The majority members of SCOTUS opined that Westboro was within its First Amendment rights.   Alito, in his dissent, took the position that a family's right to grieve in peace takes priority over Westboro's right to run their mouths.  I'm not known for agreeing with Alito.  In fact, I'm known for considering him one of the pirates of the Constitution, but I'm with him whole-hearted on this.  His dissent reads as though it came from my fingers.  This is about First Amendment rights, but somewhere along the way, my right to be free from your religion and free from your opinions takes priority over your right to practice your religion and run your mouth.  Certainly, a family's right to bury their dead in peace should take priority over a pack of baboons telling the family that their deceased loved one is in hell.  The oft repeated phrase "your right to swing your fist ends at my nose" no longer seems to hold true.  Pursuant to this ruling, you are free to swing your fist square into my nose, and my nose's right to be free of being hit has to take a back seat. 

Free speech is a delicate balance.  The simple fact is that someone, somewhere is going by be offended by something I say.  The only solution to avoid offending someone is to remain silent.  That's not a viable option.  Should free speech necessarily encompass allowing groups to set out with malice aforethought to annoy, harass, distress and cause emotional pain on others, particularly to those who are strangers to the offending party?  Westboro sets out to show up at the funerals of soldiers killed in the line of duty to spew their venom.  They do not know the family of the deceased.  They did not know the deceased.  They do not know the moral beliefs of the deceased or his/her family, and yet they feel compelled to force their message of their own moral superiority on a grieving family during their darkest hour.  Where does the bereaveds' right to be free from this fit into this picture?  Certainly, it has to have a place somewhere.  The message I take from this opinion is that freedom of does not equate to freedom from.  I've feared for quite some time that was the direction we were headed, but we're dangerously close to it now. 

It's just a matter of time before some grieving parent snaps and unloads a clip or two on Westboro.  That's a crying shame.  It's a shame because the aforementioned grieving parent will spend the remainder of his/her life incarcerated, and because the inbreeds killed will become martyrs for their cause.  It's a shame because I believe that the inbreeds want it to happen so that they can cry martyr for their god.  I'm not advocating the act of violence at all.  I'm just being realistic.  At some point, someone is going to snap.  When it happens, call me hypocrite, but I plan to be at the baboon's funeral, holding up signs conveying my own hatred for Inbred Fred and his inbreeds, and shielding myself in the cloak of the First Amendment. 

Look for the Union Label

For whatever reason, Gov. Scott Walker of Wisconsin seems to be on a mission from gawd to destroy labor unions.  He's been joined by his Republican brethern who comprise the Wisconsin legislature.  He claims his actions are necessary to save the state of Wisconsin from financial disaster.  Bullshit.  He's eyeing a bigger prize and trying to set himself up as a conservative savior of sorts.

Giving the devil his due, the economy sucks, times are hard and everyone, including labor unions, needs to tighten the proverbial belt.  Gov. Walker (hereinafter referred to as Douchebag) has demanded that the Public Employees Union of Wisconsin make certain concessions in order to keep the state from going broke.  Those concessions include the employees paying a larger share for their health insurance and making a larger contribution to their retirements while the state pays less.  The union agreed to these terms.  Well and good, right?  The union understood that for the benefit of all, they had to give up something, they've saved the state some money, and we can revisit this issue when the economy is better, right?  Wrong!  Douchebag demands that the union give up its collective bargaining rights.  The state will be in financial ruin if they don't.  What the fuck?  They made the concessions.  What the fuck does collective bargaining have to do with the budget?  What it has to do with is that it has become en vogue with the right-wing nutters to make labor unions the whipping boy of our shitty economy.  It wasn't Reagan's supply-side economics or Clinton's signining of NAFTA (which Bush the Elder also supported) or Dubya's endless wars or tax cuts for the rich or policies that allowed the economy to tank.  It was those greedy unions.  Those sorry bastards who want to make a living wage in a safe environment with health insurance and a retirement plan caused the all of the good jobs to go Mexico and China.  Lazy fuckers.  The irony is that most of the morons farting out this load of shit are baby boomers, Nam era babies and GenXers have benefitted greatly from the blood, sweat and tears of the unions and what they've been able to accomplish.  Without the unions, most of these fine, upstanding pillars of the community would be toiling in the factory under unsafe if not out and out dangerous conditions, day in and day out, for the least amount the factory could get employees to show up for, and owe their souls to the company store.  I think fuckers like Walker irritate me the most, because he's part of my generation.  We had it good.  We grew up as the computer age was getting started.  Our parents had educations and good paying jobs thanks to the work of the unions of our grandparents' generation.  The far right-wingers of my generation don't have the good sense to realize that while they look down their noses at labor unions, they'd be on the receiving end of better-than-thou rich assholes' snarls but for union workers.  Those who came before us made it possible for us to have a better life.  Now, instead of trying to make the world an even better place, my generation decides "I have mine.  Why should I care about you?"  What a disappointment.   The scary thing is that these morons are being elected to public office in droves.  What the unions worked lifetimes to accomplish will be gone in less than a decade at this rate. 

