Keep Christ in Christopher

It's that time of year again, folks. The time when people celebrate without keeping in mind the man who made it all possible. They sign their names to their $200 gifts with not so much as a thought to their blasphemy. A sin so big, it's a wonder why the "God hates fags" people aren't all over it.

Yes, folks, I'm talking about Christophers.

Not all Christophers, mind you. In fact, "Christopher" is a perfectly fine person and I and the Lord have no beef with him. I'm talking about all of you Chris-es.

You know who you are. You remove the second half of your name because it's "too long" or "not cool" or "confuses people with its 'P-H means F'" sound. Well nobody said life would be easy for you.
When you write your name on that Christmas gift, you're signing a contract with God. You're saying that you agree to live by his rules and love him for all eternity. By shortening it to "Chris" you might as well be wiping your poo away with that contract. God forgive me for that language.

And then we have the most offensive naming of all; Topher Grace. Christopher Grace, despite his last name, hates the Lord so much that he wanted to remove as much of Jesus' name as possible from his own without having to resort to the questionable "Opher Grace."
Well, when Christopher Grace is burning in Hell, maybe he and Satan can get together and make a new TV show called "That 1070 Degrees Show"! Lol!

I added a visual aide in case some of you didn't get it. I'm also not sure if Topher Grace eats babies, but I wouldn't put it past him since he hates Jesus so much.

And don't even get me started on "Christina." If Jesus wanted to have a girl's name, he would have come to Earth as "Juanita" or something.

So this CHRISTmas season, remember to pray for all the Chrises and Tophers out there who deny Jesus in their daily lives by using this sinful name. I hope everyone has MERRY AMERICAN CHRISTMAS, and God Bless!

How I realized I wasn't cut out to be a Believer

I've been tiptoeing around how to get this blog started, so I figured I'll take the plunge and let you know a bit about me. I believed in God and Jesus and all that fun stuff well into my high school days. I can't pinpoint when I started the questioning which led me to where I am today, but looking back I can see a few telltale signs that it just wasn't going to work out.
I was an existential child. When I was very young--younger than nine, though I can't remember the specific age--I lay in my bed at night thinking. I still do this, and I know many of you do, too. You think about all the shitty stuff about life you push out of your head with busy work and video games and masturbation. Too young to realize the fun and glory of these activities, I lay there thinking about death. I come from a Catholic family. Everyone around me was Catholic, so there was no reason for me to think anything that might run counter to the invisible guardian in the sky theory. My first disappointment in God was when I prayed for him to transform my various dog toys into dalmatian figurines overnight. 101 Dalmatians had just been rereleased and I was in a phase, I guess. I thought it would be nothing more than a small paint job while I slept. Hell, if Santa could do it, it should be cake for God.
Of course I woke up to my various brown plastic dogs and not dalmatians, but oh well. I made the best of things. My Cruella De Vil toy would have to settle for a patchwork coat.
Anyway, I was thinking about death. In my mind, people went to heaven and just kind of... hung out all day. Nobody has said anything to me since then that would lead me to believe that Heaven is anything but that. I realized that I would get bored very quickly if I was just sitting around on my cloud all day. Sure, I'd have wings, but what about the Sonic the Hedgehog cartoons? What about drawing? TVs and trees don't have souls, so that was out. I wanted conflict in my Heaven. Life without conflict is boring. Some perfect afterlife that would be, hanging out bored all the time. I had toys at home and I was still bored a lot. What kind of omnipotent being was this God?
Crushed by the overwhelming idea of boredom for eternity, I began to cry. Note that I was sure I would be going to Heaven. I often wonder where that self-assurance went now that I'm older. I climbed out of my bunk bed and went to my parents in the living room, bawling. They asked what was wrong and I said "I don't want to die!"
I don't know what they said to get me back in bed, but I eventually slept. They've never mentioned that night to me.
My second (or third if you count my dalmatians mishap) realization that God wasn't destined to be in my Myspace Top 8 was in Sunday school. We had to look through magazines and find who we thought our chosen Saint looked like. We all picked a Saint. All the kids in class picked their favorite, but I didn't know a damn thing about the Saints. I picked my namesake, Saint David. After flipping through magazines, I found an image of celebrity chef (at the time) Jeff Smith.
Later, of course, we found out he sexually assaulted men who worked with him. Some Saint.

Of course, these stories aren't WHY I stopped going to church or believing, but they are, I think, things that led me down the path to question the world around me. After all, if God can't live up to Santa, what is he good for?