God-Loving And Chaste In Outer Space

by Phil Rockstroh

February 16, 2004   


In an action that comes close to defying belief, owing to the fact of its nearly perfect metaphorical acuity, the Bush administration canceled funding for the Hubbell telescope, a device from which we gain understanding of ourselves and of our origins by peering into the farthest reaches of the universe -- and, instead, they are proposing that the United States begins moving towards the inhabitation of Mars, a planet named after the God of War -- and, additionally -- that we travel to Mars by way of the moon, a celestial body associated with lunacy.

Why? For what purpose under heaven is this necessary?

Pious reader: Meet Georgie Stardust and the Republican Spiders from Mars and their Plan X from Outer Space, Operation Moonbase Monogamy. This noble undertaking is certain to bring about happy heterosexual marriages on the Moon, Mars, and spread morality throughout the starry firmament.

You see: The earth is rife with sin. In contrast, space is pure; it's closer to God.

George W. Bush is close to God. If you don't believe that this is the gospel truth, just ask him. You see, Bush had a vision in which God said to him:

"There is no sodomy on the Moon; hence, there you shall build your house. I, further, command that there shall be no adultery on Mars. To assure this: You, George W. Bush, my anointed one, must endeavor to send forth a holy vanguard of chaste space colonists -- an interstellar pilgrimage of celestial crusaders for Christ, who will go forth to make Mars safe for monogamy, then they shall sail the solar winds in order to find and settle the Planet Chastity, located somewhere in the constellation of Virgo, the virgin; from there, they will rendezvous with the Mother Ship of Traditional Values, joining her armada of UFOs, piloted by crews of extraterrestrial virgins, all converts to the divine love of Christ and the eternal truths of the Free Market.

"Henceforth: This will put an end to a billion eons of evolutionary promiscuity. The universe may be inhabited by a billion diverse life forms, but know this -- they are all waiting to be converted into monogamous, Christian heterosexuals.

"So build me a spaceship: All aboard the Star Ship, USS Missionary Position, penetrating the darkness of space, going where no man has gone before, but only after marriage sanctified by God. From this day forth, all creatures in creation are commanded to be God-loving and chaste in deep space.

"But first you must provide the Lord's people with the prophylactic effect of a Missile Defense Shield: a celestial chastity belt for the United States. The profits, er... prophets of the Aerospace Industry will show the way... er... make that -- the sages of NASA will show you the way.

"Make it so, my little, burning Bush... er... that's not exactly an accurate description for you, is it? It's too high-flown for a man of your meager visionary gifts... How about my little, smoldering twig? That's better: It captures your petty anger -- but a smoldering twig can, under certain extreme conditions, still be the cause of a catastrophic fire."

Yes, pious reader: The holy prophecy of the Smothering Twig proclaims to thee:

"First, it was God's plan to spread American culture across the globe like Cheese-Whiz across a Saltine. Now, we must take American culture to the stars. There shall be Wal-Marts and Starbucks on Mars... Now we can have an Intergalactic House of Pancakes. We've all seen pictures of those scrawny aliens. Pathetic. Where are they from -- the Planet of Anorexia? We'll fatten them up like good Americans. We'll trade them the secret of Col. Sanders' secret recipe and McDonald's Secret Sauce for their secrets of faster-than-light space travel -- then we'll have NASA build for Domino's Pizza -- a vast fleet of home delivery pizza UFOs -- then the entire cosmos will be eating out of our hands. Imagine the franchise possibilities? It's mind-boggling. First, we covered the earth with corporate franchises, next we'll brand the entire universe. The sky is the limit... This is beautiful: Soon the entire universe will be the earth's suburb, replete with malls, strip malls, fast food restaurants, chain stores, reaching to the farthest distances of the ever-expanding universe.

"Turn around is fair play: Those aliens, they've subjected us to 'missing time'. Well, they haven't seen nothing yet -- not until they've had their brain-vacuumed by our television programs and they've lost hour after hour of their lives wandering around our shopping malls -- and regarding those 'rectal probes' -- or as we, in my administration, like to refer to them now: 'rectal probe related program activities.' Just wait until those slacker, grab-ass aliens are working for us at Wal-Mart for low wages and minimum benefits -- then they'll learn the true meaning of being subjected to 'rectal probe related program activities.'"

