You're a really, really sweet girl. I knew when I met you at that party last year that you were different, but I wan't sure how. You were really hot, one of the only other sober people there, and you speak spanish, which I enjoy thoroughly. We had a nice chat, I got your number and my friend Anne has emailed me no less than three times telling me you ask about me a lot. I was psyched to meet up with you the other night, and you looked so hot, again.
But your a Jesus freak. I mean, I know about the guy, and I think it's cool to have a spritual side and all, but you're really all about him, aren't you? It took about 5 minutes for me to realize that we were going to talk about god all night. And I really tried to sympathize with your faith that Jesus gave you a second chance at life after a rough childhood. I was struggling to find encouraging things to say, and I held my toungue pretty well. But here's the deal:
I don't believe in god, babe. Nope, not even an inkling. I'm what you call an Atheist, because your organization needs a word to describe people who don't believe what you believe. Atheist is a newer, kinder word. I would have been a heretic, sinner, witch, blasphemer or satanist had we met in another century, but now, I'm an atheist. Or secular humanist, or, as I like to say, normal. And, sadly, you're in a cult. A Messianic cult, which may be better than some other cults, but it's still a cult, and you're completely brainwashed. I mean, there's very little room in your thinking for any kind of science, let alone philosophy or literature that isn't written in praise of your Leader, and that just sucks, conversationally speaking. I mean we can't really talk about anything without your ultimate arbiter coming into play, at which point the conversation is over. Here's an example from the other night:
Me: Yeah, there was another protest about same sex marriage downtown today, I checked it out.
You: Well homosexuality is a sin against god's plan, you know.
Me: Right. More wine?
What do I say then? You trump everything with the J man, and I have to change the subject, because to debate the issue is to bring up your faith, which is pretty much not debatable. I mean, sure, I could just say I believe this because a magic pie I worship tells me so, but where would that leave us? Pretty much right here.
The toughest part is, all of your holiness is really getting in the way of my porno titfuck fantasy of you. I mean, I really want to do this, it's completely absorbing my thoughts lately, but I feel like Jesus is standing between me and my desire to make love to your breasts. I can almost see his face right in your cleavage saying, No! You will not fuck these titties, non-believer!
So, since nobody really knows what Jesus would do anyway, I'm enlisting the Son of God to get me on your tits. And here's my plan: I'm going to play along with your Jesus land fanstasy for a bit, and slowly convince you that, yes, Jesus wants us to get freaky. Any act that inspires you to yell his name in ecstasy HAS to be god's will. So, baby, let's fuck for Jesus.
Amen.
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