And You Shall Know Them by Their Fruits

Re: Dr. Dino

Dr. Hovind:

Every "proof" you claim ultimately depends upon your own belief in the infallibility of the Bible. What evidence can you present that proves - as Christianity claims - that the Bible is the unerring word of God?

It took the Catholic church approximately three hundred fifty years before they sheepishly admitted that Galileo was right about that whole Earth orbiting the Sun idea. Why did the church so vehemently oppose this idea? Why did the church repeatedly kill people for asking questions and finding answers that disagreed with their precious Bible?

Tellingly, creationists ask - regarding evolutionists - "What are they afraid of?" History shows, however, that it is the church that is afraid of facts that contradict the Bible. Common sense and an understanding of human nature tells you that a man will reject ideas which threaten his philosophical foundation because, he reasons, if my foundation was wrong about this, what falls next? The problem here is that you have allowed the Bible itself to become a false idol. You have focused your puny thoughts so intently upon a document that has been translated, altered, redacted and edited by men to the point that this document has become your god. And now, you must protect this document to the point where you will invent fantastic stories and ignore Occam's sage advice simply in order to remain blindly obediant to a book.

I suggest you have lost your way and rather than flapping your jaws incessantly, you might consider some quiet contemplation. No book, no other people, no civilisation, just you and the gaping night sky. I hear deserts are really excellent for this sort of thing.

Also tellingly, you claim that supporters of evolution must have some sort of agenda. Well, when you attempt to refute the broad field of radiometric dating by tackling the Carbon-14 straw-man without ever mentioning the other radioactive isotopes used in radiometric dating, I have to stop and ask myself, "Is this Dr. Hovind stupid or dishonest for allowing this sort of spin on his website?"

Possibly there is some other reason why you would withhold additional information. Possibly this dishonesty is why you must lament the 80% to 90% of what you call "backsliders." Possibly you are afraid that your foundation of blind faith cannot survive any more truth. Perhaps you would like to hasten the day when we enter the next dark ages because the Bible replaced math and science text books and people with mental illness will once again be exorcised at the stake. Perhaps you take offense at the fact that someone gave us all a brain. Perhaps it is you who has the agenda.

I certainly can't read your mind, but I know you by your fruits.

Chris Judge


Crazy Girls

The voices of all my past girlfriends are whispering, "don't date any crazy chicks, she'll just fuck with your head, run the opposite direction, etc."

"Why don't you all just chill," I reply, "if I'd followed your advice, I wouldn't have dated any of you. And on top of that, I'm the one arguing with the voices in my head."

They all look at each other in silence. I think they are conferring telepathically and that creeps me out 'cause I didn't know they could do that. Paula steps forward; she often serves as spokesperson. I think it's because she was the first so she has some sort of seniority though I think it should be the other way around where the most recent chica gets to carry the torch. "We think it would be a mistake for you to involve yourself with a self-proclaimed crazy girl." Paula is wearing a Hello-Kitty straight-jacket as she says this. "We feel that you should ..."

"We don't need another crazy-ass puta bitch in here!" Dena interrupts. She waves a gun menacingly and begins pulling the trigger. There's a brief period of mayhem and violence with girls running around screaming, catfighting, Jessica and Amy are making out, Wendy is throwing giant dildos at anyone who comes near her, Pam purrs in my ear and grinds against me. Eventually, Dena puts the gun in her mouth and does her own special Michelangelo on the ceiling.

None of them can really die in here. I leave the room, close the door behind me. Next time I visit, all traces of this most recent episode will be gone. I never know what the scenery will be like. They may all be lounging around a pool, oiling each other. They may be sitting in a dive bar, playing pool and arm wrestling each other. One time I walked in and they were in an eighteenth century sugery theater watching some surgeon dissect a cadaver.

My stomach growls, I walk down the hallway to the kitchen. I should put a lock on that door.

Random stuff and vodka

Thank Blog that my browser remembers passwords, because I sure as Hell don't.

Before I die, I want to get a word in a dictionary. Not being quite the madman (q.v.: Professor and the Madman), yet, I figure this is my best venue for recording my word. And it's such a useless word too: philotendril.

When you're hanging out with friends discussing the odd philosophical topic and the conversation branches off to unimportant - and distracting - side topics, that's a philotendril. Maybe only geeks such as myself encounter this problem. It would be so refreshing, in a way, to only be concerned with chicks and their various delicious bits, but my mind continually returns to the useless realms of invention.

I need a woman who spans the gamut - physical to cerebral - because, otherwise, I get bored.


Yard Work

I realized yesterday that I spend too much time behind a desk and between the pages of books. The sun was shining, birds were improvising and weeds were overrunning my back yard. It was time for yardwork.

My plan:

1. find something to kill the evil weeds

2. investigate fertilizer

3. investigate and purchase some sort of perennials that won't mind if I forget to water them

4. purchase soil - who'da thunk it, buying and selling dirt?

As an afterthought, I decided to take the box of clothes I left on my porch for Big Brothers, Big Sisters to Goodwill. BBBS didn't pick them up on their designated day nor on the day they said they would after I called them. Regardless, it was a fortuitous afterthought: on my way from Goodwill to Home Depot, I passed a small, local nursery. I'd much rather support a local business, but in my initial plan, I had simply assumed I would go to Home Depot.

