Pat Robertson, God's Simp
In which the Divine announces plans for a major karmic enema for all of organized religion, ASAP
By Mark Morford, SF Gate Columnist There he sits, face scrunched, eyes clenched tight, fists balled up like he's clinging to the last Valium on Earth, colon in tortured knots, soul shriveled into a tiny black speck of bile and nothingness, invoking God and sodomy and incest and
quivering like he's sitting on the red-hot poker of divine enlightenment itself. You go, Pat.
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Robertson is raving about his favorite demons, sodomy and prostitution and incest, like he was caught in some sort of John Waters fever dream, and it is absurd and sad and pitiable and yet because tens of thousands of deluded heavily narcotized believers seem to actually listen and respond to his words and send him wads of money, his pseudo-religious spasms makes national news.
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This is how God operates. He divides His time between remaking the entire universe at all times in all dimensions for every living creature everywhere, and giving a crap about whiny fundamentalist Christian zealots and their toxic sex phobias.
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Bold and italics added by me! :hi: