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03-31-02 - 1:40 p.m.

Happy Easter, yadda yadda, I've eaten enough Cadbury Creme Eggs to feed a small Nepali child-labor factory for a week.

I went to church this morning, for Sharon's sake. As I was sitting there doodling on the back of the weekly handout, it occurred to me that, even as an Atheist, I think I'd enjoy church a great deal more if the acolytes carried blow torches. Those little extinguishing rods they carry with the tiny candle flame at the tip just aren't any fun. I mean, can you imagine?

You're standing there singing some song about Jesus and God and counting the number of beats over which George Frederic Handel can stretch the word "alleluia" and you feel a rush of heat as the scrawny preteen acolytes march ceremoniously by. When they reach the dais they mount the steps, and FWOOOOOOOM! The candles are lit. Sort of. The choir members, in their flame-retardant robes, shield their eyes with their hymnals as the gas-powered jet of hot death shoots out at them and as the gaseous smoke clears, they can see that the majority of the candlewax has been warped in a strage inverted "U" shape so that the exposed wick, now ablaze, stands tall. Soon, everyone will have heard about the spectacle of the Blow Torch Acolytes and begin paying admission just to see the opening church services. The collection plate will never have to be passed around again.

Honestly, though, I think the only way I'd ever be truly satisfied with a church service would be if I was the one being worshipped, if I became a large number of people's god. I'd be a god, too. Not a goddess. "Goddess" is a word that, to me, sounds like it belongs on a glittery pink keychain, followed by the words "As If!" and "What-EVER." Maybe "Diva" and "Princess," as well. Y'know, I think I like this idea.

If you'd like to join my church and worship me, feel free to do so. You may call yourself a Laurist, for you have now been baptized into the Church of Laura. Go in peace.

 

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