In epidemiology, there's a term for the first person who brings a disease into an area. I no longer recall this term, but I didn't want to be the horticultural equivalent by bringing my weed into a nursery so I put a sample in a ziplock bag. Precautions in place, I nevertheless pretended I was a secret agent sneaking a biological agent into enemy territory. I did have to fight my way past a crack team flower arrangers and a forest of spinning, twirly thingies - ostensibly "decorations" - that are undoubtedly laced with some sort of poison or nasty, pointy, sharp edges. I checked my precious weed sample to make sure the nasty, pointsy things had not injued it. My precious.

At the counter, the clerk just stared at me when I flashed the ziplock baggy. I prompted him further by saying, "the moon is high above the mountain." Nothing. I tried, "Der Fisch springt auf dem Wasser." Still nothing. Clearly, this clerk was not my contact and would have to be eliminated. To throw him off my trail, I apologised and said I was in town for SXSW and that I am a high-ranking official in the Nigerian Ministry of Horticulture. I explained to him that we were in need of assistance and that this nursery was known the world over as the pre-eminant source for weed control advice. "We are willing to pay you $25 million, but I need your bank account and social security number before we can proceed." This didn't sit too well with Mr. Clerk and he told me I needed to talk to Hank.

Hank, apparently, is the owner of Howard Nursery. What happened to Howard one can only guess, but Hank didn't strike me as the Yakusa-type so I decided to trust him. He said my weed is called "spurge." I'm thinking, that's a great new word meaning an urge followed on the spur of the moment. Example:

Person #1: Why did you buy the gasoline-powered cat-shaving system?

Person #2: I don't know, it was a spurge.

Some might argue that "impulse buy" already serves that purpose, but I now prefer "spurge."

Hank hooked me up with a sprayer and some Green Light Wipe-Out(R), a desert topping made from delicious and wholesome ingredients like 2,4-dichlorophenoxyacetic acid and 2-2(2-methyl-4-chlorophenoxy) proprionic acid. There's a sticker on the bottle that tells me not to use this product on Floratam St. Augustine grass in Florida. I was relieved to know that Floratam St. Augustine grass in Texas is not as sissy as that in Florida.

Item one on my plan was accomplished. In my exuberance, I completely forgot about item 2 and moved right on to item 3.

After staring dumbly at the rows upon rows of green things, I realized I was out of my element. A helpful employee - I'll call him Lennie, I think he spent too much time working in the Green Light Wipe-Out(R) section - approached and asked if I needed any help and if I would be his friend. We spent an hour pasting macaroni on cigar boxes while Lennie told me of his dream of raising rabbits at a place of his own. Eventually, I got him to recommend a few perennials that would survive in the shade of a pecan tree.

Item 3 was accomplished. I celebrated by eating some macaroni and Lennie danced with a dead mouse he pulled from his pocket.

Not knowing if Lennie was aware of the fact that the mouse was dead, I said, "Dude, I think you hugged it and squeezed it a little too hard."

Lennie replied, "That's what George always told me. George is my friend."

This seemed to upset Lennie, so we spent another hour gluing sparkles on paper. Afterward, while Lennie was explaining the relative merits of different bags of dirt I couldn't help noticing that there were sparkles all over his tongue.

Item 4 accomplished.

Total purchase price for dessert topping, sprayer, plants and dirt: $144.93.

An afternoon of international intrigue, kindergarten, Steinbeck, digging in the dirt and blisters on my hands, priceless.


My Pirate Name

My pirate name is:

Black William Flint

Like anyone confronted with the harshness of robbery on the high seas, you can be pessimistic at times. Like the rock flint, you're hard and sharp. But, also like flint, you're easily chipped, and sparky. Arr!

Get your own pirate name from fidius.org.


Fun With Microwaves

I absolutely love this stuff.




Originally uploaded by The Judge.
My least favorite.


Originally uploaded by The Judge.


Originally uploaded by The Judge.
I'm playing with paint!

Journal entry - 5-16-1994

There was a boy who could visit angels.

His method is not important here, only the fact that he stopped visiting them. At first, he visited as often as possible because they were so beautiful. His cheeks ran with tears of joy. Eventually, he stopped visiting them because he always had to return to the world of pain and ugliness and he found it was less painful and less ugly when there was no fresh, bright memory of angels shining in his mind.

So the boy told himself that he must face reality and learn to live in the world of pain and ugliness even though he knew that a better world existed.

And now the angels cried and Darkness burped a sigh of contentment as the boy pissed on the embers of his dreams and settled himself to the empty role of a rat who only shits when told and flies nevermore.


That was a dark time in my life.


Crush Rush!

I read recently how a station in Brattleboro, VT dumped Rush and replaced it with Air America and even some ClearChannel stations will soon be doing this.

Travis County - location of wonderful Austin, TX. - is a blue county. Why is Rush on the air here on KLBJ 590 AM?

We can change this. Here's how:

1. Write an email to KLBJ and ask them to Crush Rush and pick up Air America.

2. Write a letter to the Editor of the Chronicle
and urge readers to contact KLBJ (include contact info
from the KLBJ link, above). Make sure to read the Chronicle's instructions. You have to include your address and phone number in your message. If your letter is published, you can edit what will be revealed.

3. Write a litter to the Editor of the Statesman and
urge readers to contact KLBJ (include contact info
from the KLBJ link, above).

3. Forward this message to all your liberal and
progressive friends.

4. We could print up some stickers and plaster the city with a "Crush Rush" message.

Austin - as the Texas Capitol - would be a huge symbolic win for Air America.


Jerry Springer touts Liberal Talk

Spread the message with a t-shirt!