Verse 7: Crying over Angelina Jolie and Harry Potter

Hello everyone!  I do not feel like writing an intro to this post.  So I am not going to.  Sometimes Miss Magdale is in a bad mood.  Deal with it.

One of my favorite past times is watching movies.  Not just any movies:  Sad, depressing, heart-wrenching, not-a-happy-ending kinda movies.  If every main character dies at the end of a movie, only leaving behind the pet dog, I would LOVE it (because I would be crying about it).  From this you can tell that I rather enjoy crying.  

On Wednesday I decided I would watch a depressing movie- “Girl, Interrupted”.  It was amazing!  Angelina Jolie was simply incredible and definitely deserved her Oscar that the Academy granted her for this film.  Shockingly, I cried once the credits started rolling.  Later I watched “Boys Don’t Cry” starring Hilary Swank in her Oscar winning role.  It was an even more depressing movie and I cried again.  

The next day I was bombarded with grave news that would shatter my world.  My Mom denied my wish to attend Terminus in just 4 short weeks.  This was the worst thing that could have happened to me.  After hanging up the phone with her (I may or may not have hung up on her…) I burst into tears.  Needless to say, this has been a very tear-filled few days.

And this, my children, is why boys DO cry!

Verse 6: In Which Cows are Beaten to Death.

Readers, I’d like to open this blog by talking about connotations. Connotations of the word “virgin”, to be precise. When someone says “virgin”, most of your initial thoughts would be: prude, hymen, fun-sucker, retarded, whatthefuck, I’mma pop dat cherry!, etc.

And while usually all of those connotations stand fairly accurate, I’m here to tell you that when referring to me, they couldn’t be more wrong. I’m the fucking VIRGIN MARY. As a youth, I found a variety of ways to keep myself entertained whilst keeping my nether-flap intact.

One day I was with a friend, driving to the local Taco Bell. We’d just finished playing “hide the tip” in the backseat and were pretty damn hungry.

It started when Jeremy started caressing me in ways that if I wasn’t so stoned would make me say, “Oh, Jeremy!”

But then I snapped out of my daze long enough to realize – “Wait, aren’t you driving?”

Seconds later we’d spun off the road and into a poor, unsuspecting head of cattle. The thing looked up at us with eyes full of fright and time seemed to slow down.

I remember thinking about how it was such a pretty creature. I really wanted to put something in it… but later, when I had the opportunity to do so, I refrained – realizing that it is generally frowned upon.

Then it was underneath our car. Me and Jeremy stepped out of the car and eyed the pitiful beast. It was very dead.

Having only partially recovered from my exploits the previous evening, in retrospect I realized I was probably still tripping when the nearest live Cow screamed and yelled, “I’M CALLING THE FUCKING COPS, SHIT. KARL? KARL?”

I figured Karl was the poor beast we’d just run over. I glanced around and noticed Jeremy was digging through the trunk of our car. He came out with two baseball bats.

The next few minutes passed by in a blur. The dull thuds of our beating sticks on the cow flowed rythmically. We weren’t doing much damage on the body, so we moved on to the head. There was a satisfying crack as his skull split, due to the intensity of my fifth blow. He wasn’t quite dead yet, so I kept pounding his face into the dirt until it wasn’t anything but a mess of gore.

We proceeded to pack up and indirectly kill more cattle by feasting at Taco Bell.

And that, my children, is why you shouldn’t be afraid to partake in some hardcore cattle violence. Because those fuckers CAN’T call the cops. Humans: 1 Cows: 0. Bitchin’.

Verse 5: Rambles about obsession and love and such.

And so we begin the cycle again. I hope you’ve enjoyed the first week with the religion. Before I begin today’s tale, I would also like to address an issue that’s come up now that we’ve told our dear Scones about this. I want to stress the fact that we mean no disrespect to any true religions. Regretfully, it seems that some have taken our blog as offensive or blasphemous. This is certainly not what we ever intended to do. Although not all of us are involved in or invested in a particular religion, we each have different views on it and none of us mean to insult those who are religious in any way. This project is for fun-both yours and ours. We hope that our fun isn’t your pain. Now to commence with my verse. Forgive me; it’s not a story, just something I’ve been thinking about lately.

         As I type this, Across the Universe plays in the background, and Cierra sits on my couch. The last and first time I saw this movie was Thursday, aka Mary Magdalene’s day. Maybe you think that this is too soon to be watching it again. I don’t. Maybe you think that if I were to go over to Cierra and hug her, it would be somewhat dull, as I’ve hugged her all week. I don’t.

