My Journey from Boston to Europe -- Part 1
Christian Stormtroopers, I have returned! I apologize for my absence over the last few days, but once you hear my reason you will understand. You see, it has recently come to my attention that there is a crisis of faith in Europe:
EUROPE CONTINUES ITS SLOW SLIDE DOWN TO HELL
I know that to some of my readers, this is probably Yesterday's News. But I could not simply ignore this mass rejection of Emperor Jesus! I was in Boston last Wednesday evening for some business (I was gluing Crosses into the hands of all the historical statues around town. Everyone knows that America was founded on Biblical principles by good Christian men, yet none of the statues of our Founding Fathers really shows this. Until now, that is!) While I was there, I happened to pick up a newspaper that was running a story on how religion is on the decline among Europeans. Generally I dismiss Europe as already damned, but for some reason, reading this article, I felt that something needed to be done. Right then and there, I decided that I needed to buy a plane ticket and Hitch A Ride to Europe to try and save these damned, vile, heathen people from the near-certain fate in hell. It was More Than A Feeling: this was a command from a Higher Power. Some people might have said, "Eh, I'll stay in Boston and do God's work here." Well, That's A Man I'll Never Be. When God says jump, my only answer is "Into which den of lions, Lord?"
Aboard the plane, I pondered my Journey. As I looked out of the window, the ground fell away below and we soared Beyond the Clouds. It occurred to me the best way to help Europe was to simply give them some Words of Wisdom from the Lord Jesus. If the reasonable and soothing words of the Bible didn't dissuade them from their wicked ways, what else possibly would?
Six hours after take-off, I landed in Paris. My nostrils were immediately assaulted by the stench of godless arrogance and cheese. Steeling myself, I prepared to begin my Jesus blitzkrieg. I didn't know if these French people had ever seen a stormtrooper before, but I was confident that they would immediately surrender to the power of my message.
Parisians are not known for their piety, but even so I was unprepared for the cultural waste-land that met my gaze. Chain-smoking models traipsed past me by the score, with their expensive designer clothes hanging from their waif-like frames and their eyes dull with ennui. Erotic sculptures and croissants littered the ground. Indeed, the air itself was saturated with the rank smell of sinful intercourse, as though the impure thoughts of this damned populace were leaking from their brains and polluting the atmosphere. Everywhere I looked on my Journey through the city, there were couples Lovin', Touchin', Squeezin' each other. These modern day inhabitants of Sodom and Gomorrah had even built giant edifices dedicated to fornicating. The natives refer to these as "Le Tour Eiffel" and "L'Arc de Triomphe". I don't know French, but I assume this means "huge penis" and "gargantuan vagina," respectively.
Doing my best to hold my composure in the midst of this city of sin, I found a spot outside of a huge cathedral. I believe it was called Notre Dame (who knows what it means). You've most likely never heard of it before, as it is a Catholic creation, and everyone knows that Papists and their works are not truly Christian. Still, there seemed to be a lot of traffic so I figured it would be a good place to hand out my specially made leaflets entitled Body Odor: God's Judgment on the French. I don't think five people had taken a pamphlet before I heard a Scream of Anger. A tall, dark-haired woman wearing sunglasses and a beret was gesturing angrily from the leaflet to me. Quickly a small crowd came towards me, their voices raised in indignation (I think. Who can tell the way those people talk? They sound angry saying hello!)
"Quiet, quiet!", I shouted. "Don't you see that I'm here to help you? You godless, soulless, hedonistic Europeans are on the fast track to hell! I'm just trying to tell you that God hates you and will roast your souls over the flames of Hades if you don't give your lives over to Jesus." I know, readers, this is a rational and noble enterprise, and you would expect it to be received as such. But no. These words had no sooner left my mouth than I was assaulted by the satanic mob. I was pummeled with fists and and foie gras. Baguettes fell on my head like rain.
Panicked, I called upon my Savior and Emperor to rescue me. Apparently, Jesus meant for me to suffer as He did, since no help came. I turned and ran for doors of the cathedral. Just as I reached them and put my hand to the door handles, the crowd caught me and the beating began anew.
"Sanctuary!" I cried, frantically. Just when I thought the odor of the mob would overwhelm me, the doors opened and a hand pulled me inside. I lay on the ground a moment, my hands still in protective placement over my face.
"Are you all right?" a voice asked in decent, if accented, English. Looking up, I saw a kindly old face staring down at me. I sat for a second, mentally checking myself out. I was sore, and greatly in need of a shower, and my Shroud of Turin t-shirt was slightly ripped, but I was OK. I looked at the old priest, clad in his simple black robes, and nodded my head.
"Yes," I answered, rising to my feet. "Thanks so much for saving me from that crowd. I've got no idea what happened."
"If you like, you may wait here until they leave, my son. Tell me, what brings you to Paris all the way from America?"
"God's work. Actually, that reminds me....". I dug in my satchel for a different pamphlet I had. I smiled and handed it to the old man. "Here you are. I hope it helps!"
He read the title of the leaflet slowly, out loud: "Stench of Evil: Why French Catholics are Doomed to Burn."
And so, moments later, I found myself thrust back outside the cathedral by the elderly, yet surprisingly strong, priest. Apparently God's truth was a bit too painful for him. However, things were about to get more painful for me, as remnants of the angry mob were still waiting outside. Only a few hours into my Journey in Europe, and already my Message of Love seemed to be Wasted Time. I yearned to be back in Boston, with my Peace of Mind....
