God Hates Pussies and Liberals

was the text of the bumper sticker on the jeep-on-steroids off-road vehicle I parked next to at the grocery store yesterday. I did a double-take as I hurried on my errand towards the store entrance.

Exiting the store as I approached was a brown-skinned fellow clad in cargo shorts, flip-flops, and a tank-top with a peace sign emblazoned on it. (Granted, in my haste I may have missed an ironic caption under the peace sign.) I was momentarily concerned that this dude might want to avoid the redneck driver (probably armed and dangerous) of the anti-pussy/liberal assault vehicle. When I glanced over my shoulder, however, I discovered that this ethnic peacenik was in point of fact the driver of said vehicle.

If I wrote fiction, I might write a story to account for the discrepancy.

On the heels of my reading of Jung on Job, the heretical thought came to me: Well, sure, insofar as God has it in for all of us, pussies and liberals surely aren’t exempt.

image source


  1. Southern Expat says

    Are you sure it wasn't a Mercedes sign?

    Just sayin'.

  2. Jonathan Webb says


  3. Rufus,

    While I whole-heartedly commend the above sentiment as an understandable response to the shambles we've made of Western civilization (assuming that, outside the occasional lone-wolf Carlist or the populace of Monaco, the logo speaks for all of modern man, breathing as we do the very air of liberalism – which tends to reduce the soul by a substantial degree (thus PUSilanimity reigns supreme) at the same time I'm wondering if there's a layer of irony a la Krassner's much celebrated "FXXX Communism," famous for speaking out of both sides of its mouth.

    In the end, I can't see this as anything more than a succint hermenuetic of the following epilyric of modern poetry:


    Turning and turning in the widening gyre
    The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
    Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
    Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
    The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
    The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
    The best lack all conviction, while the worst
    Are full of passionate intensity.

    Surely some revelation is at hand;
    Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
    The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
    When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
    Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
    A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
    A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
    Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
    Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
    The darkness drops again but now I know
    That twenty centuries of stony sleep
    Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
    And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
    Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?


  4. Your daddy that was never there. says

    You’re just a pussy and or a liberal.

    • I am Jack's model for God says

      April Fool’s was yesterday, Dad. But I guess you forgot. Just like you forgot my birthday all those times. Asshole.

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