        I don’t understand people who never reread books or rewatch movies or look over old photographs or listen to the same song on repeat. As a Harry Potter fan, I obviously have an obsessive personality. I’m an extremely passionate person, without the sexual innuendo, thank you very much. I rarely just “like” something. I love, and I wouldn’t want it any other way. The way I see it, my life is richer because I experience it more. I love my friends. I love literature. I love musical theatre. I love hugs. I love my dog. However, I digress. What I mean  to say is that if you don’t want to experience something over and over again, there’s no point in doing it. The best times of my life, whether in the physical world or in the worlds that only exist in the fictional sense, have been those that I came out of wanting to immediately replay. The search for such highs of joy could be the purpose of life. So those who only participate on the shallowest levels aren’t getting anything out of it. I’ve immersed myself in several worlds and people. Some have paid off. Some haven’t. But without that leap of faith, I wouldn’t be here, and neither would you.

     And that, my children, is why if you read or watch something that makes you feel different in the best way possible, or meet someone that gives you hope, you should follow where that takes you. You may end up with more to love than you ever imagined.

 

P.S.-My birthday was Friday. I hope you all celebrated. Why should we only be happy on Jesus’ birthday? The rest of us deserve some cake, too. Also…Happy M.E. <##

Verse 4:Last stop: Jesus

My fellow religious figures, it is with great and sincere sorrow that I write this.

As I am sure you have all noticed, I failed to update our beloved blog yesterday and therefore failed each of you.  I come here today to beg for your forgiveness and ask that you will overlook my epic failure.

The reason I was unable to post yesterday is because I, Jesus, have a rather large family. I’m sure this does not come as much of a surprise to you, seeing as my father is kind of everyone else’s father as well. He gets around.

The thing about having a large family is that they like to visit from time to time, which means that you must spend every waking moment with them. As an added bonus, my family greatly enjoys overlooking my prior commitments to have large parties. As a matter of fact, there is a large party going on in my kitchen as I type this. I am also surrounded by a few of my cousins. I hope you understand how awkward this is. Please forgive my lack of wit and hilarity, I am in quite an unsettled mental state. Now my cousin needs to use my computer. I promise to be back full swing next week.

      This whole story, my brothers and sisters, is the reason birth control is your friend. As you were.

Verse 3: Overalls

Hello everyone.  I would first like to express my deep love for my fellow Religion writers.  We all have an abundant amount of wonderful stories to tell, filled with incredible wisdom, mind-boggling bravery, and steamy sexual undertones.  Just you wait…

While contemplating what my first addition to The New (Pre-Terminus) Testament would be about, I couldn’t decide as I had numerous ideas.  Should I talk about the first night I spent with Jesus?  No.  Too long.  Perhaps the time I convinced “that other Mary” to take her clothes off while on webcam?  No.  I would not want to make people feel the urge to purge.  And then it struck me like a dead baby being thrown against a brick wall:  I shall enlighten everyone with the tale of The Overalls.

It was a tragic day.  A tragic day in Mrs. Odeski’s second grade classroom.  I must have been feeling quite adventurous that day, for I decided to wear denim overalls (girls denim overalls I might add…keep in mind that they had no zipper in the front).  While listening to the grouchy teacher read aloud a presumably sappy, unrealistic story about a boy who becomes best friends with his heroic dog, I suddenly felt a familiar feeling in my pants.  No I was not getting excited- I was eight years after all.  I had to piddle.  

Upon reaching and surveying the insane asylum-esque restroom, I was forced to come to terms with my reality:  I could not use the toilets as they were clogged with the excrements of slobbish elementary school boys and I could not use the stalls as I was wearing The Overalls with no zipper in the front.  Unless I wanted an unassuming passerby to see my rather plump rump as I relieved myself, this was not an option.  I meekly tiptoed back to Mrs. Odeski’s classroom, trying desperately not to release my bodily fluids on the hallway floors.  

With a flushed face, I sat back down on the ground and listened to the teacher’sKreacher-like voice.  No more than a minute passed before I could not take the “pressure” anymore.  Hearing the angels singing as I peed and felt the warm sensation run down my legs, I knew I would be pegged as “The Boy Who Peed”, not “The Boy Who Lived” as I most forlornly fancied.

And that, my children, is why overalls should never be a choice of clothing for anyone.  Ever.

Verse 2:In Which Hallucinogens Are Problematic

As the virgin Mary, you’d think getting immaculately boned by the big man himself would not only leave me with a soon-to-be savior fetus, but also with some holy wisdom. But really, where the hell in God’s arsenal of arcane knowledge is there anything about bad Acid?

