Oh shit, I had plans to not go on Friendster and MySpace until I finished my book. I was going to just spend everyday writing my book until I finished it, probably it would take about a month, but my life is in upheaval right now because heterophobes are trying to push me out of my home. I was so comfortable too. Anyway, it's not that it's so inconvenient having to move, but I'm also really upset and mad about it. So, I don't know why you need to know all of that. Anyway, fuck christianity, part 2: When I was a little kid I went to a child care called Holloway. It was really nice. They had tons of trampolines and big rockets with slides and things that you could get in and they would spin aroundand tree houses and a playground 10 times the size of any public playground. It was really cool. It was so deluxe, it was almost like a low tech amusement parkAnd on top of that, they took us on field trips to Chuck E. Cheese and fun stuff like that, but the bad part was that they were christians, and really evil christians on top of it, and my mother didn't know this. They would make us pray before every meal and I hated it because I didn't believe in it, and on top of it all, they would always bless President Reagan in the prayer. I was very aware of all of the evil shit that the Reagan administration was doing in Central America because of my mom, so I hated the whole idea of that because as far as I was concerned, Reagan was the devil. An evil, evil, evil man and here we were sitting there praying for him and shit. And then, it gets even worse, one time, they called us inside from playing to show us this movie. Now, before I go any further, I gotta tell you, when I was a little kid, the Beatles was my all time favorite band. I was crazy about them and in particular, the album, Abbey Road. So, anyway, this movie was all about how the Beatles were satanic which didn't necessarily bother me until they got to this one part where they interview this little boy that was about the same age as me. He confessed that he was a huge Beatles fan, but that he stopped listening to them because demons would come visit him every night, and they were terrifying him and not letting him sleep. He also said that they still came to visit him every once in a while, but that it happened much less frequently since he stopped listening to the Beatles. Oh holy fucking jesus, that scared the living shit out of me. After that, I laid awake for hours every night, laying there waiting for the demons to come get me. And of course with my wild, little boy's imagination, I occasionally saw them, and golly, they looked mean. The horns and the malicious eyes. Oh man, I would lay there, terrified for hours and hours,and then, when I finally did get to sleep, my mind was in such a terrible state that of course, I had terrible nightmares. Around the same time, I saw that movie, Tron, so a lot of the nightmares had to do with dodging lasers and shit. My mom kept on finding me sleepwalking, jumping around the living room. I'ld be dodging lasers and what not, and she'ld tap me on the shoulder, and that would snap me out of it andI'ld cry and cry and cry, and I'ld go back to bed and then cry even more until I'ld cry myself back to sleep; just to have to wake up a couple of hours later and go to my piece of shit school where one of the first damn things we did every morning was to pledge allegiance to "America" and god. But finally after about a year or so after enough prodding, my mom finally got it out of me what had happened at the day care. We went up to Holloway and she cursed their brains out. There was so much cussing. "I’m taking my child out of this hellhouse. You people are sadistic. How could you ever make something as pure and good as the Beatles into something evil? You know he believes everything you tell him." All the women there had beehive hairdos, and they had this highly perverted nurse looking outfits on. They all had names like Mildred and Bertha and Loretta and shit like that. I hope they all get ripped apart by wild animals. So, after the Holloway incident, she lovingly dragged me home and pulled out all the Beatles records. We had many, but the first one she put on the turntable was of course, Abbey Road. I listened to the first few songs with little emotion but once "Octopus’s Garden" came on, I busted out crying. And then my mom started talking to me, "Nobody’s gonna hurt you here.. Beware of the Christians. They’re an evil bunch. They’re miserable, and they just want to drag you into their misery." Why in the hell did she raise me in the bible belt though? She had a decision in that after all. She left me there on the couch crying while she went and fixed us dinner. We lived in a one bedroom apartment, and she was so rad that she let me sleep in the bedroom while her bed was in the living room. But now, I was in the living room waiting to eat. I laid down on her bed crying. My face in her pillow, the tears streaming. And then the song, "I Want You (She’s so Heavy)" came on and it made me very happy. My favorite activity when I was a little kid was daydreaming about girls at school that I had crushes on. That’s just about all I did growing up, and that one