God’s Dichotomies; Mooner’s No Prophet


So. In the days since I was visited by the Big Boss, I have come to think that just maybe I’m not crazy. I’m also thinking that just mayhaps I’m way loonier than I ever imagined. And for all you grammar teachers out there, I know mayhaps is not a modern English standard word. But it should be, so fuck you.

It appears that a dichotomy has once again inserted it’s two-faced nose into my business. I hate fucking dichotomies. I blame the ancient Chinese philosopher, Chairman “Connie” Confucius, for the invention of dichotomies.

I think Connie was an in-line blood relative of the first Baptist– Connie was the original brain-fucker. All of that yin/yang bullshit was Connie’s idea. I think Harry Nilssen said it best when he sang, “Good/bad/good/bad/goo/baa/……”

Harry also delivered one of my favorite relationship songs with, “You’re breaking my hearrrt, you’re tearing it apart, so fuck youuuuu!”

I used to lay on my back on my stone patio at night, glazing into the night sky while listening to crazy Harry. His voice would help still the many voices in my head to just a few as I watched the universe pass slowly by. Yes, I meant glazing and not simply “gazing.”

If you apply a dozen cold Carta Blanca beers and a triple dose of magic mushroom juice to a gaze, you get a glaze. Like the difference between a bare-naked donut and a liquid sugared one.

Which reminds me to ask. Why, precisely, does that Krispy Kreme donut that I eat while its still toasty-hot from the glazing machine taste like a one-bite sample of nirvana, when the self-same KK donut, served cold, tastes like wax paper that used to wrap raw chicken livers before it lay in the sun?

Which brings up the childhood memory of chewing gum. Remember how gum slices were wrapped in that special paper? Streaker Jones and I would fold it lengthwise into a long, tight roll. When you bent it double, it was a perfect missile when fired from a rubber band launcher looped over thumb and index finger.

Opposing thumb dexterity is man’s greatest advantage over less civilized species.

Anyway, the latest dichotomy to infect my mind is this. On the one hand, God came to see me for a little pep talk. I was down on myself for being me, and the Big He wanted me to get past my self recriminations. “Keep doing what you’re doing, I have big plans for you, Mooner.” would be a paraphrased quote of what God told me.

Most folks would take God’s visit and apparent words of support as a good omen, and they’d start bragging and shit. They’d say stuff like, “I’m smarter than you so do what I say or God will smite you down,” or, “God told me to tell you that if you don’t stop all that homosexual activity you’re going to burn in Hell,” or my personal favorite, “God has given me a floor plan for constructing a new government, and he wants me, and my ilk, to run things. Now just close your eyes and pray after me…”

As the brother to, and ex-husband of, lesbian woman, and a man who most looks up to a gay man as my role model– what can I say to that silly logic? I mean what more can I say other than, “Fuck you, you asswipe right-wing Republican Baptist shitballs!”

I’m not concerned that I’ll become the yang to all of that yin of asinine rhetoric, but I am concerned that I’ll misread God’s intent in his planned use of me. My ego is quite well-checked, thank you, it’s my id that’s the problem.

What if Catholic Anti Abortion Lady is right. What if I am the devil’s spawn and I’m to be the foil to spark the end of days as predicted in the Mayan calendar. What if God’s visit to me was Him setting the final stages of Earth’s demise? Maybe God the Star Wars guy, George Lucas, about me and that’s why Georgie’s fully-vested in the 2012-end-of-time dealie.

Maybe God is tired of us fucking things up all the time. Maybe he’s tired of proctoring such high maintenance made-in-his-own-image screw-ups? I know that when my two sons were at each other’s throats with sharp objects, as they often were as boys, I was tempted to just allow them to let-er-rip.

Sometimes I felt as though fathering was too much trouble, and my tenure in the position lasted but a few years. God has been putting up with our shit for-fucking ever.

At dinner, when I told Streaker Jones that I was worried that God’s visit was not confirmation that I was thinking and acting correctly, but rather He was making sure that I continued my path to lead the world to mass destruction, he said, “So what?”

I told you guys Streaker Jones is a genius. Really, so what? We were sitting at the dinner table last night when I brought the subject into review. I noticed that Gram was starting to give me the Evil Eye. “What do you think, Gram?” I asked her. I find it’s always best to invite her into discussion rather than wait for her to come barging in with guns blazing.

She thought for a bit and said, “Who gives a shit, Mooner. Yer a little fuckball either way. Now pass me tha boilt cabbage.”

Gram’s right. Who does give a shit? I mean except for me.

I was sort of feeling better after conversing about all of this with my family and best buddy. I tried to sum up my sentiments on the subject so we could move on to the next subject. “See why I hate dichotomies? You can’t ever resolve one without creating more. What do you call a dichotomy’s dichotomy?” I asked them.

“Mooner Johnson!” almost shouted by the chorus of voices.

Well, of course. Ask a stupid question. Manana, y’all.

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8 Responses to “God’s Dichotomies; Mooner’s No Prophet”

  1. I think your Gram’s the genius. Now, the totally inappropriate question (for the most inappropriate man in the world): After y’all had that “boilt cabbage” for dinner – who had the worst gas?

  2. admin says:

    Reck, you evil buck-passing shit shoveler, define “worst”. Stinkiest, noisiest or most cramp-filled? Oh wait, the answer to all three would be Gram. I will exact vengence upon you for this 19-question-pass-ir-along dealie. You remind me of my eighth ex-wife. Are you?

  3. squatlo says:

    Mooner, stop asking question of the Reckmonster and just answer the survey questions! How tough can it be?

    And be careful with this one, she’s got some ninja cobra shit working…

  4. I knew Gram was the shiz-nit!! And I’m a little hurt that you don’t remember me – wife number LUCKY 7! Oh wait, must not have been so lucky for YOU. And how dare you mistake me for your 8th hooker!

    You ARE forgetting one small detail about the 19 question deelio: nobody said you HAVE to do it. Shit. Man, you’d think i had yer friggin’ balls in a vice threatening you about the 19 question thing. You and Squatlo – bunch of whiner forty-niners about this question thing. Now, would you just hurry up and answer the fucking thing? I can’t wait to laugh my ass off!!!

  5. admin says:

    OK, first, I was right, you are ex # 8; two, were you ever able to clear-up that infection?; I’m working on your silly question book; and nearly last, I still dream about when you would squeeze my balls.

  6. admin says:

    Squat. I always suffer when test-taking because I never truely understand the questions. Take #1, for example. “Do you have pets?” and that is just the first part of this multi-tiered question. This shit is easy for you because you’re smart.

    Now I’m starting to think that you and the Reckster plotted this evil dealie just to fuck with me. You know I’m struggling to get the final draft of my book finished and you have created a sinister diversion.

    Bitch! Bastard! But, I am after all, ADHD Man!!! I will prevail.

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