The Church wants no scrubs, you silly heretics! - R'n'b and orthodoxy.

"[...] a certain female viper from the Cainite sect, who recently spent some time here, carried off a good number with her exceptionally pestilential doctrine, making a particular point of demolishing baptism. Evidently in this according to nature: for vipers and asps as a rule, and even basilisks, frequent dry and waterless places. But we, being little fishes, as Jesus Christ is our great Fish, begin our life in the water, and only while we abide in the water are we safe and sound. Thus it was that that portent of a woman, who had no right to teach even correctly, knew very well how to kill the little fishes by taking them out of the water." (Tertullianus : De Baptismo I.1)

Hands off you heretic woman! The Boy is mine! Tertullian was clearly the best when it came to paint a picture of those silly heretics.Who does that Cainite woman think she is? "This liberal doxy must be impaled on the member of a particularly large stallion!" as my friend Ignatius J. reilly would say.


Oh, heretics!

Guys, you are the laughing stock of the Catholic universe, noone listens to you, except for your fellow heretic ani! Filthy and slimy, you try to seduce the holy body of the church but she is spitting her myrrh-flavoured chewing gum on you! This is what this song is about:

"I don't want no scrub a scrub is a guy that can't get no love from me,hanging out the passenger side of his best friend's ride trying to holler at me"

Obviously these words refer to the damned gnostic Valentinus, "Hangin out the passenger's side of his best friend's ride" refers to the time he was a bishop, i.e. riding the "car" (or rather chariot) of ecclesial service, and using his position to "holler at me" where me stands for the innocent, but corruptable virgin body of the Church that he was trying to savour with his lecherous tongue and rotting teeth.

Blasphemer of the month I. : Denis Diderot

Dearest Readers,


Here is my new monthly series after the highly successful "Quote of the Day, Saint of the week" series."Blasphemer of the month" will cover the best known enemies of the Church, ones, whose daily bread was earned by their incoherent diatribes about Catholicism. You, uneducated American protestant readers, probably think that the worst thing that has happened to Christianity was Richard Dawkins. While that awful man is probably a self-proclaimed university Don Juan who has "hot sex" with "liberated young women" in his office, and I want to kick him in his genitalia, I think that worst things have befallen on the Church than his ridiculous attacks. (I will still write a blog entry on him, though)


Denis Diderot (1713-1784)

I hate Denis Diderot fro several reasons: 1) He was a Frenchman. 2) He was a "philosopher" of the enlightment 3) He had a lot of sex, 4) He had no moral standards, 5) He thought women liked sex (ew!).

Now, as to Diderot the "philosopher", he is not of much consequence. He was not a big atheist, like Holbach or Helvetius, he was more of an enemy of  an institutionalized Church, who tried to answer questions of upmost importance by babbling about nature and whatnot.

Now, this is a note to all you amateur philosophers: „Nature” is not an expression that you can just use at your leisure referring to those vague ideas you have about some naked woman sitting in a garden surrounded by fat kids. „Nature” and „natural” should be defined before one uses them and should be handled with care. Diderot (who probably hasn’t read anything but some Locke and his enlightment-cronies' scribblings) knew nothing about Nature. What is even worse, his ethics and casuistry attempted to substitute divine secrets with rational speculation. Oh, human presumptuousness! I don’t mind some rational speculations myself, but as we know philosophy should never aspire to be anything more than the maidservant of theology

Diderot's ridiculous work accumulated in writing erotic novels about lesbian nuns and talking vaginae. I think this is all that has to be said. Obviously, we know that none of those two things exist, but in the fantasy of this sad, old, senile pervert, who was thinking about the talking vaginae of nublie fifteen year-olds, while wearing a velvet gown and eating some moldy croissants.

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