I pity the fool that don't believe in the LORD!
Goddess Rati’s breathtaking rack…vegetarianism…sandal-licking…envy…murder…a rich tapestry, indeed! A tapestry I will unfurl in unashamed splendor. Read on and see how the myriad of hues and patterns will entwine and dance as I paddy whack the crap out of that Isfahan mat with the crossbeam from my cross. I have kept it as a souvenir. If you can keep commercially profitable versions of it around your neck, why can’t I keep the original?
But let’s not lose you! Back to our rug! It needs a good cleaning; all moldy and encrusted with semen from years of neglect and priests masturbating upon it whenever they do the old Cain and Abel sermon. Where is the pulpit to be found that has not denounced Cain, yet, where are the feet to be found that have placed themselves in his smelly sandals?
Not a foot in the house! The bible’s first murder instigated, planned, committed and judged in twelve verses. No foot space there! Thirty one thousand verses in the good book and only twelve for the first murder. Papyrus shortage, perhaps.
And omissions.
Omissions that begin with lust for Rati’s buxom beauties, and end with Cain massaging Abel to a pulp.
Ah! Rati! Abundant! Flowing with milk and honey! Goddess of love! Hindu porn starlet! How do I love thee? Let me count the positions.
I am losing you again. The power of Rati is siphoning valuable blood supplies from my big head to my little head. Focus, Jesus, focus!
Talk about giving head!
I met Rati a couple of weeks before Cain turned Abel into compost for his vegetable patch. Normally she is one of the twenty eight Flesh-Eating Goddesses of the Bardo Thödol but our flight paths crossed while she was going through her ‘vegan’ phase. It’s always something with her! She is a bit of a fashion victim. I think these days she’s into Kabbalah, but at least she is aging much better than Madonna.
We met at a vegetarian buffet held by one of her lovers, Krishna. Honestly; I wasn’t there on vegetarian grounds. I was there hoping to meet sweet meat. It’s part of my strategy to meet girls. You cannot miss at the following places; libraries, vegetarian eateries and strip joints when you’re really desperate.
One thing led to another and I was lying to her that I was also a vegetarian. Just the kind of thing one might do when confronted by the most exquisite mammalian protuberances know to man and celestial being.
I needn’t have worried. Obviously she had some lascivious longings for me too, being the stud that I am. We chatted with the cool confidence of old hands and then she went off to mingle with her friends. Krishna came over and said, “Do you have any fucking idea who that babe is?”
Dolly Parton, unplugged.
“Yeah, kinda. She said her name is Rati. Did you see that rack on her?”
“Sure. Seen it, and done it. You could call her my milkmaid.” Krishna replied with a little wink.
“Woah! How is she?”
“No better, Immanuel, no better! This is Goddess Rati we’re talking about. You don’t know anything about her?”
“Never heard of her till tonight,” I answered.
“Hey, don’t look now, but she keeps on glancing this way. You, my friend, are going to score tonight as you have never scored. I don’t care how many babes you’ve had, and your reputation precedes you, but this chick is going to blow your foreskin right off!”
“What’s the deal with her?” I asked, my curiosity peeking and my member beginning a slow throb.
“What’s the deal?” Krishna asked, looking incredulous. “This is the feature girl from Koka Shastra Sexual Secrets, volume one! Holy crap, buddy, her name says it all! Rati means loved by many, and boy has she been loved by many! She is the Hindu goddess of sexuality! In the Koka Shastra, which I will put on a flash drive for you, she quite graphically performs all her sexual secrets, techniques and positions. Now or never, pal, here she comes. Hey, Rati! We’ve just been talking about you.”
Three Little Piggie S&M Club
“Hello, boys,” she said. “I’ve just been telling the girls about Immanuel, and how nice it is to meet someone whose been a vegetarian for eons and eons. Maybe you’ll help me stick to my diet.”
“Sure, baby. Sure!” I answered quickly; deflecting her attention from Krishna’s raised eyebrows and sidelong look.
And I am afraid to say this is when the trouble began for young Cain, because if there is one thing Dad hates, its vegetarians.
