My Jacket of Sin

While I was home, my dad asked me to go with him to Saturday morning services at my old synagogue. I went, mainly because it makes him and my grandfather happy - despite the fact that I don't actually "pray" while I'm there, and haven't done so in many years.

Anyway, since (1) I don't pray, and (2) my grandfather would probably get upset if I brought my laptop to synagogue, I needed something to stave off the crushing boredom of services. I therefore turned to reading the Bible.

Now, despite my total lack of belief in the god of my ancestors, I always enjoy reading the Bible. In particular, my two favorite books are Genesis and Leviticus. Genesis is great because I'm kind of a mythology buff and its stories are on par with Homer; my personal favorite is the Jerry Springeresque story of Lot. Leviticus, however, is straight-up statutory law, and let me tell you something: God is a crazy fucking legislator. He's set down everything from the gory details of ritual sacrifice - you take a turtle-dove, twist off its head, drain the blood on the altar, and then place the bird's head on the altar and burn it (Lev. 1:14-15) - to the prohibition against shaving (Lev. 19:27) and the death penalty for sleeping with another man's slave-woman (19:20).

This past Saturday, however, one law in particular caught my attention, because I realized that I was breaking a divine commandment right there as I sat in synagogue. I couldn't believe my eyes. Before me was a bright-line rule: "You shall keep My statutes: ... you may not wear a garment made of two kinds of fiber" (Lev. 19:19). And there I was - sitting there, in a house of the Lord, shamelessly wearing an unholy sportcoat of wool and silk.

I was ashamed. And by "ashamed" I mean "hungry." Because it was almost lunchtime and the service was fucking dragging on and on.

Really though, how can my family expect me to take this religion stuff seriously when its primary authority is full of gems like the sin of mixed-fiber fabrics?

Fuck it.

Why I Should Be the Next Pope

As I sit here in Starbucks, slowly getting close to catching up on all the Con Law that I have neglected to read for the past month (mmm... Pass/Fail option), I've realized something very important. Even though I've wanted to be a lawyer since I watched The Devil's Advocate in high school, there might be a more satisfying career choice out there: being the Pope.

First of all, the job security is incredible. Not only are you Pope until you die, you don't even have to be able to fulfill the duties in your job description. You can sit around on a golden throne, mumble incoherently, and look holy. Moreover, you're pretty set on your career path. Fuck having to worry about making partner - you're God's representative on Earth. Unless you plan on running for Jesus, you're pretty much at the top of the food chain.

Besides all that, just think of all the girls you could get as Pope. Sure, you have to take a "vow of celibacy," but that's pretty much a formality, like promising not to bill clients for playing solitaire. I mean, it's not like you can't fool around as Pope - see, e.g., most of the Middle Ages and Renessaince. Fathering illegitimate children was practically expected and I'm pretty good at that. Plus, I've heard that chicks dig piety funny hats incalculable wealth and power.

Now, I know what you're thinking: "But Legally Intocxiated, you're an idiot Jewish. You can't be Pope." However, I don't see that as a serious obstacle. I mean, Jesus was Jewish. So was the first Pope, Peter. I think that I'm in pretty good company. Sure, my ancestors may have killed Christ, but that was an accident. We thought we were just killing Santa Claus.

Further, as far as my qualifications are concerned, I'm an excellent bullshitter. If I was able to convince my high school physics teacher that performing a ritual out of some stupid New Age book was a legitimate scientific experiment for my science fair project, I'll have no problem with all that "God loves you" and "If you repent for your sins, you'll go to heaven" stuff. Moreover, I'm already infallible and have a direct pipeline to God. And I have a doctorate in theology look good in big hats. If that's not enough, I don't know what is.

Fuck it, back to Con Law.

Why I should probably be wearing a straightjacket instead of a suit and tie

So last night I tried to upstage a preacher on the way back from a journal meeting. He was one of those fire-and-brimstone-accept-Jesus-into-your-life-before-you-burn-in-hell fuckers with a bunch of assholes holding up huge signs with bible quotes, standing in front of Memorial Library. I really don't know what got into me - maybe it was the fact that they serve beer at journal meetings - maybe it was nicotine withdrawal angrying up my blood, since I just quit dipping - maybe I was just in a weird mood - but regardless, it happened.

As I passed by, I started preaching in my best televangelist voice:


"Praised be to Thor and His mighty hammer, for He is the Light and the Way. Only Thor can slay the Frost Giants. Only Thor can slay Jormagandr, the Midgard Serpent, and bring Ragnarok to a close.

"Praised be to Thor and His mighty Father Odin, who rides his six-legged steed. Only through Odin shall you enter into the eternal glory of Valhalla, and only if you die in battle. For, without Odin, you'll spend an eternity in Hel.

"In Hel, you will not spend your days in glorious battle, to be resurrected at night. In Hel you will not feast with the Gods. In Hel, you will not fornicate with the Valkyries.

"NO! In Hel, you will be prodded and poked by dwarves! DWARVES and Goblins!..."


You get the picture. I don't think the campus preacher liked me very much.

Fuck it.