Trinity of Stupidity: The Hat Trick of statements of religious idiocy

I am usually subjected to doses of moronic theist statements spaced wide enough apart that they often fly under the blog article radar. But this past week was particularly noteworthy. I hit the trifecta, the trinity, the hat trick of religious stupid.

Episode 1:
Having run out of buffalo burgers, I made a run to “Elmer” my local bison farmer to pick up a few packages of patties. You’ll recall my friendly buffalo meat rancher as the guy who had a birthday party / church gathering and invited me as the token atheist earlier this year (see Aug. 1, 2011 blog).

After completing the transaction Elmer offered that he saw a news story about my Eternal Earth-Bound Pets post rapture pet rescue business in New Hampshire Magazine (news to me, I don’t subscribe.) and asked how business was. He apologetically explained that he only had this one cat and didn’t expect it to live long enough to see the rapture. I assured him that neither of them, nor anyone, will live long enough to see the rapture.

It was at this point he enlightened me: “I wouldn’t be so sure. They found papers in Noah’s Ark that ...” Oh boy.

Now, Elmer is 80 years old and losing it at an astounding pace. I could have had a field day mercilessly bombarding him with reality and heaping a few cubic cubits of ridicule upon him. But not wanting to exacerbate an already iffy mental condition I jokingly inquired if there was a 250 HP Johnson inboard/outboard on the Ark, or was it simply an electric trolling motor. A weak half smile flickered across his confused countenance. I thanked him for the burgers, wet my finger to test the wind, and weighed anchor for home.

Episode 2:
An internet news article reported that three Muslims were arrested in Sweden for plotting to kill the cartoonist who rendered a picture of Mohammed as a dog. The commentary from the readers was, as one would expect, almost unanimously supportive of their arrest and eventual prosecution; voicing support for freedom of expression and derision for the insanity of Muslim sensitivity to their pedophile prophet’s portrayal.

But one respondent, not so surprisingly named “Florida84” offered this brilliant piece of wisdom: “[The cartoonist] had it coming. When you insult someone’s religion you best be willing to pay for your blasphemy with your life.” I was able to detect a strong southern drawl, and even the genetic damage borne of a few generations of inbreeding, right through my laptop.

I proceeded to explain in my most erudite and civil manner that freedom of expression isn’t just for the protection of speech we agree with. Its true greatness, its power, is that it is meant to ensure that even things we find hateful or disturbing are protected. I summed up the lesson with the imagery of Mohammed, Jesus, the Virgin Mary, his mother, and his pet pig engaged in a frenzied carnival of carnal lust; leaving him with the suggestion that his irate jihad, fatwa, crusade or inquisition can be directed to my Langdon, NH camel ranch.

Episode 3.
I’ll be brief, as I discussed this at some length on my Facebook page. I just want it noted here for posterity. I hope my fb friends will forgive my repetition.

The Today Show, Ann Curry interviewing the parents of a model who walked into the propeller of an airplane resulting in the amputation of a hand, destruction of an eye, a crushed scull, massive facial injury and brain damage. Quote: "Do you think it was a miracle?" presumably intending to prompt the hyper religious parents to opine that Jesus opted to intervene and only let the props maim their daughter and destroy her otherwise promising life instead of letting it kill her outright.

I already know Curry to be the journalistic equivalent of a chimpanzee, but this nearly drove me to apoplexy. As one of my very astute fb friends so perfectly put it: “A miracle would have been if the prop gave her a beautiful haircut.” (kudos to “Far Left” for that perfect descriptor of a potential miracle). Any journalist possessing an iota of integrity, dignity and respect for their craft would have told the producer to shove that question up their ass. But not Ann, nope. She oozed that question out of her mouth with all the trademark fake sincerity she could muster.

Unfortunately, I do not have Ann Curry’s email, telephone number, or home address. Actually, maybe it’s just as well.

Yes, it was quite a week. Given the toll it took on my sensibilities I’d gratefully go a month without being subjected to any more theist stupidity. But if past is prologue I’ve probably got a few hours before it starts all over again.