Funniest. Thing. Ever.
Nov 2, 2006
http://www.misterfixit.com/lastpage.html
(Thanks for the original heads-up, six7s! 
)
SoJTP
Aug 27, 2005
That is, Sons of Justin The Preacher.
(I was trying to think of a good subject, and it leapt to mind that a play on words would be funny, and an ironic one would be even funnier.)
It seems we have a couple of new born-again Christians on board (pun not intended). I extend my welcome, and my curiosity.
Most of us will remember Justin the Preacher—who could forget him?—and some might remember that he drove me crazy like nothing else. Well, with GSD apparently aiming to fill the Justin-shaped hole in our lives (another dreadful, ironic pun), a question has resurfaced—a question which I have been asking myself for a long time.
What is the point?
There are several layers to this apparently vague question.
First, let's examine the theology. According to the few born-again Christians we have hosted, humanity is split sharply into two groups: the saved, and the unsaved.
Everyone is, to start with, unsaved. The unsaved are innately sinful, and all of their good works are loathsome to God, because nothing they do is untainted by their wickedness and sin. They are destined to go to Hell, a place of such ingenious construction that each and every one of its inhabitants will endure eternal, agonising, unremitting torment. There are no allowances for age, actions, circumstances or delusion; the denizens of Hell include babies and young children, saints, individuals from remote tribal groups who have no means of knowing of the Gospel, devout followers of other religions, murdered gay people (as Fred Phelps proclaims with glee) and the mentally ill, as well as individuals who fit the traditional description of "evil".
In stark contrast, the followers of Christ—those who are saved—are forgiven of all their sins and given God's grace, which they can never lose. Any misdeeds they commit, they can repent for, and after a brief time to amend or atone for them they head for Heaven, a paradisiacal residence of unending delight and happiness. Again, this is without respect for their circumstances, ages or other aspects of their earthly life; Heaven's citizens feature repenting murderers and rapists, the wealthy and decadent, and many who are blessed richly in their lifetimes (accompanied, of course, by many who are archetypes of goodness, modesty and virtue).
The difference between the fates of the saved and the unsaved is as marked as the distinction of white from black; however, the reader might have noticed that there is apparently no discernable pattern or order to who might be saved or not (although all infants are destined to Hell by virtue of innate sinfulness—Justin the Preacher shared this with us). One might justifiably ask, how does one become saved? Well, according to the born-again Christian, this is solely up to the will of God.
Precisely: no amount of good deeds or intentions, righteous toil, prayerfulness, knowledge or repentance will suffice to become saved. One is saved entirely through God's choice, which is not random, but appears to be so because it is completely opaque to all but a select few. Those who are not saved can never find a way to become saved, and nothing they do to this end will ever be sufficient. The saved human's position is given by grace, not earned by works or sincerity.
There are some logical consequences to such a position. If there is no way to become saved through honest toil and desire, then no amount of hearing about the Gospel or one's position will make a difference. And, therefore, there's no reason for anyone to minister, to anyone, ever.
If this is so, why do the chosen few take pains to inform the unsaved minority that they are heading for Hell, and that there's no way to change this? Why do they go out of their way to minister to the unsaved? How can they expect the unsaved to accept God's Law when, by their own admission, it is impossible for them to understand or benefit from it?
What is the point?
Now, a few explanations have been posited. SoRB (good SoRBiquet—and, darn, another bad pun) presents a theory to explain why many Christians are extremely angry people, which could be extended to answer this question. He presents cognitive dissonance as the key: the maintainance of two mutually exclusive beliefs, which protects itself from challenge through irrational outpourings. Alternatively, Good_News—himself a born-again Christian—responds tartly that maybe they are goaded into them because people loudly proclaim that they are delusional or mentally deficient. In the same conversation, guilt was speculated as the mechanism for their inexplicable behavior. However, none of these were actually formulated to answer my question specifically, and can only be extended to do so by a contrivance which eventually amounts to, in general form: "they're just totally irrational". That wouldn't be a decent explanation, it would be a cop-out.
