Disgruntled Human Retires From Humanity To Spend More Time With Cat
The Non-Denominational Antagonist
I’m retiring from humanity. I’m done. And I don’t mean I’m gonna kill myself, or move into a shack in the woods and make bombs. I’m just gonna stop trying to get along with people who don’t try to get along with me. And that’s most people I run across, and HAVE run across; at least since I was 10.
Why age 10? Well, that’s the year I officially became humanity’s greatest antagonist. I got saved (I’m a Christian and you’re not!). And not just saved. I got filled with the Holy Ghost, and I started speaking in tongues and casting out demons. I didn’t handle snakes because . . . well, that would be weird. But if my parents and church leaders had told me to handle snakes, I would’ve done it; because I was a fine Christian boy. And I would’ve died young. But I would’ve done it, I tell ya. Because I cared what people thought of me.
Not these days, mind you. No snake handlin’ for me. And no demon castin’. Though if I could, I’d cast out the demons of fear and ignorance that make people say and do crazy shit. Like clinging to the notion that the government is coming for our guns. Or believing that an arsenal of AKs and fertilizer bombs is gonna prevent the government from doing anything. Doesn’t anybody remember Waco? Or Ruby Ridge? Or Cliven Bundy?
Apparently not. It must be the demons, clouding cracker heads everywhere. So, yessiree . . . if I could, I’d cast out those demons. Those peckerwood demons. I’d say, “OUT . . . in the names of Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton and Reverend Wright and Saul Alinsky!”
It’s those same demons that make Evangelicals deny facts that clash with their beliefs. Heaven forbid they should re-examine their beliefs, or expand their concept of God. I mean, if your god doesn’t like facts, then maybe you need to get a new god. If your god condemns you to hell for accepting reality, then it’s time for you to fire that goddamn god and hire another one.
But enough about you and your god! I’m tired of you people. And by “you people”, I don’t mean black people. I mean liberal snowflakes who jump to that conclusion. There’s nothing wrong with the phrase “you people”, people! “. . . for there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.” [Hamlet II:2] In other words, it’s all in the context, folks. And in the context of this meandering rant, I’m talking to (You guessed it!) . . .
YOU people! And by “you people” I mean people who can’t bring themselves to look up and say hi when we pass each other on the sidewalk. What’re you afraid of? For God’s sake, we’re not living in a banana republic overrun with guns and thieves and rapists!
Oh, wait . . . we are! But . . . nevermind about that. Just . . . SHUT UP! SHUT UP . . . okay? I don’t wanna hear it. I got troubles out the ying-yang. And that’s another reason I’m retiring from humanity. I gotta stay close to a toilet.
But enough about my ying-yang! Let’s talk about YOUR ying-yang. How dare you take up three seats on the L! I don’t care that you’re fat. I care that you don’t even make an effort to close your sequoia thighs long enough for me to grease myself up and slide into one of the partially taken seats next to you. I say “partially taken” because your butt jello takes up half of the seats on either side of you. And does your ass care that it’s not even trying to get along with other people? I don’t think so. I don’t think your ass is even aware of itself. And ya know how I know that? Because you’re YELLING on your cell! About what you’re gonna eat as soon as you get off the train.
And so, to those demons of fat, I say OUT! And I’m not talking about the fat that’s in your butt. I’m talking about the fat that’s in your head. OUT . . . fat be gone! OUT . . . in the names of James Baldwin, George Orwell, Howard Zinn, and Ta-Nehisi Coates!
Oh, you people! I’m tired of it. TIRED, I tell ya, of dealing with you people. And by “you people” I mean cellphone zombies. The Walking Text! Drifting. Lurching. Lumbering. Toward me. On the wrong side of the walkway. Jaywalking, with a phone in one hand and a baby stroller in the other. Stopping in doorways and clogging stairwells.
Y’all come over here so I can whisper something in your ear. Come on, now . . . don’t be afraid. Lemme cup my hands around your ear, ’cause I want you to get this. Are you ready? Okay then . . . YOU’RE IN THE WAY!