But before I tell you that story, I should preface by acknowledging my growing drug addictions during and around the time of Jesus’ birth. After you get past the fact that your son’s going to die, you can really come to appreciate the fact that his death means you can smoke as much grass as you want and still be saved. Hell, every thursday night, me and the girls would get together and smoke a few bowls. They’d always be worried, you know, about getting caught or arrested, but I’d always tell ‘em, I’d say, “Don’t you ladies worry, once this little jack-in-the-vag pops out, we’ll be set.”

I’ll be honest, though. Soon reefer wasn’t quelling the eternal munchies. I needed more, I needed some hard shit. I went from coke to heroin to CCC faster than you could say, “Aren’t you worried about the baby?” (To which I would always reply, “He can’t feel it, I promise, just keep going.”).

Eventually I would find myself at a party. I pretty literally mean “found myself” because I have no idea how I got there. The days had begun to blur together at that point. I’d wake up at random intervals to find myself in another bed, usually with a few people with me. There were rarely any clothes being worn.

I walked into the main hub of the party, being felt up by most around me due to my lack of proper dress-ware. I noticed some people sitting off in the corner talking to the rats outside. They looked like they were really enjoying it, too.

“What do the rats say?” I asked the nearest one.

“What rats? That’s a fucking DRAGON!” he replied in earnest.

I noticed his eyes were bleeding slightly, and I noticed him clutching a tiny container.

“Whatcha got there?”

“This new shit I just picked up in Jordan. You can take the hits in your fucking EYES.”

I needed no further persuasion. I took the vial and popped a few drops in my eyes. Soon enough, I was chatting up the dragons like they were my old friends. How could I have ever mistaken them for rats? I’ll never know. Also, my tits had become purple. This fascinated me to no end. I told the dragons about this new development.

“Look, look!” I said.

“Can I see them up close?!” the dragon pack leader asked me.

“Of course!” I responded. That was my mistake. As soon as I put the dragon on my chest, he bit off both of my nipples. Not that I cared too much. Minutes later I was unconcious.

But that is why, dear readers, you should never take acid. Actually, fuck that – just make sure it’s good and you get it from a reliable seller. Drug abstinence is for pussies anyway.

Verse 1: Nerves

Welcome to the beginning, followers. I would like to extend a warm virtual hug from all of us here at The Religion, for we are very excited to start the enormous task of writing The Bible for our creed. However, with that  giddy antici…..pation comes a certain amount of stress. We certainly hope that we’ll be received well, but, this being the first piece of scripture, there is some pressure upon me, God. I mean, it’s not enough that I created the world and bless you all and yadayadayada. Now you want my wisdom to be put down in this most holy of blogs? As I just told Mary Magdalene on the Blessed Cell Phone, I am quite nervous.  Will you like my words? Will they make any difference? Will I live up to the promises of greatness that Jesus, Mary Magdalene, the Virgin Mary and I have made to each other and to you, dear reader? This reminds me of another time during which nerves came into play, earlier today……

               It was a bright day in  my kingdom of the shore, located in the land called New Jersey, yet ominous clouds skulked around the beams of sun. I and my mortal friend Cierra were enjoying frolicking around the boardwalk, the acquarium, where we visited some of my creatures and the fun house, where we were treated to some low budget frights and thrills.  The land-based joy was soon over, though, as we made our way to one of my most prized accomplishments. The beach was only slightly crowded, a surprise for natives like me, so we threw down our supplies and ran into the water. The waves were breaking harshly and a bit of chill still lingered in them from the frostier climates. I had done this many times, so it was not I that was nervous. It was Cierra.

            She had not been to the ocean since she was small, so the waves both fascinated and frightened her. We ventured closer to the waves as she grew more and more comfortable, and I eventually convinced her to move beyond them, into the deeper water. I grasped her hand and led her to the breakers. A reasonably sized wave was coming in. It came closer…closer…closer. “JUMP!” I yelled and followed my own orders. I lost Cierra’s hand, but made it over the waves. Adjusting myself to the different temperature and depth, I looked around for Cierra. When I saw her, she was sprawled on the sand. She had panicked and been in an unlucky position; it was the perfect recipe for a wipeout. I made my way back to her and helped her calm down, as we were both shaken. She was covered in sand and small scratches, but on the whole alright. She vowed never again to enter the ocean, and we left as the sky broke over us, thunder and rain bidding us farewell.

         It was her nerves that made her jump less steady, and it was mine that made this post more than a little difficult to write. In the end, however, we both came out of our places of fear stronger, more capable and with more experience to guide us in the future.

         And that, my children, is why facing that which terrifies you is a worthy task. You may emerge better, or you may fail, but at least you will have tried.