Chapter 2 part 2
My golly goodness, I'd be so handsome without these specs!
As I have stated in my previous post, JHWH a.k.a. Jehovah a.k.a. God a.k.a. The Lord a.k.a. Most Illustrious and Illegitimate One can barely tolerate vejjo’s, which explains why, when he got sick of competing with 330 million gods, he turned India into a slum and had Gandhi killed. Poor Cain! What possible hope for his offering of fruit and vegetables? I would like to think Dad’s rejection of Cain’s offering was based purely on dietary differences, but this was not the case. Remember the tapestry…Rati’s balloons…faux vegetarianism?
This story is not over by a long shot. My hands have Persian carpet burns too! Carpet burns which started as a dull chafing after I told Rati I had been a vejjo for eons, and ended in blisters on Cain’s hands from wielding a rock.
As you by now know, I had – for Rati’s rack – become a typical vegetarian; calling out ‘meat is murder’ slogans in public, and secretly indulging in dairy products, chicken, eggs and fish in private. I even replaced my designer leather sandals with recycled plastic ones, which is more than I can say for the rest of you wannabee vegetarians! Got a leather wallet? Leather belt, perhaps? The worst is I was losing twice as much protein as your average trendsetting vegan. Firstly, I had not changed my eating habits well enough to accommodate my new dietary needs, and secondly, saucy Rati was milking me dry!
An average Jesus ejaculation.
I will not go into graphic detail here, for I am a good Christ(ian) and detest premarital sex, but if Rati had bounced me any harder I would have been churning out ghee. Those two weeks after I met Rati, and before Abel snuffed it, were golden days! We had Dad’s penthouse all to ourselves. Imagine a censored version if you can; two flawless, and flexible celestial beings entwined in cosmic clinch and transcendental grind; rebounding off walls overlaid with gold, tobogganing across Lebanese Cedar wood floors, staining the veils of blue, purple, and crimson, and wrecking the fine linen.
I am gone again! Losing myself in porno flashback! No more fiddling about! Cain and Abel!
Cut the crap and trim the fat! Ok, Dad returns from planetary genocide…Rati and I clean up the tabernacle/penthouse…big party thrown in honor of yet another one of The Mighty Lord’s triumphant slaughters… I stupidly invite Rati to the feast…inconsiderate caterers don’t bother with vegetarian menu….Dad wants to know why I am only nibbling on potato salad…shameful omnivorous truth exposed…Rati storms off in disgust…I call Dad a douche bag in front of His guests…Dad’s lightning finger all charged with no one to strike…Enter Cain and Abel.
The next day, in fact! Rock cools > water forms > consciousness wiggles > self awareness arises > mortality confronted > groveling begins. Four billion years of production and Cain picks the worst possible day to discover God.
The Lone Ranger after TV cancellation
Picture the scene: Cain and Abel, recently descended from a tree, had just discovered they were they and one day they wouldn’t be they no more. And so, in primal fear filtered through consciousness, they realized they could snuff it pretty much anytime; what with the scorpions and the snakes and the lions and the tuberculosis and the pneumonia and the plague and the typhus and the smallpox and the leprosy and the jaundice and the muggers and the occasional earthquake. Let’s face it, without fear of death, who would pray? Do you get it yet? Dad made all these things so you would grovel in front of Him!
Thus Cain and Abel bent themselves in holy affectation, opened their hands and mouths in obeisance, and figuratively got ready to take it both ends. And God saw that it was good.
And in case you are wondering, there is nothing pious about making Dad an offering or praying whatsoever. Sacrifice is nothing more than a grotesque version of prayer, and prayer is nothing more that a perverted version of ego.
Jokes on them! God doesn't listen to the prayers of negroes.
Honestly? I have had it up to my crown of thorns with all your selfish requests in my name! Every time I hear The Lords prayer I wish I had stayed dead in that cave. Always the same thing! First the ass kissing with the hallowed be thy name and we are so looking forward to thy kingdom and your will is just so super. And then, after you think you have toadied enough, the requests begin. Depending on your fickle mood either it’s the give us this or deliver us from that routine. Finally, to make sure your prayer gets heard, a final sandal shine and brownnosing with the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever and ever, amen spiel.