song, "I Want You", well it always reminded me of this one girl that I had liked since Kindergarten. Her name was Sarah. I think I was in love with her, and that was our song. She didn’t know it, but it was our song. And, I’ld listen to it over and over and over again and daydream about her. daydream about kissing her. Daydream about kissing every square inch of her body until she just keeled over and died from love. Because I had so much of it for her. I wanted her SO BADLY that it made me little tiny infant penis stand up in attention. In adoration for her. I stalked her and she knew it. And one time, this was later, well, we were in the fourth grade, and somebody called me on it. It was a fifth grader that was brought into our class while the teachers had a meeting. She was there in charge. She kept on staring at me and then staring at Sarah, and then finally, she called me on it. She announced to the whole class that I liked her. Everybody already knew it anyway. It’s not like I told anybody, but they all knew it. Everybody stared right at me, and asked, "Is it true? Is it true? Is it true?" They knew it was true, but they just wanted to see if I had the nerve to admit it myself. And then my next action, I’ll regret it until I die, I said right in front of everybody, "Yeah, I like her except for her ‘froggy’ smile." I have no idea what I meant by that, but I’m sure it fucked with her head at least a little bit. I just didn’t know how to respond. They put me on the spot. And while I was saying it, I was looking straight at her and she was smiling at first, but the smile quickly vanished once I said that. But, these were not my thoughts while I was listening to "She’s So Heavy." They were fully pleasant daydreams about Sarah. About how excellent it would be to kiss those cute, cute, cute lips and over again. Because she would like it. Even though I was a weird kid, at least I was still cute, and she wanted me to kiss her. She wanted me; I was sure of it. I knew it down to the bone. And then, the song, "Here Comes The Sun", came on. My mom came out from the kitchen. I started crying again. "I’m not gonna let them hurt you anymore, and we’re gonna sit in this apartment listening to the Beatles until our teeths rot and our hair falls out, and there’s nobody that can stop us." I blew my nose on one of her sheets, and she was almost disgusted except for the fact that she knew that I needed her so much. That evening we listened to the Beatles for hours. She cooked lasagna. I always loved her lasagna. This is before she went vegan. Rubber Soul, The White Album, Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, Let It Be, And Mildred and Bea and Ethel and all those people can go to fucking hell; it’s the hell that they themselves created for a reason. Because they suck. They dug their own graves, and I’ld gladly go and piss on them if I knew where they were buried. So, although the last sentence would’ve been a pretty effective last sentence for this blog entry, I’m not done saying everything that I wanted to. Later on, like between the ages of 10-13, I used to always hang out at the Galleria. A shopping mall in Houston where tons of kids would hang out and smoke and take acid and smoke pot. I was ashamed about it, but what the fuck? Pretty girls, drugs, and plentiful cigarettes, what's there to be ashamed about, I mean I know it's cheesy to hang out at he mall, but what else are you going to do? So, anyway, we all used to dress like punk rockers, back before I realized that being punk rock is not punk rock. Or at least, not looking punk rock. So, we used to get all fucked up and stick up our Mohawks, and get shit-faced and throw up all over rich girls’ houses. The Cisco, MD 20/20, Night Train fluorescent pink puke. Brilliant and smelly; . .. . very, very, very smelly. Permanently ruining your chances of ever getting a kiss from that girl ever again even if maybe she liked you at first.. She doesn’t anymore, and that’s all that matters, except you’re too busy puking and being punk rock to give a damn. She would’ve let you sleep with her in her bed. She would’ve let you suck on her tits and finger her, but you’re fucking stupid, Tomatoes, really fucking stupid, and you’re more interested in torturing your liver and brain cells than making out with beautiful black-haired new waver girls while they’re still too young to realize that you’re nothing but a fucking creepy loser, and that’s all you’ll ever be. Really, not a whole lot has changed with me: more than half of my thoughts are consumed with daydreaming about females such as with Sarah when I was in elementary school, my hyper-excessive alcohol consumption completely ruins sexual opportunities on a regular basis such as in the old, "punk rocker" days, and I'm still a fucking creepy loser as in always. So, you're probably wondering what the Galleria had to do with Christianity. Well, there were these skinheads that used to hang out there too. Some were even nazis. I knew all of them. Used to hang out and smoke cigarettes with them even though I'm not rascist that I know of. Well, one weekend everybody was all going crazy because a couple of these skinheads had baetan this sixteen-year-old