Sunday, February 08, 2009

Gay Men and Puppets Are Here to Save You

I have the lyrics from "Away in a Manger" stuck in my head this Sunday late morning, just sitting there in my brain like yesterday's oatmeal, which is sitting in the GladWare container out of which I didn't finish eating it, getting crustier by the second. Somehow, the metaphor seems to have drawn me away from my point, though, which is about the lyrics from "Away in a Manger."

It's not a subconsciously guilty response to having skipped church this morning. I have skipped church for more consecutive weeks than Tiger Woods has been number one at golf, and for more consecutive weeks than Barack Obama (who is the Tiger Woods of black US presidents) has been number one at being awesome. At least, I don't think it's a subconsciously guilty response to skipping church. But that's the thing with subconsciousness, isn't it. You can never be sure.

Except for this time. I am sure this time. I am sure it's not my subconscious because I know what this "Away in a Manger" business is about. That was the song that first made me fall in love with baby Jesus. And it's hard to think that after all those years of being at least as devoted to him as most of the nuns I'm friends with, I would give it all up for a flash-in-the-pan circus man named Paul Anderson, just because Paul Anderson can walk on stilts.

Then again, Paul Anderson looks like this:

So we really can't blame me, can we?

In the words of the Tiger Woods of black US presidents, Yes We Can.

People are always talking about sin. Studies show that apart from talking about childhood obesity and chewing gum, talking about sin is the most popular use of the human mouth that there is. Catholic priests use their mouths to talk about sin ALL THE TIME, which is ironic because they probably also use those same mouths to fellate their altar boys, because all Catholic priests are child molesters, again, according to studies.

Speaking of which, I once had a molestation-minded Catholic priest chase me around a church once. He caught me by the organ.

You can't really consider Jesus my boyfriend, but I think the point that my subconscious, and my conscious, and Barack Obama are trying to make is that by falling so hard for Paul Anderson, I have sinned against the Lord Jesus, or J-Lord Perry, as I sometimes call him. After all, Jesus was a carpenter, and Paul Anderson is a circus performer, and the only place a circus performer should come before a carpenter is in the bizarro Yellow Pages, where things are in backwards alphabetical order, and where forsaking Jesus for Paul Anderson is not a sin.

But this is not the bizarro world. It's the world where Barack Obama is president, Tiger Woods is number one at golf (even though he hasn't played since June), and religious comeuppance comes not only from subconscious lyrical reminders of Jesus, but also from moralistic musical sermons by men on YouTube who are obviously gay:

I have always taken pretty much a "meet it head-on" approach to dealing with sin. Obviously, that was wrong. I don't know why this didn't occur to me before. I guess because I am not Tiger Woods, or Barack Obama, or Jesus. I am but a poor servant of the higher mastery that is the Dole Fruit Company, a practicing existentialist, and a sucker for a dude who can make his own stilts.

Here's a little more temptation to look away from:

How to Saw Wood To Build Circus Stilts -- powered by

Where are your puppets and homos to save you now, bitches?

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