Oh, but first, come see my post at the Register: “Not like that!” The spirituality of The Mummy. The post may be silly, but it’s witness to a miracle: I was able to figure out how to post videos on a new platform while propitiating the feral kid, who sits behind my back and makes me play the squish game while I write.
But you don’t want to hear about me; you want to hear about . . . . THE JERK!
To newer readers: there is this guy. He’s called “The Jerk.” Simcha is not The Jerk, and The Jerk is not Simcha.
Every once in a while, The Jerk writes something weird for Simcha — something like, oh, the Beatitudes for Jerks. And Simcha laughs and laughs and laughs, and gets ready to post it — and then wakes up in the middle of the night saying, “Oh my gosh, I can’t post that.”
On the other hand, it is Simcha’s blog, and Simcha has already filled out the W-9 form for the Register. As Mel Gibson said to his bottle of tequila, what’s the worst that could possibly happen? And so I, Simcha, present . . .
Blessed are the Orthodox, for their Kingdom of God is better than your Kingdom of God.
Blessed are the Eastern Rite catholics, for their priests shall have kick-ass beards.
Blessed are the Angry, for they shall win all internet arguments.
Blessed are the Trads, for they shall fart in Latin.
Blessed are the JOOOOOOOOOOS, for they shall inherit the media.
Blessed are the Buddhists, for they have yet to piss me off today.
Blessed are you when women scorn you, and make intelligent conversation in front of you, and wear pants around you, for yours is your mother’s basement.
Blessed are the the wives of Opus Dei men, for those gals need all the help they can get.
Blessed be the ice maker.