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After Zack cried, “Why didn’t I tell him about Jesus?” the casket burst open. The dead kid screamed, “I’m burning in Hell, thanks to you,” and then we played red rover.
How do they always know which rules they can ignore?
maybe we missed the Rapture because we were scared to miss it. The power of doubt. See?”
You know Dave-Tony youth pastors who try to be relatable by talking way too openly about desire? Yeah, that book is the epitome.
“Ridiculous. Paul clearly sai–” “Fuck Paul,” I yelled. “If Jesus gives a shit about this, he’ll say so in red fucking ink.”
My gooey eyes and sprawling giggle-arguments revealed I’d partaken without intentionally inhaling, meaning I’d done the worst sin: emulating a Democrat, Bill Clinton.
“People assume we think we’re better than everyone, but it’s the opposite,” I snapped. “You and me tried weed together, then did the same stuff with girls. Everybody tries stuff, but nobody else has to feel like they’re failing God in the process.
“What if we’re allowed to say what if?”
“Any religion that professes to be concerned about the souls of men and is not concerned about the slums that damn them, the economic conditions that strangle them, and the social conditions that cripple them is a spiritually moribund religion awaiting burial.”
My prefabricated mind had never been mine. Whenever pieces like the Rapture stopped fitting, my skull had reverberated with regret. Having to believe Christians are morally superior, being gay is bad, science is fake, murder by Republicans is cool, and on and on? Those pieces slipped away, too. The day Hell became bullshit, I felt an earthquake,