You’re in the way, okay? If you’re on your phone in public, you’re in the way. If it’s an emergency, that’s different. If you have kids, I understand. But if you’re walking and texting, or driving and texting, or texting at a red light, or standing and texting in a crowded thoroughfare, or conversing on speakerphone on a train or bus . . . guess what. YOU’RE IN THE WAY! And not only that, you’re a menace to society.
The Fundamentalist part is okay. He usually goes his own way and leaves everybody else alone. Like an Ᾱmish. “Wherefore come out from among them, and be ye separate, saith the Lord, and touch not the unclean thing; and I will receive you.” And that’s from Two Corinthians (as Trump would say), Chapter 6, Verse 17, King James Version.
It’s the Evangelical part that’s the thorn in the flesh. Evangelicals are taught to antagonize people who aren’t of their kind. The Great Commission. Go ye therefore into all the world and make everyone think just the way you do! (my version)
I’ll give you a perfect example. Something that happened to me yesterday as I was in the world but not of it, simply trying to get home from work. I got on the train at North & Clybourn, and there was a vomit couple at one end of the car. And by “vomit couple” I mean, literally, a guy and a girl taking turns vomiting into a clear plastic ziplock. Why? ‘Tis not to ask why of the CTA Freak Show. ’Tis simply to marvel at one of Chicago’s natural wonders. New show (fresh content) everyday!
So I carhopped at Fullerton and ran into something equally nauseating — a guy preaching the gospel. Only he wasn’t preaching; he was babbling. Paying his dues, I guess. Putting in his time.
All I want these days on the CTA is to be left alone. To sit and listen to my classical music and my Joseph Campbell lectures without being pissed or puked on or subjected to loud lunatics or panhandlers; all of which are illegal, by the way. There are signs on every CTA bus and train car listing Rules Of Conduct. And as I see it, the pissing and puking fall under the “No eating or littering” rule; the preaching, under “No soliciting or gambling”.
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When I was a child, I spake as an Evangelical, I understood as an Evangelical, I thought as an Evangelical. But when I became a man, I put away antagonism and joined humanity.
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The babbling Evangelical didn’t bother me until he followed me to yet another car.
“Seriously?” I bellowed.
“What’s dee problem, brothah?” he asked, in his thick African accent.
“I got on this car to get away from you!”
“You can’t run from dee truth, brothah!”
I don’t think he was going for a laugh. But that’s what he got; before I wandered to the other end of the car and found a seat and applied my noise-reducing over-the-ear headphones and listened to, ironically, a setting of a New Testament passage by Anton Bruckner: Christus factus est. And that’s all it takes these days to transport me instantly from hell to heaven. Even the African Evangelical following me all the way down the aisle to my seat for the singular purpose of antagonizing me . . . he didn’t bother me. Because in the midst of the CTA Freak Show, I had my little piece of Paradise; with my own seat and soundtrack.
And I must take credit for blessing that young man. You see, my indignation ignited tongues of fire above his head, as it were, and he spontaneously erupted with oraculatory vengeance. I mean . . . vehemence! He started preaching with vehemence. Not vengeance (Heh, heh.). Vengeance wouldn’t be very Christian, would it? So, let’s call it vehemence. Nevermind that I wasn’t hearing a word of it. His body language told me, finally, that he believed in what he was selling. And did I get a thank-you for this anointing? Nope. He merely continued bellowing the good news. Which was bad news for everyone on that train car but me.
When I was a child, I spake as an Evangelical, I understood as an Evangelical, I thought as an Evangelical. But when I became a man, I put away antagonism and joined humanity. But ya know what . . . because of you people . . . I JUST CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE! So, once again, I’m leaving humanity — putting in my notice — and going back to some kind of solitary holier-than-thou imaginary world. This time not as an Evangelical. Because that would be like living on the CTA. But as a . . . I dunno . . . some kind of unaffiliated antagonist. Let’s call it non-denominational. That’s the term covens of Christians use when they don’t wanna be associated with anyone else. Including other Christians.
The title alone is worth a million.
A million? Will that be by direct deposit, or will somebody be writing me a check?