There are other factors I've identified as more specific candidates. Perhaps it's an ego-boost to believe that you alone know the Truth (note capital) and are destined for paradise, while almost everyone else is heading for damnation and calculated torture. Perhaps it's just looking for an opportunity to gloat, or share their superior knowledge, in the assurance that it will change nothing. Maybe it's active-victim behavior; knowing that they will only receive scorn and jeering in response, they post inflammatory comments, reinforcing their assurance that they are right, all else are wrong, and they are persecuted for their righteousness. It might be how they maintain the ingroup-outgroup divide—by convincing themselves that everyone outside of their group hates them, they are forced to look to their own select group of born-again Christians for love, which is an incredibly depressing scenario. That last possibility has actually brought me close to tears for some people, because it's such an unspeakably cruel and self-perpetuating conspiracy, of the kind seldom encountered outside of the most chilling, dystopic fantasies.
It could be that they do it solely because God commands Christians to be the "light on the hill" by preaching the Gospel. They don't want to save anyone or help anyone; they simply want to fulfil a Biblical fantasy which, so far as they are concerned, is otherwise a quite pointless activity. Or, possibly, they don't understand the fallacy, or don't realise that there's any contradiction in trying to recruit individuals to their cause when, by their own admission, no amount of learning or assistance will save anyone.
Feel free to comment if you I have misunderstood something, or if anyone has their own theories about why people bother to expound the sinfulness of people who apparently can neither comprehend nor change it either way.
- Jordan
Sabbatical...
Feb 28, 2005
I have a third year project presentation, which is contingent on my completing my third year project work.
I also have an essay for AI, and another essay for Current Uses.
This should take me at least a week. 
Soooo...
If you see me here, anyone, even a peek, a glimmering glimpse -- tell me to get the HELL back to my work. 'Open Board.java and start reducing the overhead, boy' you should say. 'Start working on those presentation slides.' I shouldn't even betray the hint of a clue that I'm lurking.
So for now, I'm trusting you all to keep this place civil. (I must be insane 
) This will require 80% of the site's population to be knocked dead or unconscious by the pacifist 20%. That's right, I'm trusting *you* to bump them off quietly. So go on. I'm told that certain patterns of smileys...
OK, more explicitly: az, keep it up. Della, stay away from sharp, clawing objects, like badgers. Blicky, stay away from feline objects, like Della. Hoo, you're wrong on principle, about everything, anything and sundry. Noggin, if he plays up, just bulk up your posts with the Tractatus in an attempt to drown him. Alternatively, just post a HUGE line of text and az will be forced to drown him herself. (
I nearly choked on my water when I saw that.) About a hundred characters should do.
Everyone got that? Good. 
Wish me luck, and remember: play nice!
- Jordan, the diplomatic service
I HATE THE WORLD!!!
Feb 18, 2005
I'm so stupid! So ****ing stupid! Why those stupid FREAKS!!! How can they justify their SICK, twisted little freakishly small minds by saying they're working for FREAKING JUSTICE?!
It's twenty minutes later and I can't stop crying. I've been SICK already and I , i thik think there's more. I just want to DIE! I why am I so stupid? THIS IS GOING TO HAUNT ME FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE and some stupid **** who supports censorship laws has it on his WEBSITE!!!
I can't explain it. It's beyond words. Everything I write, everything I THINK, is being GAH!!!! MUTILATED by Oh, my stupid fingers! My stupid head!
I just saw a video. Of a... Look, this is hard. I can't edit this. I keep crying and I keep clutching my head. This freakish, right-wing MORON has a website where he invites you to see what our enemies are doing. It points to a video clip which shows you how they beheaded OH ****!!! how they beheaded a man.
