The confessional is open

I like sex and getting to the bathroom quickly. It’s amazing how those two hobbies have influenced my clothing purchases over the last ten years.

So a FN woman was commenting on twitter about her continued and risible fondness for ‘unavailable white dick’ otherwise known as ‘the flirty white dicks of nullibiety’ and I responded that I had a white hot spot of recognition. But that sounded racist even though it wasn’t, so I changed it to red hot. Realized that was definitely going to sound racist. too. Changed it to orange hot in the end, that worked. She will never know how much I revised that poem.

I didn’t know I was a masochist until I started working on my racism. Until you start to enjoy getting hurt, there’s not much progress and the learning never sticks.

Okay, the hors-d’oevres are dealt with.

(HORN STAB! Ã  la 5 Million Years to Earth!)

I was once the victim of demonic possession.

Before you put your hands to your mouths and pull down excitedly on the necks of your henleys, I must add an instant caveat, which is that no such goddamned thing ever happened. I had a brief and unintentional thought experiment pass over me, and it left a trail of wreckage in its wake that took weeks to clear.

I was at the inlaws’, and the only reading material was godly material, and under the influence of those badly written but somehow compelling works (one was a takedown of the Masons that read like it had been written by a committee of godly wackos) I started to think ‘what if I’m wrong about this whole atheism thing?’ And I felt the miasma of religion swallow, and engulf, and otherwise be rude with my person. I struggled and fought to throw the horrible ideas off; among those ideas that I was condemned to hell, that I was an abomination in the sight of God, and all those other feelings that you get when you’re in full doubt mode. 

The fact that the bed was as miserably uncomfortable is it’s possible to be while not involving sprawling on rocks in sub-zero temperatures might have had something to do with my mental agony. These things are, as they say, deeply intertwingled.

Anyway, I finally perceived the thought experiment as an external, demonic influence, a voice and a personality attempting to pierce the veil of my mind and gain control over it. It was entirely ghastly and it was easily two weeks before I was out from under the feelings and thoughts.

No, I was not subject to demonic possession. BUT I WAS RAISED ATHEIST and my parents are deeply committed to rationality and scientific enquiry and they also raised me to question my own perceptions against a large array of cognitive balancers, always a bittersweet advantage in a world where the irrational seems to mean PAYDAY but really means MAGICAL THINKING WILL SCREW US ALL.

Point being that if I can be made to briefly believe things that aren’t true, then people who sit in front of Fox all day are hosed.