Jesus in Spandex
by Hezekiah
Allen Taylor
And, in an amusing morning story, the Pope dope:
He says it's OK to believe in aliens.
But, of course, not OK to believe in Buddha, Mohammed or other terrestrial
beings.
Extra-terrestrial, A-OK.
Annoyingly terrestrial but against the beliefs of Catholicism . . .
nope.
Maybe aliens can go to heaven if they embrace Christ.
Maybe Christ visited the aliens like he did the Mormons---but, for space,
he dressed in Spandex rather than swaddling cloth.
Or, perhaps God gave them a savior all their own, an alien Christ.
But, if he did not, does that mean all aliens are going to hell? That's
not exactly fair.
My friend Jason argues that maybe, just maybe, space IS
hell,
leaving limitless area to house all sinners, including the little green
ones
and the little gray ones
and the ones from "Independence Day" that got their butts
whooped by Will Smith.
Oh, this space hell is for us, too.
Especially us evil non-believers, whom the Pope never had much faith
in anyway.
This would make the exploration of space a discovery of the cold caverns
of a frozen hell . . .
or an internal mental journey rather akin to the tiny scientists in
"Fantastic Voyage,"
(if you believe that hell is internal) but we'd be attacked by oxygen
deprivation,
tentacled "Star Trek"-ish creatures, and every other "space
fear" that hell can pull from our psyches . . .
at least, that's how "hell" works in all those bloody medieval
paintings---
acting on your worst internal fears.
I fear the Pope, but that seems a Catch-22. I doubt he'd be in space
hell.
It would collapse the Catholic space-time continuum.
Of course, if space hell came with cute retro-metro, silvery, '60s-esque
space girl outfits,
I might be excited about it. But, the fact that I'd be excited about
that would, most likely,
mean no cute space girl outfits in space hell, or it wouldn't be all
that hellish. Damn.
But, as Bill Cosby said about the Fat Albert kids, we "just might
learn something before we're done."
Hey. Hey. Hey.
Hell and fears can be great teachers of mental fortitude and stuffs.
Of course, learning stuffs won't mean squat in space hell.
It's not like you can graduate from it. It's not space purgatory,
after all.
Hell has no exits, I hear . . . and space hell would have no endings.
Infinite, curling around itself
like the twisty pasta
from those endless food commercials
that play repeatedly during the news on Fox.
Francine's
Version -- Hezekiah's Version
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