I am in more pain than I have ever experienced in my life. I simply can't take it! It's beyond eany experience I've ever had! My great grandmother died, and she didn't affect me this much. I simply can't... I just can't stop thinking! It's twenty-five minutes later now and I can't stop thinking about it! I don't think but it keeps hitting me, hitting me HITTING ME AND IT HURTS! Why are these people doing this? How can they be allowed to to this? I'm just sick beyond words, sick beyond reason, I have absolutely no reserves. My housemates are right next door and I can't go to them because I'm a freaking wreck! I feel like my head is going to explode. AA OIH:GS!!! I can't explain it! I can't even talk about... you know, my... it. I can't say the word because I JUST KEEP GOING BACK TO IT I WAS SHOCKED INTO PARALYSIS as I watched it!
My f**cking mind! I want to jump out of a window or something to get it out! And I want that man to, heck, I want him BANNED! I never want ANYONE to see that thing again. The people who do this are SICK, I just don't understand!!!!! What is this? Why are they doing it? What do they have to prove?
I CAN'T STOP CRYING! I just watched them sawing... I know, I can't say it because anyone could come along here and read what I have to say!!! But look. If anyone does read this, take it as a warning. Never EVER let your kids visit these violent right-wing websites. I just want to curl up and die in my bed but I can't! Again, again, I just don't and can't understand! I have never been like this in my life. NEVER.
OK. I've calmed down a little now. It's over forty minutes since I saw that UTTER ATTROCITY. I've recovered enough to star out all the swear-words but I keep getting pains in my head. Why am I even writing this? It's diabolical! This sick b******d has triggered what look to be some pretty bad hallucinations.
Look. If anyone wants to keep their kids safe, here's what I suggest: you get a good web-filter, find a good, up-to-date block-list of extreme right-wing websites and you set it to block them all. The most shocking, sick, unfathomable material I've ever seen is on those websites, and this latest **** has Oh, it's messed me up. I'm a complete and utter wreck.
I'm not going to sleep. I just can't. What am I going to do? When will I stop feeling sick? I can feel the bile rising in my gullet as I speak and I know I'm going to cry again and probably be sick. I don't see how life can ever be the same again. I've never had this. I've never had something in my life which made me feel so bad. I've never seen something like this which is so sick and wrong. When will I stop feeling like this?
This is wrong. This is messed up. I am never, NEVER going to subject myself to something like that again. It's DISGUSTING beyond words Why is life like this? Why are there things in the world which make you feel like this? I don't know. I just want it to stop, the ringing in my... head, the voices who're clamoring outside it, the sick sick feeling. Please stop. Please.
It's not over. I went to go downstairs because I feel sick, and I couldn't move! I haven't been afraid of the dark for more than seven years, and suddenly I just turned around and ran in terror! I couldn't even manage to go downstairs in my own flat! I KNOW there's no one there, but I turned around and ran. I'm utterly TERRIFIED to go down in the dark.
What has he done to me? Is he happy? Why does he do this? I know I'll be better, I hope I will, but I Even tiny little noises scare me! I heard a noise, a tiny, tinny noise and I've just about jumped out of my scull! I'm almost considering not typing because I'm absolutely terrified! I just can't operate like this, I'm not within normal parameters, what is happening? The noise keeps coming back, there it is again! It's like three little jarring beeps. I think it's probably related to me typing, but somehow it's scaring. I'm just, this has done something to me psychologically and I'm trying my best to analyse it. All I know is this, I won't be going downstairs any side of tonight and I'll be keeping the light on all night. I'm just going to curl up. I don't know if I'm all cried out yet either. I really am utterly, utterly sick.
This is not my world. This is not my world.
- Jordan
The Deep, Dark Secret...
Jan 26, 2004
It isn't too suprising to know that Evanescence have produced more songs than are found on their album 'Fallen'.
It also isn't too suprising that hardly anyone has heard of some of these songs.
What is suprising is that something as good as 'Exodus' is one of them! A stunning showcase of her frankly astounding vocal skills, it is beautiful, mournful, unique and intelligent. There is something undefinably /different/ about it, and it truly stands out, even compared to their other exceptional works.
I also heard her on interview - I love that personality! She's so funny and lively, and she seemed to be wide open... In short, an amazing woman who doesn't deserve the slagging she got from the two-faced 'Christian' press of America.