to death. They stomped on his head with their doc martens. The victim was a member of VC, short for VietCong, a vietnamese gang in Houston. But still, what excuse did they have for beating him to death. That seems like the most inhumane way to kill someone, and the most hateful. I can imagine shotting someone in the head maybe. Someone that I really, really hate, but to kick and punch someone over and over until their dead?, well that just seems like it would take a lot out of you. So, anyway, around the same time, I formed this punk rock band called Neutal Living Saliva Tank of which, I was the singer. We were really good. Well, maybe we were just really amusing. An 11-year-old going nuts screaming in a high pitched voice and all. It's just funny. So, anyway, the drummer was a good friend of mine, Marty. Anyway, the skinheads were on the news and film of the victim's crying family was all over the place for a while. Years and years went by and I never heard from them again until around when I was 19. I was already living in Austin, and was back in Houston for the weekend visiting. A couple of years prior to this, Marty had turned born again christian and started playing the drums for this christian heavy metal band and had alreadu toured the world a few times trying to convert people and shit. It was part of this even bigger christian evangelical mission called the Jesus Freaks because they were like punks and tattooed people and stuff like that except they were christians and wanted to convert everybody. Really cheesy, I know. Anyway, all of our old friends stopped hanging out with Marty because he had gotten really obnoxious about the whole thing and all he could talk about was Jesus and nobody could stand him anymore except for me. I just thought it was amusing and plus, who else do I know that tours the world? I mean, he had a lot of interesting stories to tell. And plus, it's fun to get really drunk around christians because they pray for you and shit. It used to amuse me back then, now, I just hate it. Anyway I went to go out hanf out with Marty and we walked to the store, and he bought a bunch of malt liquor for me because I didn't have an ID. I was getting really, really drunk, and he kept on telling me to turn christian and I kept laughing at him. Anyway, a bunch of his christian friends came over and I was so drunk, it made them really sad for me, and they were praying for me, and I kept on laughing at them. One looked straight at me and shook my hand and said, "Hey Puree, it's been a long time." "Oh yeah, how's it going? I responded not knowing who in the hell he was. Finally they left, and Marty turns to me, knowing full well that I had no idea who in the hell that meek, short-haired white guy was. "Hey, Tomatoes, did you recognize who that was?" I told him, "No, I have no idea." "That was Robert Stevens, one of those skinheads that beat up that VC kid at the Galleria." "Oh, my fucking gosh, you've gotta be kidding me!" "Yeah, he went christian while he was in prison, and they let him out for good behavior." I was completely shocked and disgusted. "Yeah," Marty continued, "You see if he could convert to Jesus, anybody can, so you should start having more faith in the power of the lord, . . . " He went on and on like that all fucking night for hours until I finally finished the malt liquor and left more disgusted with christianity than I had ever been. He accomplished the exact opposite of hat he was trying to do. I just couldn't believe that this skinhead had killed somebody and was just hanging like everything was completely normal. I think there are a few things that you shouldn't ever be forgiven for. And it's not even like I'm against murder or have any kind of problems with murderers. I'm actually kind of envious of them. It's just that this guy, kind of like the pedophile preists, is preaching a message that actually has nothing to do with their normal human nature. Only people that are really, really evil need to practice something like christianity because they, deep down in their hearts, feel evil and feel the need for some kind of outside source to tell them how to be nice, and on top of that, it never really works anyways because god doesn't exist, so when they're tempted, they give in. I don't need no god to tell me what to do. Anyway that's about it, . . . oh, and as far as the buttons go,, you remember the buttons from my past blog, one to make every christian on the face of the planet drop dead, and then the other to clean up all the mess, and I said by the end of this blog entry, that I would make up my mind whether or not I'ld do it?, well, . . . I would just warn my roommate right before I push them to give her and any loved ones the chance to convert. oh, and one more thought: On top of it all, it seems like a terrible case of self-flattery to think that we would know anything about god. Let's just for arguement's sake, say that there exists some sort of a god. Why would we thinnk that we're spiritual enough to know anything about it? The reason is, is because there have existed some liars in the history of our civilization that claim to have had some sort of communication with it. It's just bullshit.