A good rant, but I haven’t for gotten Cain and Abel.
To continue: there are myriads of planetary dramas on the go, but there is always a special buzz in the throne room when a new species makes their first, clumsy sacrifice. Cain stepped up to the plate and placed on an altar he had built some of the fruits of his labors. Fruits, to be precise! And vegetables! Four billion years Dad had waited for this moment on planet earth, and who walks in to bat first? Cain, the vegan with a bowl full of fruit! Cain, who had stopped eating meat and discovered that his evacuations were now an odorless and almost pleasant experience.
As Cain laid his bowl of fruit on the altar, the Bridge went as quiet as a dead guy. I could feel the eyes of every angel in that room boring holes into my head, hands and feet. Had I really called Dad a carnivorous douche bag the night before? Had I imagined Dad’s ‘damn those vejjo’s!’ comment as I stormed out?
The worst part is I don't even know whose house this is.
I looked nervously at the back of Dad’s head, where He sat embalmed in the eerie quiet that one can only experience before an earthquake, a hurricane or during a meat eaters pilgrimage as he tries to drop some solids in the john. The room seemed to start throbbing and I could see Dad’s lightning finger twitching almost uncontrollably.
The vibe was so heavy that even Cain and Abel felt it.
Upon feelin’ the heavy vibes and seeing Cain strike out, Abel, in a state of fear and panic, and forgetting about the cute little firstborn kid at his feet, dropped his sacrificial pot of rice which landed with an almighty crack and a terminal bleat. The throne room/bridge audibly sighed in relief as Dad’s mood seemed to visibly improve at the sight of blood. Abel immediately sensed an easing of tension and had a killer idea.
He ran…his sandals sent up a cloud of dust…a knife gleamed in his hands…sheep squeaked and bleated and died…blood was flying…Dad was smiling…you get the picture.
And finally it was done. Carcasses lay in ghastly sprawl, and from the sprawl Abel rose with chunks of bloody sheep in his hands, looking like a butcher who suffers from turrets. His halug, or tunic, a Chinese Laundromat’s nightmare!
The rest is biblical history; more compact yet much less entertaining. But let us, brothers and sisters, open our holiest of holy books anyway, and turn our attention to Genesis 4:4 which reads; And Abel, he also brought of the firstlings of his flock and of the fat thereof. And the LORD had respect unto Abel and to his offering. But unto Cain and to his offering he had not respect. And Cain was very wroth, and his countenance fell. And shortly thereafter Cain did massage Abel to a pulp in some field.
Why do we always have to do it doggie style?
I guess you could say Cain overreacted. Sure, growing fruit and vegetables is much harder than sitting around with a staff in your hand looking at sheep masticate and fornicate, but still. The best reaction would have been to give Abel a good pat on the back, but not with a rock!
After that LORDY cursed Cain, but not for Abel’s murder. That was just an excuse for the fruit basket. He held up His holy microphone, patched in the booming voice filter, and said, “Where is Abel thy brother?”
“Am I my brother’s keeper?” Cain replied.
“No, but you could at least be your brother’s undertaker!” which got a chuckle or two. Shortly thereafter came the cursing and marking of Cain, which was a tattoo on the forehead which read, COOTIES!
Thus ends the true tale of Cain and Abel…The tapestry is beaten…Cum stains have been removed…Abel did not get better…Cain has done well in oil… and I recovered just fine from the genital warts given me by Rati.
And that, bloggers, ends Chapter Two of Jesus Fucking Christ’s Blog of Bible Stories.
And very soon will come Chapter Three of Jesus Fucking Christ’s Blog of Bible Stories; The true story of the biggest chump in universal history, Noah.
Follow me, and then follow me on Twitter to find out when!
Jesus F Christ’s Blog of Bible Stories by Richard Sharp is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-
Jesus F Christ's Blog of Bible Stories 