Evangelic-Fools

From time to time, my poor heart dares to believe that these lunatic Christianists have plumbed the depths of surrealist nightmare psychosis, the kind of thing that grows in the damp dark like mushrooms and would have Salvador Dali painting pastoral landscapes the next morning. I occasionally let myself hope that the light of day has finally penetrated the dank caves of their paranoia and killed the swarms of Lovecraftian ooze that dwell there. My soul leaps up in joy; I tell myself that all is well and we can bask in good faith and rational humanity once again.


Not this time.

Benshlomo says, Oh my God.