Return to roots.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

But I'm not happy unless I'm pissed off.  Are you trying to keep me miserable by convincing me to be all smiley and happy all the fucking time, when I'm not?  Should I be JOYFUL because I'm stuck on a planet full of fucking PRIMATES?  Goddammit, the thought alone makes me want to feed orphans into a chipper. 

WHY YES, MY GOOD MAN, I'M JUST FUCKING THRILLED TO BE HERE!  PLEASE SEND MORE STUPID HUMANS TO MAKE ME HAPPIER!  MAYBE THEY CAN DO STUPID PRIMATE TRICKS FOR MY AMUSEMENT AND EDIFICATION!

UNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNG!

maybe you just have issues, lol

never forget, you're a primate too

Yeah, I'm working on that.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Are you familiar with the Church of the SubGenius?

im not, you care to explain? - either way illsee what i can find

btw, im agnostic (leaning towards atheism), and even so im planning on attending some type of jewish church, just to see jewish girls (some variants i think are hot for some odd reason)...

Hehe.  Heathen.

Go here:

http://subgenius.com

[The Good Reverend Roger]

arent yetis primates too?

i think i saw this quickly some time ago, i didnt remember the name do...

it seems a bit ethnocentric, but ill see thru it, im sure theres interesting stuff

A bit what?   

[Kai]

Rev. Thwack: As far as shared doctrine goes, UU's have the most benign. As far as doctrine in general, UU's have the least stiffling of any organized "religion".

At the fellowship I go to, there are people of every background and spirtuality, and generally warm and welcoming. The minister is an athiest, or so I'm told, but the only reason I know is because I asked. Stuff like that sits back seat to things like social action, sharing of celebrations and concerns, and generally just enjoying the company and community of other open minded, accepting and socially progressive people.

By the way, the hymnals don't have all of the old unitarian and universalist ways removed. On easter, we sang "Jesus Christ is Risen Today", which is a traditional easter hymn, and something I and any former christian would probably recognize. Some of the words were changed, but it was more or less intact. And you know what? I didn't feel the least bit self conscious about singing it either.

How many spritual communities do you know where people can be openly gay and welcomed, openly pagan and welcomed, a christian hymn is sung, a 60-70s protest song, a passover candle is lit, and the minister quotes the Mad Farmers Manifesto and "the map is not the territory", all in the same service? Oh, and I forgot to mention the laughing, the kids running around and taking open part in the proceedings, the open way that people speak their needs and wants and joys and sorrows

Yeah, thats pretty different than discordia; discordians just act like assholes to each other :P

Also, Szarowka, I LIKE Roger's angry bitterness. For him, its perfect. For me, not so much.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Also, Szarowka, I LIKE Roger's angry bitterness. For him, its perfect. For me, not so much.

Oh, no, I'm supposed to be full of fucking sunshine and roses and pink unicorns and shit.

[Kai]

Also, Szarowka, I LIKE Roger's angry bitterness. For him, its perfect. For me, not so much.

Oh, no, I'm supposed to be full of fucking sunshine and roses and pink unicorns and shit.

And rainbows. And white fluffy clouds. And cute little baby animals.

AND BEAUTIFUL FAIRY PRINCESSES!!!!!

[The Good Reverend Roger]

ethnocentrism is like focusing too much on the culture of a single limited area, in this case USA

I know what the fuck it MEANS, you twit...what I want to know is...

WHAT THE FUCK AT THAT LINK SAID ANYTHING ABOUT AMERICA, WHATSOEVER?

[The Good Reverend Roger]

everything 

Fucking idiot.   

You didn't even look.  You decided to try to sound smart, and you owned yourself.

Too fucking funny.

[Kai]

ethnocentrism is like focusing too much on the culture of a single limited area, in this case USA

its interesting that mr. scientology supposedly sent in a check for $30 before he died, kind of disturbing that Pee Wee Herman is a minister... its interesting too that R.A.W. is a minister...

and Kai, thats fine with me - i just got here and im sorting the waters 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yavx9yxTrsw

[Batty Kissinger]

I think you just lent us the solution to every debate. Thanks Kai.

[Kai]

I think you just lent us the solution to every debate. Thanks Kai.

Boxxy is my lullaby.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

I think you just lent us the solution to every debate. Thanks Kai.

Boxxy is my lullaby.

BOXXY IS MY MEDICINE!

[Kai]

Shall I compare thee to a Summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And Summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And oft' is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd:
But thy eternal Summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wanderest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives Boxxy, and Boxxy gives life to thee.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Shall I compare thee to a Summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And Summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And oft' is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd:
But thy eternal Summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wanderest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives Boxxy, and Boxxy gives life to thee.

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
  Over many a quaint and curious video of forgotten lore,
    While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
   As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
  "'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-
                Only this, and nothing more."

    Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
  And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
    Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow
    From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Boxxy-
  For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Boxxy-
                Nameless here for evermore.

    And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
  Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
    So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
    "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
  Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-
                This it is, and nothing more."

    Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
  "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
    But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
    And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
  That I scarce was sure I heard you"- here I opened wide the door;-
                Darkness there, and nothing more.

    Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering,
        fearing,
  Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
    But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
    And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Boxxy!"
  This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Boxxy!"-
                Merely this, and nothing more.

    Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
   Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
    "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
    Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-
  Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-
                'Tis the wind and nothing more."

    Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and
        flutter,
  In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
    Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed
        he;
    But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-
  Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door-
                Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

   Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
  By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
   "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no
        craven,
   Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore-
  Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
                Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

    Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
  Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
    For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
    Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door-
  Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
                With such name as "Nevermore."

    But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
  That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
    Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered-
    Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown
        before-
  On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
                Then the bird said, "Nevermore."

     Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
  "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
     Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
     Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-
  Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
                Of 'Never- nevermore'."

    But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
  Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and
        door;
    Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
    Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-
  What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
                Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

    This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
  To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
    This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
    On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
  But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
                She shall press, ah, nevermore!

    Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
  Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
    "Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he
        hath sent thee
    Respite- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Boxxy!
  Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Boxxy!"
                Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

    "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!- prophet still, if bird or
        devil!-
  Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
    Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-
    On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore-
  Is there- is there balm in Gilead?- tell me- tell me, I implore!"
                Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

    "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil- prophet still, if bird or
        devil!
  By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore-
    Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
    It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Boxxy-
  Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Boxxy."
                Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

    "Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked,
        upstarting-
  "Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
    Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
    Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!
  Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my
        door!"
               Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

    And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
  On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
    And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
    And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the
        floor;
  And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
                Shall be lifted- nevermore!

[Jenne]

I love you guys.  You're my heroes.

*sighs*

I was having a shitty shitty SHITTY night.  But the end of this thread is cool.  Night.