Next: Part II -- Reality Czech
EUROPE CONTINUES ITS SLOW SLIDE DOWN TO HELL
I know that to some of my readers, this is probably Yesterday's News. But I could not simply ignore this mass rejection of Emperor Jesus! I was in Boston last Wednesday evening for some business (I was gluing Crosses into the hands of all the historical statues around town. Everyone knows that America was founded on Biblical principles by good Christian men, yet none of the statues of our Founding Fathers really shows this. Until now, that is!) While I was there, I happened to pick up a newspaper that was running a story on how religion is on the decline among Europeans. Generally I dismiss Europe as already damned, but for some reason, reading this article, I felt that something needed to be done. Right then and there, I decided that I needed to buy a plane ticket and Hitch A Ride to Europe to try and save these damned, vile, heathen people from the near-certain fate in hell. It was More Than A Feeling: this was a command from a Higher Power. Some people might have said, "Eh, I'll stay in Boston and do God's work here." Well, That's A Man I'll Never Be. When God says jump, my only answer is "Into which den of lions, Lord?"
Typical people in Europe. No wonder they're going to hell....
Aboard the plane, I pondered my Journey. As I looked out of the window, the ground fell away below and we soared Beyond the Clouds. It occurred to me the best way to help Europe was to simply give them some Words of Wisdom from the Lord Jesus. If the reasonable and soothing words of the Bible didn't dissuade them from their wicked ways, what else possibly would?
Six hours after take-off, I landed in Paris. My nostrils were immediately assaulted by the stench of godless arrogance and cheese. Steeling myself, I prepared to begin my Jesus blitzkrieg. I didn't know if these French people had ever seen a stormtrooper before, but I was confident that they would immediately surrender to the power of my message.
Parisians are not known for their piety, but even so I was unprepared for the cultural waste-land that met my gaze. Chain-smoking models traipsed past me by the score, with their expensive designer clothes hanging from their waif-like frames and their eyes dull with ennui. Erotic sculptures and croissants littered the ground. Indeed, the air itself was saturated with the rank smell of sinful intercourse, as though the impure thoughts of this damned populace were leaking from their brains and polluting the atmosphere. Everywhere I looked on my Journey through the city, there were couples Lovin', Touchin', Squeezin' each other. These modern day inhabitants of Sodom and Gomorrah had even built giant edifices dedicated to fornicating. The natives refer to these as "Le Tour Eiffel" and "L'Arc de Triomphe". I don't know French, but I assume this means "huge penis" and "gargantuan vagina," respectively.
Doing my best to hold my composure in the midst of this city of sin, I found a spot outside of a huge cathedral. I believe it was called Notre Dame (who knows what it means). You've most likely never heard of it before, as it is a Catholic creation, and everyone knows that Papists and their works are not truly Christian. Still, there seemed to be a lot of traffic so I figured it would be a good place to hand out my specially made leaflets entitled Body Odor: God's Judgment on the French. I don't think five people had taken a pamphlet before I heard a Scream of Anger. A tall, dark-haired woman wearing sunglasses and a beret was gesturing angrily from the leaflet to me. Quickly a small crowd came towards me, their voices raised in indignation (I think. Who can tell the way those people talk? They sound angry saying hello!)
"Quiet, quiet!", I shouted. "Don't you see that I'm here to help you? You godless, soulless, hedonistic Europeans are on the fast track to hell! I'm just trying to tell you that God hates you and will roast your souls over the flames of Hades if you don't give your lives over to Jesus." I know, readers, this is a rational and noble enterprise, and you would expect it to be received as such. But no. These words had no sooner left my mouth than I was assaulted by the satanic mob. I was pummeled with fists and and foie gras. Baguettes fell on my head like rain.
Panicked, I called upon my Savior and Emperor to rescue me. Apparently, Jesus meant for me to suffer as He did, since no help came. I turned and ran for doors of the cathedral. Just as I reached them and put my hand to the door handles, the crowd caught me and the beating began anew.
"Sanctuary!" I cried, frantically. Just when I thought the odor of the mob would overwhelm me, the doors opened and a hand pulled me inside. I lay on the ground a moment, my hands still in protective placement over my face.
"Are you all right?" a voice asked in decent, if accented, English. Looking up, I saw a kindly old face staring down at me. I sat for a second, mentally checking myself out. I was sore, and greatly in need of a shower, and my Shroud of Turin t-shirt was slightly ripped, but I was OK. I looked at the old priest, clad in his simple black robes, and nodded my head.
"Yes," I answered, rising to my feet. "Thanks so much for saving me from that crowd. I've got no idea what happened."
"If you like, you may wait here until they leave, my son. Tell me, what brings you to Paris all the way from America?"
"God's work. Actually, that reminds me....". I dug in my satchel for a different pamphlet I had. I smiled and handed it to the old man. "Here you are. I hope it helps!"
He read the title of the leaflet slowly, out loud: "Stench of Evil: Why French Catholics are Doomed to Burn."
And so, moments later, I found myself thrust back outside the cathedral by the elderly, yet surprisingly strong, priest. Apparently God's truth was a bit too painful for him. However, things were about to get more painful for me, as remnants of the angry mob were still waiting outside. Only a few hours into my Journey in Europe, and already my Message of Love seemed to be Wasted Time. I yearned to be back in Boston, with my Peace of Mind....
Next: Part II -- Reality Czech
Shoukai
Passionate Apathy
The'Arc de Donaldtrump is indeed supposed to resemble a vagina (Remember French sculptors are gay and have never actually seen one themselves). Since the French don;t do the real warfare thing so well it's an attempt at psychological warfare, to fill a conquorer who enters the city with a sense of inadequacy. Similarly, the Eyefull Tower is designed to fill said conquorer with latent rage at his parents for not buying him an Erector Set when he was a kidling.