- Jordan
Who did it?
Jan 23, 2004
Who did it?
A lot of nasty stuff has been going on, and I'm not going to talk about that yet. What I do want to know is, who did it?
Whoever did it knows what I'm talking about. It was a harmless piece of fun and is of no consequence to any of the regulars here. Oh, which brings me to my next question: why?
I know it wasn't English, but does it really matter? It wasn't exactly a big deal!
- Jordan
Tired...
Dec 14, 2003
Hi y'all,
Just to let you know, I may not be especially deep or intellectual over the next few days. I've been involved with some heavy 'beat-the-ignorant-with-debating-stick' action recently, and the Muses seem to have some kind of grudge against me - perhaps because my museship is cooler? Anyway, true procrastinators know that Muses only come out after midnight, so...
Well, I'm pretty tired. And I want to chill a bit. So I'm going to be rather vapid, moreso than usual. I'll also be playing a lot of piano, because the next two days are the last chance I have before I'm at home! I've finished off Burgmuller's L'Abaresque and almost done with Kabalevsky's Toccatina, so the next stop is a little Sonatina... Who was it by? It's not one of Clementi's...
So. well, wish me a good night. I'm going to get some sleep, I've been completely unable to for the last few days.
Hugs! 
- Jordan
AT'03 - Finally
Dec 3, 2003
Some of you <coughzphantomcough> may be wondering - what happened to Anthea and me at AT'03? Well, here it is, full and uncut.
It all started when I got the date wrong. I thought the trip was scheduled for a week earlier than it actually was. The result: I found myself in Stoke, terrified out of my wits and alone. I had just been off the phone with Anthea, who informed me that she wasn't going to be there for another week. Bummer.
I still maintain that she gave me the wrong week, but not when there's a chance of her hearing it.
So I spent the night there, hiding on top of the bus station from the drunken crowds I heard running around the streets and (possibly) fighting. It was horrible. Finally, I got a bus back to Blackpool, and was back home by seven that morning, tired, cold and feeling generally down.
The next week, armed with my new ticket and pre-prepared backpack, I returned to Stoke, now wise in the ways of that town. I waited out the six long, cold hours until Anthea's arrival and finally, her bus pulled in, filling my little heart with joy. I was waiting for her when she got off with some flowers I had randomly picked up on my travels.
Anthea was, as I soon learned, violently ill. She demonstrated this, graphically, while we waited for the bus to take us to the campsite. Somehow, she managed to contain her travel sickness all through this journey, and we arrived (worse for wear) at the camp site with the strictest restrictions in the UK.
We paid for our stay, set up the tent and Anthea lay down for a while, once more showing off her new-found aptitude for reverse peristalsis, and we walked to the park.
We got there, and payed with the excellent BOGOF-type vouchers.
We had a lot of fun.
We got very wet.
It was brilliant.
Anthea lost her wallet.
This, understandably, was not a cause for celebration. Now that Anthea had no money, it looked like I was going to have to support us both over the weekend. This understandably limited the possibilities open to us. We went for a walk while we moaned about her tragic loss.
The park closed.
We stopped walking.
How can I explain this... The park gates were closed. The only road open to us meandered round indeterminately, and I wasn't confident that we could navigate it easily or briefly. So, I did the logical thing, and forced Anthea to exit, along with myself, through a small hole in the hawthorn/nettle hedge that encircles the park.
The walk back to the campsite that night could only be described as 'tortuous'. My feet were killing me because these shoes /ain't/ made for walking, and I got back wondering if I actually had a 'sole' left, or if it was just (as the nerves on my feet claimed) a giant blister.
We finally met other researchers that night. Unfortunately, Anthea was busy being antisocial/violently ill, so there wasn't as much opportunity to mingle as we had hoped.
We met Atari first. He sounded really cool, but by this time it was pitch black, so I couldn't actually determine any part of his body. Literally. He was a disembodied voice. We had to wait till the morning before he actually saw the blight that is my face, which was good, because we'd already established a rappor, and now it would be rude of him to shun me.
