You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better. ~ Anne Lamott
My atheism is not predicated on hate, anger, or a disagreement with the Judeo-Christian version of God. He and I are not at odds. To me, he is a myth which I am not at war with. And before you suggest I am on the "dark side", please know I do not spend my free time sitting in a pentagram, channelling evil.
I searched for years and could not find any real tangible evidence for "his" existence that did not require me to suspend beliefs that I knew to be right and true in order to embrace those myths championed in the bible that extol his virtues and existence. Yes, myth. Read about Horus and Mithra, for a start, and you if you are honest with yourself, you will begin to see parallels that make that whole bible thing look like history's best work of plagiarism.
Now, if you have real, tangible proof that can be evidenced in reality and tested by empirical science, show me and I may actually change my mind. Do not point to me and say god made me. My parents having sex without using birth control made me.
Until that time, if that time ever occurs, please do not act like you are a better person than I am or that you have keys to some magical kingdom that makes you more entitled than the rest of us. I do not need a book full of what I consider to be fairy tales to be a good person. You consistently break vows and promises you make to "him". You sin. Just like the rest of us.
Whenever you elevate yourself upon your self-made pedestal remember this, you look like a fool and we all know that you have shaped your beliefs to be entirely altogether too congenial and convenient in order to absolve yourself of any real responsibility for your actions or accountability for the harm you cause.
Exactly who is the liar?
When I realize it is only Wednesday, not Thursday...
Soooo let me get this straight, this dood in Florida gets pulled over, the cops find coke stuffed in his ass and he has the audacity to say it wasn't his?
Really really.
I understand that at some point he admits the powder is his but what plane of reality do you have to be on to say (and seriously expect people to believe) that bags of coke currently residing in your poop shoot don't belong to you? How high do you have to be to get to that plane of reality? Clearly this dood is actively engaged in quality control and his shit is goooood. Or magic Colombian faeries had their way with his anus.
No, it could totally happen. We would all have to be high on LSD and having a *mushroom* burger for lunch, chasing it with heroin vitamin water, but it could totally happen.
Back in The Day, I may have had a problem or two with the cops. Allegedly. At least that story Kells and I told the cops was vaguely believable. Our Oscars haven't arrived yet, but we were so on that night.
Allegedly.
Here is the truth, all of which can be substantiated by at least two other people. It was my last night in town. I had been drinking all the vodka in two bars a few cocktails. We were on the way to drop my drunk ass off at my uncle's. The driver of the vehicle did realize, in a rare moment of clarity, that when you finally admit you suck ass at driving a standard and want to switch drivers, you cannot pull into the outside lane of the road without signaling and stop a car in the middle of an intersection, especially when the light is green and a police car is part of on coming traffic. The driver also realized she would have been better suited to make a quick right hand turn, pull the car over and turn on the hazard lights so the switch could be made. And finally, yes, we all realized we were incredibly lucky to have left the particular bar we had been at, narrowly missing a biker stabbing a dope fiend to death.
Its Prince George on a Saturday night... that's how they roll.
What may or may not have been true was that the driver of the car was test driving the car. At 3:30 am on a Saturday/Sunday. Because it may or may not have been for sale. At 3:30 am. And that the driver was sober enough to do so. No, I'm not proud of that so eff off. I know its bad to drive with drunks. If its any consolation, I was already shitting myself before the cops pulled us over.
What also may or may not have been true is that Kells was sober enough to drive the rest of the way. And was asking 6K for a car she wants to be buried in. Allegedly. You can also chose to believe or discount that I was sitting in the back of a sports car, with my head stuck out the driver's window, chatting away, telling the cop (did I mention the cop was female? And RCMP? I know. Hiiiissssssssssss) how drunk I was (lots of heavy vodka breaths as to distract and distort... allegedly), and sad it was my last night in town but how super stoked I was that I didn't get dead in the parking lot cos it would suck ass if I got dead by a biker. Or a dope fiend. Or something like that. Its a bit fuzzy around the edges.
The truest part of the whole story is that Kells got a phone call from the lady cop on Monday, wondering if the car was still for sale because she was interested in taking it for a test drive but was a bit concerned that it was a standard and she, the lady cop, was pretty rusty driving a standard. And would Kells be willing to negotiate the price. Uh huh. For really.
So now, I really do understand that desperate people do desperate things. That being said, if you have something like coke stuffed up the crack of your ass, its possession honey. Actually, if you have anything stuffed up your ass, you're possessing it.
Nothing alleged can get you out of that.
