Okay. I know Our Rockstar already posted a great link on this annoying subject (also see the chapter “Li’l Ol’ Me and the Stars” in John Allen Paulos’ masterful “Innumeracy”), but I live in California and this shit hits me every day. Yup, we shun Xianity and all that other superstitious bullshit here in San Francisco, but some of my smartest friends still believe in fucking astrology as if it is some kind of goddamn science, like psychobiology, that we have yet to fully understand.

Three times today I heard somebody, in a serious tone — as if the question even fucking mattered — ask somebody what their sign is. On all three occasions, the question, once answered, was met with an “Ahhh. Totally. I can totally see you as a (fill in the bullshit astrological sign).”

Well jumpin’ fucking Je-ho-si-fat, where the hell is this rule book everyone in hippie-dippie California besides me seems to have a copy of? I have lived here nearly fourteen years and I have yet to see the gawdamn thing. Nor have I heard a single fucking person give me a reasonably coherent rundown of the personality types they associate with each sign.

It is always just “Aw, yeah, dude… You’re a total fuckin’ Cancer. Right on. My ex was a Cancer. She smoked all my pot. But you’re not like that, dude. It must be cuz you’re on the cusp and all. Fuckin’ Leos, man. You’re a total fuckin’ Leo, man. Except you’re not bossy ‘n shit like other Leos, man. But my sister’s a Leo and she’s not bossy, either. But she’s also on the cusp, man. Ain’t that a fuckin’ trip, dude? You’re both on the cusp, man. What are the fuckin’ odds of that? Maybe you’d make a good couple, dude. No, yo, yo. Serious time, dude! You could be, like, yin and yang ‘n shit. You want her number, dude? Just make sure you have some 420 on you when you hang out and you will totally get laid. She’s got that Leo sexual aggression shit goin’ on sometimes, dude. But kinda more in an Aquarian way. Kinda like our mom. My sister rocks. What, dude? You’re not a Cancer? What did you say before? I thought you said you was a Cancer. Sorry, the music is really loud. Oh shit. I must be totally stoned. You’re a Capricorn? Oh, shit. My bad. That totally makes so much more sense. For a second I was, like, ‘What, this dude is a fuckin’ Cancer, man?’ Nah, that’s cool. Yeah, I’m a Pisces myself. You know how we are ‘n shit. Heads in the stars and all that. Haha.”

All contradictions: ignored.

All coincidences: highly significant.

All logic: absent.

Oh my gawd. I missed this episode, but I nearly busted a nut reading about it. Too bad Comedy Central caved in to censorship.

Did Comedy Central grant the Catholic League its Christmas wish?

“A chick bleeding out her vagina is no miracle,” the pope declares in the episode. “Chicks bleed out their vaginas all the time.”

A priest in Southern California is being tried by the Roman Catholic church for heresy and schism.

How quaint.

Apparently, this guy, Ned Reidy, is part of a mini sub-cult (of the big Roman Catholic cult) that wants to ordain women, allow married men into the priesthood, give communion to divorced people, all sorts of evil shit. So the local diocese is putting him on trial as a heretic so they can formally defrock and ex-communicate him.

Tom Roberts, editor of the National Catholic Reporter, is quoted as saying “If he’s an effective minister, someone who’s been high profile in the community, and he leaves and co-founds his own denomination, I can understand the bishop wanting to make a special statement about this person. I also don’t think Catholics are confused by these issues. I don’t think they would mistake this person as a Roman Catholic cleric.”

So Catholics aren’t confused by these issues? Then tell me, Catholics, why can’t a woman be ordained in your backwards-ass code of ethics? Why don’t women have equal rights in the Catholic church, as they have gained elsewhere in the modern Western world? Is it cuz you still think it’s 1633 and the Earth is flat?

Nashville police and residents were searching Monday for clues to the Christmas Day theft of a cinnamon bun that found unlikely fame for its resemblance to the late Mother Teresa’s face.

The bun has been a draw for curious tourists since it was preserved and put on display in a glass case at the shop where it was discovered by a customer in 1996.

It’s 2006 soon, folks. We have war, starvation, poverty, bigotry and religious hatred still rampant throughout the world. But clearly we have our priorities straight.

Mother Superior jumped the bun. (that was for you, Dena)

This is so fucking stupid, I have little to add… So I will just plagiarize the whole article and put it here.

Tom Cruise Shares More Medical Insight

Tom Cruise, Katie Holmes and Usher stepped out Wednesday hosted [sic] a fundraiser for the New York Rescue Workers Detoxification Project.

Not surprisingly, the unorthodox program has been slammed as ridiculous and potentially harmful by members of the medical profession. So far, Tom Cruise has raised $1.6 million for the detox program.

We can only hope it’s not petroleum he’s got them drinking. Crazy-ass freak.

OK, this is wack: Google “baby Jesus”, and the #1 “I’m feeling lucky” item you get is the Baby Jesus Butt Plug from Divine Interventions, supplier of quality silicone dildos shaped as your favorite religious icons.

I shit you not (so to speak).

Check out their other fine sex toys: God’s Immaculate Rod, the Diving Nun, Jackhammer Jesus, and for the non-Xians, Buddha’s Delight.optima consolidator loanloans ca owner county home orangeoregon used loan carcredit loan extended overstudent educ pa forgive loanloan pacific and savinga panhome act loans on requirements patriotadvance washington loan pay day Map

It’s carny time. The Carnival of the Godless Christmas Extravaganza! is up over at Nanovirus, including much fun from around the internets, and a little from our own backyard.
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Okay, this will probably be the silliest thing I ever post to GifS. It has nothing to do with religion or atheism (well, maybe just a little), but I thought I’d do a little un-Grinching to show that we celebrate our winter break-time just as much as anyone else. We just might be… uh… a little more sick in the head.

Anyway, around this time of year, one of the most tortuous things for me is to hear the same Xmas songs over and over as I simply try to buy a light bulb or pick up a few tomatoes. As bad as it is for me, I know it is far worse for the poor checkers and stock folks at the retail stores, who have to hear it all day long — and then hear it again, and again, in their dreams every night.

I know — I used to work retail.

So as I have been hammered by repeat versions of “Jingle Bells” and “Let it Snow!” since before Thanksgiving this year, I have developed a bizarre obsession: trying to find ways to rework some section of the lyrics of each Xmas song to include a reference to the classic Christopher Walken/Will Ferrell Saturday Night Live cowbell sketch.

Herewith, the results — which I sing to myself each day as I shop:

Dashing through the snow
On a one-horse open sleigh,
Over the fields we go
More cowbell is the way

Merry Festivus, babies.

Thank yah… Thank yah very much.