Fame, Influence, and Susceptible People

People have used fame and power to influence susceptible people for as long as there has been fame and power.  It's nothing new.  Sometimes the influence is used to make the world a better place, for example Bob Barker's plea to "have your pet spayed or neutered" closing message at the end of each The Price is Right Episode.  Thanks to Bob Barker's message and grant money given to rescues, the number of cats and dogs who die needlessly in kill shelters has dropped.  Many others in high-profile positions of modern times have put their endorsement on humanitarian causes to help those in need.  Then we have the other edge of the sword - those who use fame and positions of power to brainwash the masses. 

Today's bark addresses Justin Beiber's recent interview with Rolling Stone magazine, wherein he stated his anti-abortion beliefs.  When asked if that extended to  women impregnated by rape, he response was:  "Um. Well, I think that's really sad, but everything happens for a reason. I don't know how that would be a reason. I guess I haven't been in that position, so I wouldn't be able to judge that."  At least he qualified that statement that he hasn't been in that position.  Really?  You haven't?  You don't reckon that has anything to do with the fact that you don't have a uterus, do you?  The article also drips sappily of his opinions of sex and all about how skydaddy loves us and how to get to heaven.  Just what the world needs - another Kirk Cameron.  A half-assed, piss-poor, minimally talented teenybopper idol who thinks he's the daddy of the mack daddy because a bunch of 12, 13, and 14 year old girls think he's soooooo cute and want to marry him, and hang on his every word.  If Justin Beiber said it, then that's how it is for them.  He thinks it happend for a reason and rape isn't a reason for an abortion, therefore...

Let's break this down for a moment.  Let's replace skydaddy with a flesh and blood mortal man.  If a flesh and blood mortal man had a plan for you, and that plan included you being attacked, raped and impregnated, would you love and worship that man?  No, you wouldn't.  You'd call the police and have a protective order against him.   You'd avoid him like a plague.  You'd probably develop a seething hatred for him.  So why in the blue fuck would you *love* a deity that would have such a plan for you?  Unfortunately, the mathematical odds of some little Biebette who read the article and took it to heart being raped and impregnated are great.  No, it won't happen to them all.  It will be only a small percentage, but stastically, it will happen.  My concern is that some 12-to-14 year old girl who read this article will not only have to endure the physical and psychological trauma of rape, but also of an unwanted, unwelcomed pregnancy - a pregnancy that is not only rife with the psychological torture of being pregnant with a rapist's child, but also the fact that there can be grave physical consequences to pregnancy at such a young age. 

I can handle the fact there there are talentless teenyboppers out there making a mint on the tweenager.  I was a tweenager once myself.  Pictures of Andy Gibb polluted my room.  What frosts my ass is the ones who want to use their fame to pimp skydaddy to the tweens.  Here's Justin Beiber, a punk-assed white boy with a fucked up haircut telling impregnated rape victims it happened for a reason, and then we have Kirk Cameron telling fundies it's ok to lie to atheists when proseltyzing to them.  Um, yeah, Kirk, the whole skydaddy thing is a big lie.    

Please don't misunderstand today's bark to be an endorsement or directive that all impregnated rape victims should have an abortion.  It isn't.  I cannot think of a more deeply personal decision that should be made by the woman in question and only by her.  My bark is about meddlesome religionists who need to mind their own business, and particularly when it comes to something so deeply personal.

So, Biebs, Kirk, all you celebrities out there who have a "personal relationship" with skydaddy, Jebus and/or the righteous spook, that's nice.  Keep it personal.  Keep it to yourselves.