Beat the Victim

So you know that I watch television sometimes. Not much, but as you can see from the sidebar links, there are a couple of things in addition to South Park and Drawn Together and the entire body of Jon Stewart's work and various non-baseball, non-NASCAR sports that appeal to me. At least one of you does not understand my fascination with Survivor and The Not-At-All-Amazing Not-Really-So-Much-A-Race, and he's gotten over that every bit as much as I've gotten over his fascination with Derridà and other smart-people stuff. All that aside, despite the many hours I spend slaving over Minions for you, I do on occasion vegetate in front of my television for a spell. I mean other than by playing NCAA Football 2006 on my PS2 and making the Terps undefeated for 30-40 game years at a time.

All of which is probably an unduly long introduction to today's topic, the Weaver family. As those of you addicted to TNAAANRSMAR know, the Weaver family is an obnoxious little band of snotty hypocrites from some part of Florida notorious for producing crunchy bits of crackerassedy goodness. They storm about the world country making noxious remarks about the other contestants, complaining when the other contestants retaliate in kind, and making much of their personal relationship with Jesus, emitting prayers like, "Dear Lord, please help me know which hand to wipe my ass with, in Jesus' name we beg you, Amen," and "Dear Lord, please smite the outboard motor of the boat those God-hating Gaghans are riding in that we might consign them and their harmless and adorable 8-year-old to the fiery Hell they deserve, in Jesus name we beg you, Amen." Then they tell us what fabulously fine Christians they are.

"The other teams hate us because we're different," they whinge.

No. The other teams hate you because you're assholes. You apparently come from some branch of Christianity, or some other cultural tradition, that makes it okay for you to dump basic civility in dealing with your peers in a given social situation. You call people names, then whine when they throw names back. You ceaselessly invoke the tragedy of your late husband/father's senseless death (and it was, too be sure, a senseless death, as the poor man was run over on the racetrack at Daytona) and insult those who try to give you any kind of comfort in its wake.

You are, in fact, flaming assholes mostly unworthy of being human beings. You forfeit that privilege with your every word.

This reached new heights on last night's episode of TNAAANRSMAR, when upon reaching the finish line, one of the simpering Weaver children complained to Phil that the other teams were mean to them because they were the only contestants in the race "trying to live Christian lives."

Let's review:

1) No. They're mean to you because you're mean to them, and because you are flaming fucking assholes, consistently and without relent. That you make a giant pretense of your Christianity is certainly not helpful, and probably contributes to the absolutely correct perception that you are unconscionable hypocrites. But no one's being mean to you because you're a Christian.

2) Your assumption that the remaining contestants are not attempting to live Christian lives is a base and arrogant insult, one for which you should be bitchslapped repeatedly and venomously. Various Web sites testify to the notion that even many Christians wish that you would shut the fucking fuck up and, at a minimum, lose the "race" right fucking now, so vile and base are you as representatives of what Christians are or ought to be.

3) You wanna be victims? I'll be happy to personally nail your asses to crosses alongside some highway, preferably in a desert populated by buzzards that won't wait until you're deceased before they decide to make a meal of your whinging, lying, hypocritical, downright mean asses.

The same goes for anyone else in this country claiming to be victimized by their Christianity. Something like 80 percent of Americans self-identify as Christians. Sound like an oppressed minority to you? Not if you're at all connected to reality, it doesn't. But if you continue to insist, I'll be happy to start making crosses and stocking up on nails.