Anthea vomited randomly the whole time, so far as I can recall.
The night was freezing. We shivered it out in Anthea's blatantly inadequate tent. Next time, I'm bringing the accomodation.
We got to the park (pain pain pain) and went on three (yes, three) rides. Then we tried to get to Forbidden Valley. Our attempt was unsuccessful. We got hopelessly lost in a forest. Not for a few minutes. Not even an hour. No. We were lost for EIGHT HOURS. That's one, two, three... more numbers... seven, eight. During this time, there was a sudden period of lucidity in which we realised we were hopelessly lost. As a warning to other park-goers, we built a pagan shrine (/a la Blair Witch) to discourage further exploration.
Once again, we were trapped in the park. This time, Anthea refused to be shuttled out through a prickly hedge, and we left in a more dignified manner, albeit a far longer one.
Pain pain pain.
Campsite. Jordan hurts. Anthea must be close to death. I think that's when we met the charming Z-Phanton, his lovely girfriend Melanie and her bubbly sister Melissa. I spent that night plotting with them... I mean, lamenting Meetsheep's demise, and Anthea spent the night variously joining us and fertilising the ground.
That morning, a two things happened. First, we had lots of fun with Z-Phantom et al, the former taking a frankly compromising picture of myself and Anthea with the latter (I want that film!). We also met a few of the other researchers, and Anthea got some charming pictures taken of her with her scythe.
Second, the full impact of our predicament hit us.
We didn't have enough money to return to Stoke. We had to get there soon if Anthea was to get her bus, and we had no idea how. Finally, after much deliberation, we decided to hitchhike - or at least see if we could get a cheaper bus ride.
Atari's father dropped us off in a town a little closer to Stoke, and gave us his phone number. He also offered to take Anthea with him into Scotland (if we found no solution to our woes), where she could be picked up by a family member closer to home.
What a brilliant guy!
We did a really stupid thing, and imagined that we could somehow walk it into Stoke. And that perhaps drivers going into Stoke would have pity on us.
I think we walked for about five miles, probably more, that day. I was really concerned for Anthea, so I ended up taking most of the bags Along the way, we stopped at a big house to ask the time, where a frankly worried-sounding man informed us that he had 'lost the key' and couldn't open the door, and tried his best to get rid of me through a keyhole. Don't you love rich people?
We stopped at a petrol station on the way, exhausted, sore and disheartened. Anthea had missed her bus a long time ago (realistically, there was no way saving a taxi whereby she could have caught it) and were seriously considering leaping out in front of a car.
Then the most amazing thing happened!
A guy came over and asked us - yes, asked - if we were hitchhiking. Truthfully, we had long since given up that idea, after several minutes of thumbing passing cars, but I answered yes. He then offered to take us into Stoke, and I ran back and told Anthea 'we're saved! Follow me!'
He was a legend. He gave us some cookies (he was cutting out gluten or something), and was genuinely a great guy to talk to. He dropped us off a few metres from the bus stop and narrowly avoided being hugged to death.
A few phone calls later, we hoped we had set up some way for Anthea to get home. Atari's father was going to pick her up at the bus station and drop her off at the closest point to Kilmarnock, where she would be picked up by a relative.
When my bus pulled in, they still weren't there, and I was terrified at the prospect of leaving Anthea alone in Stoke, waiting on a lift from people whom she had barely knew and who might not spot her. I did the only thing I could and gave her my phone, so she could send my mother a message if she got picked up. I spent most of the time on that journey home wide awake, close to tears and hoping to goodness that she would be OK.
As it was, things were alright. I called the moment I got home; Atari's father picked her up in Stoke shortly after I left, and Anthea's dad picked her up from somewhere in Scotland. Anthea arrived home safe and sound.
What did we learn from this journey? Five things:
1. Get the train.
2. Never let Anthea bring the tent.
3. Take two wallets. Chances are one of us will lose one.
4. Nice drivers are like gold dust: valuable, but rare.
5. Our fellow researchers are COOL! 
- Jordan
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