But when Bush proclaimed his vision unto the multitudes, it was meet with much laughter and scorn. Thus spake the befuddled Smoldering Twig back to God:

"I don't mean to complain or anything... I mean I think you're one slamming dude -- In fact, you're the original Righteous Dude.... I've kinda made you my role model... I mean you don't take no shit. You don't mess around, You don't have to explain yourself to nobody... I'm mean get on your bad side and you're off to Hell, you know -- Gitmo Classic. I mean you're a wrathful dude after my own dreams. You know I should come up with a nickname for you: 'You're the original Shocker and Awer,' 'The Cosmic Shit-Kicker,' 'The Sultan of Smote'... that sort of thing.... Some wussies visualize you as a mean old man in the sky in a white robe... Not me. When I saw you: You looked like a professional wrestler, all ripped with righteous muscles, wearing a costume made of celestial spandex, and holding the champion's belt that contained the entire universe in its wide buckle... Only, and this is a bit weird, you had the face of my dad... Isn't that funny? Now I admit I was detoxing after a little bender involving too much blow and booze -- but there you were -- real as Yellow Cake Uranium. Now I admit you said some things to me that made no sense at the time. Like when you said: 'You, the chimp-faced boy Caesar shall bringeth a fake bird to Babylon and shall sup with the armies that serve the Empire of the Beast Who Drinketh Of Oil like the drunkard drinketh wine' -- and I had no idea what you meant by, 'Bewareth the salted snack foods of Satan, for you shall be forced to wrestle with a wicked and wily Pretzel of Abiding Darkness and ye shall learn the folly of between meal snacks and the further folly of sending the blood-drenched armies of your arrogant ambitions deep into the devouring sands of deserts lands.' And now you're talking about virgins in space; plus, that line you gave me about 'taking my slingshot of truth and slaying the steroid-fed Goliaths' -- I tried that out in my State of the Union speech, and it went up and came straight down with a dull thud like a cherub who OD'ed on Oxycontin."

Comes a plot twist, pious readers: It seems the voice of God was counterfeit, only a ploy perpetrated by that lower order demon of political black magic, Karl Rove, who, by the use of a tiny audio receiver that had been surgically implanted in W's inner ear during his infamous "Pretzel related blackout activity," was able to control W's actions due to the fact that Rove's utterances and admonitions seemed to the hapless Twig to be the very voice of God.

Warning: Gratuitous fantasy alert, incredulous reader. Here: The true voice of God arrives, coming by way of a terrifying messenger, who has the wings of an eagle, the body of a giant crab, and the face of Helen Thomas, who proclaims:

"You, George W. Bush are not my earthly emissary. Perhaps, you may be Satan's errand boy or some lower-level flunky such as that. That's as if -- I even believed in such silly things as the Devil... But, if you've been around as long as me, all of that good versus evil, time-ending battle between light and darkness hokum is so damn b-movie dreadful... It just bores me blind... Did you ever take an in-depth look at the intricacies of an eyeball or of a cloud of quanta? The cosmos has complexities. You, on the other hand, little George -- you have complexes. What's with this streak of infantile entitlement of yours? What's with this incessant mewling for war? And that goes for all of you little war babies of Washington, drooling your candy-coated platitudes and clutching your toy armies of endless war, only mollified by the dazzle of shiny good versus evil ideologies and the comforting crib mobiles of missile defense shields?

"After you blow up the world, Little George, do you think we'll all go up to heaven borne upon the downy wings of luminous angels?

"More and more often, these days, you're waking up a little cranky-- and then when you don't get your way you throw these fits of military might. You believe it's your birthright. Your Poppy always said: Denying Baby Georgie anything is a big no-no. Those evil ones who sass you, Little W, he told you, will be sent straight to eternal time-out.

"Yes, your majesty the baby: You sit, strapped in your high-chair throne -- and you believe -- all you ask for -- will be brought to you; all that you survey from your Air Force One Stroller... will be yours; your Oval Office Play Pen is the center of God's creation. The Baby Bush and The Baby Jesus are secured in their twin child-seats in the Sky Daddy's celestial minivan serenely traveling toward their Play Date with Destiny. It has all been foretold by your pop-up book bible.

"Pretty, pretty apocalypse, you drool... Say weeeeee!!! We... all go up in the air to heaven, like on a great, big swing. Weeeee!!! Unka Dick promised he'd take you to the Global Warming Water Park and Auntie Condi promised you a visit to Six Flags over Extinction. Yeeeaaah!!!

"The whole world is such fun when it's all your very own gift: And you get to tear open the gift-wrapped package -- and you'll never get in trouble when you break it just the day after your birthday. The Reverend Pat and Jerry say it will be like your birthday in heaven every day. Yeeeaaah!!!

"It seems as though your earthly mission can be summed up by: 'Destroy the place: Leave No Life Form Behind.'

"Is that what you think, you infant? You think that anything within your grasp is MINE -- other people's moneys, other people's countries, the moon, the planets, the stars, the thoughts and wishes of God. You act as if the world is your own disposable diaper to crap in...

"Don't you think you should at least be properly potty-trained before you go off to befoul any other planets?"

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America the 'beautiful' on Swans


Phil Rockstroh on Swans (with bio).

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Published February 16, 2004
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