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Left Behind, My Ass! October 23, 2007

Posted by littlebangtheory in Politics and Society.
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Prepare to be Raptured.

You know… Raptured. As in “Taken bodily up to heaven.” Zoomed right up, all naked and shit, ’cause you won’t need your clothes up there. It’s not too hot, not too cold, it’s just right!

Well, not all of you, of course. ‘Cause some of you been bad, real bad. And only Good People get Raptured up to heaven. True Believers and all. Says so in The Bible.

Well, not exactly in The Bible… but it’s in a book somewhere, so you know it’s true. In fact it’s in a BUNCH o’ books. At last count, well over sixty-five million of ’em. “Left Behind,**” they’re called.

(** At this point I should probably put a little “Parental Advisory” in here for those of you who are reading this at work. Especially if you have a Self-Loathing Full-Blown Bitch for a boss. The title of this post ought to give those of you who know me ample warning… scroll slowly, if you dare scroll at all! ‘Nuff Said.)

Now where was I… Oh yeah, 65,000,000 books, each likely purchased for a Good Christian Household, and since you know how those people are, we can safely multiply them books by, oh, about 8.2 kids per household, which brings us to, lemme see… five hundred thirty-three million people. Yup, five hundred thirty-three million people who, if they play their cards right, keep their pants on (’till they’re Raptured) and don’t talk to faggits, stand a pretty reasonable chance of getting Raptured up to Jesus, warts and all, but not with their clothes, because remember, they won’t need ’em.

Five Hundred Thirty-Five MILLION people, zoomin’ up to Heaven. Bet they’re gonna cast a shadow that’ll make your crops wilt!

And all of the Bad People will be left behind, just like the book title says. And all the Mother Rapers and the Father Stabbers and the Jews and the Faggits and the Lesbos and the Muslamofascists and the Filthy Hippies will be screamin’ and cryin’ and fightin’ over the Armani suits that the preachers in them Mega-Churches slithered out of on their way up to Heaven, and pickin’ up Gucci shoes and Rolex watches, which hopefully fell into the Gucci shoes when they greased off the Rapturin’ Preachers but probably didn’t because nobody who gets Left Behind is gonna be all that lucky, and they’ll be doin’ Gawd Awful things to each other and wishin’ to hell they’d kept their pants on and went to church a whole lot more.

And THAT’S what the stories in the “Left Behind” books are really about, the blood and guts, crash-and-burn part of the equation, ’cause you know, if they were about happy people floating around on clouds wearin’ nothin’ but shit-eatin’ grins, that would get boring real quick, and nobody would read ’em.

Plus, Good Christians aren’t into that peace crap. Peace is gay.


OK, so lets all try to turn off our Frontal Lobes for a minute here, suspend our disbelief, and buy into this Rapture scene. If you got Fox News at your house, turning it on kinda low in the background might help.

Now I’m lookin’ around (yeah, that’s right, ME. I’m still here, on accounta I’m a sinner. I’ve lied, I stole shit (once,) I coveted me some fine lookin’ little milfs, and if I stick aroung long enough I’ll probably covet me some gilfs, too! Hell, I even killed shit, if fish and frogs and flies count. And I can’t see how they wouldn’t.)

Hey, don’t look at me like that – you’re still here too!

So anyway, I’m lookin’ around, and besides YOU, I see most of my friends (awl riiiight!) and some hot lookin’ women I don’t know yet but you can bet I’m gonna, and there’s them Armani suits with the preachers still in ’em, and that Self-Loathing Bitch in the black dress with the front caved in, and she’s cryin’ ’cause she’s up to her flat ass in Birkenstocks and tie-died shirts that smell like B.O. and peasant skirts that smell like pussy and pachouli oil, ’cause all them mellowed-out squinty-eyed Peace-nik Hippies got Raptured and she didn’t, and my friends and me are tearin’ at the pile and findin’ all them cute little floral hippy backpacks and pullin’ out the bags of weed and the teakwood pipes and screamin’ and hootin’ and yellin’