Jesus and the Rusty Butter knife of Justice

The seven deadly sins are familiar to many, from the audience of Dante to anyone who has ever seen that movie, Seven, starring Brad Pitt and that woman who claims water has feelings, or some such like this. I’m certain that there is no way (even with the instantaneous exchange of information and pornography we now have with the interweb) that everyone who is at least older than five, is unaware of the seven deadly sins. Furthermore, maybe half of those who are familiar with these can probably only recite three out the seven, at best, but will refer to them when the need arises to seem knowledgeable: in casual conversation or as a Professor of Theology who bought his degree on the deep web. Even someone like the fake Professor of Theology needs to keep up appearances just enough to continue to acquire money (that he probably doesn’t need or even deserve) without being found out and then tarred and feathered and shackled to a wood beam and left in the nude, vulnerable to whatever ineffable actions that would be taken upon him simply because that evil rotten shit-eater had the gall to do what most of us would do if we knew how and had balls bigger than our brains. That guy should be teaching others who would do that same thing for a living just how to do that shit. And that shit would include the most basic of information required: how to access the Underland of Cyberspace, how to locate the necessary businesses (which for all intents and purposes “do not exist”), and also maybe a smidgen of the art of fooling others more knowledgeable than they so that they will be able to successfully pull off such a deception.

Apparently, the number of people who are morbidly curious about this dark secret world of the internet outnumber those who have some crazy bright overhead light bulbs and just thought, “Hey! Maybe I can just…..GOOGLE this!” and then go frolicking about like a small girl in the garden of an evil witch who is about to cook and serve her for dinner. I bet one can even find those Red Rooms that are so terrifying that even the devil himself is afraid of anything red.

I can never speak of this to anyone. Ever. Not even my closest friend to whom I give rim jobs to to keep all of my most secretest secrets safe. This is a lonely road I have chosen and my poor mother will weep over an empty coffin when I fake my death and begin this fantastic venture of stealing lives to soothe the loneliness that comes with my chosen path to final freedom…

The pretend-for-pay Theologian has much to offer humanity and should be just as well-respected as one of those lechers who give motivational speeches and give more advice than one’s feeble mind can actually process, taking money as thanks with promises of unlimited access to God’s most exclusive nightclub in the afterlife. Valued, paying audiences are sure he’s not even charging one-tenth of what he should be charging them and are so thankful for such a bargain that they will also promise their daughters as concubines for those filthy closet pervs.

I’ve gone a bit off the rails here, but just imagine what sorts of invaluable relics can be found to the side of the track! The best stuff is always just off to the side of the track because that’s where people tend to neglect most. As they’ve had to work, digging all along where the plans for the track take them. Just enough earth has been plundered for laying the track and some rocks directly alongside it. The track brings a regular stream of income, tourists, resources, motion-sickness, vibrations and excitement and even romance and fear of dirty foreign men looking to ravish even the most uncomely of white women, who no matter their age or girth are still the most tantalising things all foreigners have ever seen. Truly, it is enough to send anyone who isn’t caucasian into frenzies of lust and depravity unmatched even by Dionysus. There is no obvious need for whatever is to the sides of the track until one of God’s enlightened disciples of madness excavates these lonely margins and begins to preach of the abundance that can be found there, and that oft travelled railway then becomes irrelevant and taken for what it is: mundane and so boring that it is a direct path to Hell. Only a fool would disagree.

And, now, back to the real point here: the Eighth Deadly Sin! What is it? I’m not even sure a proper word or phrase exists to describe it so accurately as has been done for the first seven sins, and this simply will not do. After all, how can a person avoid commiting a sin he isn’t even aware it is a sin or what exactly such a sin entails?

We can’t leave the eighth deadly sin without its own word because the responsibility of the countless souls disserviced and condemned to an eternity of daily castration (in the eighth circle of Hell, at the stroke of every midnight, these poor sinful bastards find that their genitals have grown back in place and are properly functioning only to lose them again without any anesthesia. (After the first three mornings of waking to the rapture of having their sex organs still intact only to lose them a mere few hours later, they will no longer be able to say it was only a bad dream and they will see it coming but there’s no way to stop it).

Many unspeakable horrors occur there. It is so terrible that aside from those living eternity in torment, no one knows what goes on there between castrations. No one speaks of it. Not even in conversation just among those suffering fools and their closest allies. The 8th sin takes many forms. There is only one word I can think of that can include such a plethora of things that can and will be seen in the eyes of the Lord as the final sin. The sin that cannot be forgiven. What word can describe such an evil? What can we name the skinwalker of sins? I’m not sure your sinful nature is ready to know the truth.

But, who am I to tell anyone what is right or wrong, good or evil, for better or worse? Even I will be among those who must trudge shamefully from circle to circle on a daily basis, each day lasting the equivalent of 72 hours for the living, to receive punishment for all my wrong-doings.

Never listen to those who say, “Variety is the spice of life,” for the eighth circle of hell is where listening to those rotten little flesh-cans filled with garbage and vile hatred will land you.

Variety is not the spice of life. Variety is the seasoning of sorrow and suffering and you will curse all those who have ever dared utter those words for all eternity every time Jesus approaches you with his rusty butter knife of Righteous Justice to carve at you where you want it least of all: the most tender and sacred parts of your body.


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