The Church of Myspace or; Claustrophobic in the House of Huge

Posted: February 15, 2009 in Media, Religion



Oy. Freakin’. Vey.

And le sigh.

Here’s the article that’s sparked today’s plaintive cry for reason:

Read it, don’t read it, it doesn’t matter. If you’ve caught on to the theme of the last month’s worth of entries, you can probably guess what the subject of the offending article will orbit around.

I’m really getting tired of writing about religion, the religious, and all things affected by the aforementioned. I am going to do my very best to make this the last piece on this subject for awhile because I’m starting to bore myself and I fucking love me. The reason I’m talking about this one last time is that the above article allows me to unify my loathing for most of the things I’ve discussed on this blog, namely; Fox, religious zealotry, censorship, and Fox.

So, if you didn’t read the article linked to up top, here are the Cliff’s Notes. Myspace deleted the Atheist and Agnostic group, the world’s largest collection of organized atheists (35000 strong. Remember that number, it’s going to be important later.) Not only did they delete this group but, when they finally, grudgingly reinstated it, they’d banned most of the more prolific contributors and deleted the profile of the group’s founder. For the cheap seats, Myspace, who are owned by the Murdoch Corporation, who also own Fox News (whom I love so very very much, see references in earlier posts) engaged in blatant censorship and suppression of thought (the digital equivalent of book burning)and then, when the uproar was too loud to ignore, still lashed out and spanked the filthy heathens for daring to talk to one another.

A moment of silent reflection for the glory and genius of the Reichspace.

I should mention that this piece of news is just over a year old, I just found it because, unlike discrimination levied against every other group of minorities, nobody really gives enough of a crap about us pesky malcontents to really mention it when we get downtrodden.

I’m not going to rant. (not yet)

I’m going to tell you a story. It’s called;


Before he left, Damien grew up in a big house.

The house had ten bedrooms; one each for Damien, his two brothers, his two sisters, his mother and father, his mother’s parents and his father’s parents. The tenth bedroom was the family’s shrine to the Invisible Pink Unicorn.

On each wall of the house hung at least one portrait of the Invisible Pink Unicorn; praise was offered to It every night as thanks for a good meal (or a bad one, it depended on how sober Damien’s mother was) prayers were offered to It before sleep and, no matter what corner of the house Damien played in, he could always hear his grandparents muttering to themselves about It.

Damien was never allowed to leave the house.

“Why would he want to,” his parents asked.

“This house is huge,” his grandparents said, “and everything he needs is inside.”

And it was true, the house was huge, and full. There were toys (though nothing of an equine variety) and books, and music both to listen to and play. His family were his friends and always had time for him.

But Damien felt squished. The Invisible Pink Unicorn took up so much room!

One day, Damien’s mother found him staring at a portrait of It, his eyebrows scrunched together and his hands balled into fists at his sides.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I try and I try,” he said, tears rolling fat down his cheeks, “but I can’t see It. All I see is the field.”

Damien’s mother frowned and squinted at the picture. It was a lovely painting of a grassy green field with a small hill in the foreground.

“But that’s how you know It’s invisible,” his mother said, sounding vexed. “The proof of It’s power is that It’s both invisible and pink. That’s very tricky, you know.”

“I know,” Damien said, “you’ve said that before. But if It’s invisible, how do you know that It’s really there?”

“Let’s ask your father,” she said with a smile.

So Damien and his mother walked up a long flight of stairs, and down a long hall and the walk was so long that Damien started to doubt his own doubt; surely a house so large could only have been made by the Invisible Pink Unicorn. Finally though, they came to the room of his father and they stepped inside.

“What’s wrong?” Damien’s father asked, seeing the dismayed looks on the faces of his wife and child.

“I can’t see It,” Damien announced, pointing at another picture of a field that hung on his father’s wall. “All I see is the field.”

“Hmmm,” said his father. “Well, you’ve never seen a field; how do you know that that’s what it is?”

“I’ve seen them in books,” Damien replied.

“Well,” said his father, “you’ve also read about It in books, haven’t you?”

Damien nodded.

“Then you have to believe in It, just as much as you believe in the field,” Damien’s father said triumphantly, the matter closed.

“But,” Damien pointed out calmly, “I can see the field. I’ve never seen even a picture of It.”

Damien’s father looked at Damien’s mother and shrugged.

“Let’s ask my parents,” she said with a smile.

So Damien and his mother and his father walked up a long flight of stairs and down a long hall and the walk was so long that Damien began to doubt his own doubt; surely his parents patience and kindness could only come from the Invisible Pink Unicorn. Finally though, they came to the room of his mother’s parents and they stepped inside.

“What’s wrong?” Damien’s grandparent’s asked in unison.

Damien started to point but his father spoke first. “He won’t see It,” he said, a plaintive tone in his voice.

Damien’s grandfather turned away with a grunt, but his grandmother knelt towards him with a smile.

“It made your eyes, you know,” she said to him kindly, “your heart as well. It’s only invisible because It wants you to see It with your heart. And you do,” she said confidently, “whenever you do something good, it’s because It’s moving your heart. You know that,” she chided.

“But how do you know?” he insisted.

His parent’s and grandparents smiled at each other sadly.

The five of them walked up a long flight of stairs and down a long hall and Damien began to doubt his family. But maybe, he thought, my other grandparents will know. And finally they came to the room of his father’s parents, and they stepped inside.

“He won’t see,” said his parents.

“He can’t feel,” said his mother’s parents.

Damien stood in silence as his father’s parents looked at him grimly.

“To the shrine,” they said in unison, “and then he will know.”

So, the seven of them walked up a long flight of stairs and down a long hall and Damien began to fear his family. What if he didn’t find his answer in the shrine? Would they let him out again? Finally they came to the room of his family’s god and outside it, boys on one side and girls on the other, were his siblings.

“The Unicorn loves you,” his brothers said calmly.

“The Unicorn forgives you,” his sisters said calmly.

“But how do you know?” Damien cried.

His siblings pointed behind him and said, “Because they told us so.”

And then Damien was ushered into the room at the top of the House of Huge, the door latched behind him not thick enough to block out the sound of their muttering.

In that room there was dust, and dirt and pictures of fields. And Damien despaired that he would never be let out. And then he saw the cross on the wall.

It was the same as all the other crosses in the house, simple and with clear glass on all four sides of it. All his life he’d been told to keep his distance from the crosses, they were evil, he’d been told. They were reminders of beliefs best forgotten, and held confusing pictures of the Outside, pictures he wasn’t old enough to understand yet. But here, in the room at the top of the House of Huge, there was no one to keep him from seeing up close.

So Damien walked towards the cross and when he came near, he saw a latch that could be opened and, through one of the panes, a real field!

Before he left, Damien lived in a big house. But in the field behind the cross there was no one to tell him to look for Invisible Pink Unicorns.

And now a little bit of ranting.

The one thing nobody in the great debate ever talks about is the question of why most atheists are so militant and angry. And by nobody, I mean nobody worth talking about; there are opinions bandied about, but really, who cares about the opinions of superstitious monkey haters? (See, so angry, we really need to chill out. Bad me!)

An awful lot of it, I suspect, is social claustrophobia.

A couple of numbers for you to chew on.

35,000- the population of the world’s largest organized atheist group.

1,100,000,000- the population of the world’s largest religious group (the catholic church)

There are, in the U.S. alone, over 1000, specifically christian, radio and television networks or programs. I have only ever seen 2 atheist mass media outlets, one on public access t.v. and one limited to the internet. There are millions of churches in North America, and I’m guessing that the number of those that have ever been crashed by screaming atheists could be counted on two hands at most and yet…anytime I happen across an atheist website or blog, more than half the comments are from religious people whipped into a frenzy by the very fact that someone dares to offer a viewpoint based on thought rather than emotion. These “people” (in the interests of staying calm, I’m refraining from calling them sub-human, shit eating, ass hats) wax poetically (albeit with spelling that would make Huckleberry Finn cringe) on how anyone contributing to these sites is misguided at best and going to Hell at worst, and probably is some form of sexual deviant, and here’s a list of the things I think you probably do with sheep and small children while dressed in leather…ahem, you get the idea.

Because there is no such thing as an openly atheist federal politician anywhere in North America, you people have the world’s largest bully pulpit. There is no equal representation for us.

With all that in mind, do you really need to flip out at the fact that a few thousand of us want to get together and bitch about you? For fuck’s sake, put yourself in our shoes; it’s like we’re the 4 live people in Night of the Living Dead, only the zombies have just enough intelligence to round up all the weapons and burn them before they start chasing us.

My favorite epitaph was originally a quote from Ovid; “Bene qui latuit, bene vixit.” It means, roughly translated, “he who hides well, lives well.” It was used by Rene Descartes as his epitaph and I have to wonder what the man who invented circular logic to prove the existence of God was hiding from. I know that I’m not interested in hiding and that I have just as much right to live well as you do.

Fuck off and let me have my Myspace page.


  1. People: The collective People. They. Everyone who isn’t you. The average 14 year old girl with a computer egged on by her parents and asperations to seem smart. People who are on well fare. People with glazed over expressions when you say the words, creme glazed, or church.You know… They.

  2. “People don’t like atheists…” Really, Stef, am I not a person too :pI like your story, it makes a lot of sense lol.

  3. People don’t like athesists for the same reason they don’t like Jehovah’s Witnesses or Muslims. They think that Athelists are going to run around hopped on drugs and push their beliefs about why they have different beliefs and why those beliefs are better then yours, on you.They also think that without a religion to hide behind that atheists don’t hold their own behaviour accountable.I loved your story but this is it in point form:Once upon a time a little boy and a little girl didn’t know how to read. They looked up the word atheist in the dictionary and thought that it looked very smiliar to anachist and rememebered it wrong.Then they told everyone they knew.

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