September 30 is International Blasphemy Day, and I celebrated the occasion by making some blasphemous shirts for the Bulletproof Heeb, and then keeping one for myself. I’ve been wearing it around town, and people have largely ignored it. Good for them.

But this day isn’t really about protesting the angry fire-and-brimstone types. Those people are easy enough to offend; we don’t need a day for it. It’s about protesting the well-meaning but suicidally stupid belief that everyone’s religion should be respected at all times. I’ve been guilty of this in the past (less so recently, I’m happy to say), and most of the people in my life are guilty of it as well. I know that if I write about atheism — and who are we kidding, we all knew that’s where I was going with this piece — it’ll alienate half of my friends, and so I’ve avoided writing much of anything for months.

Well, fuck that. It’s Blasphemy Day, and there are no renowned religious leaders in sight. Luckily, I’ve got lots of other shit to blaspheme. Time to get out the ol’ Book of Grievances, and go over some actual arguments against atheism made by my friends and acquaintances, who totally think I’m great except…

“If you’ve actually given it some thought, that’s fine. But if you’re just a kid rebelling against Christianity, then I don’t think that’s a good enough reason to reject religion.”

I will remind you that we’ve all gotta start somewhere. Teenagers don’t rebel in a vacuum; if a kid hates sitting through church, that same kid probably disagrees with the values of his community, or at least those of his parents, and has spotted the parallels. Although surly teenage arguments against conformity are unsubtle and inarticulate, they still reach a level of sophistication that many adults never achieve. They are still a form of inquiry, and express a desire for something beyond the obedient and incurious mindset encouraged by religion. If they seem to unfairly target Christianity over other faiths, it is only because you’re limiting your focus to the United States, where Christianity is nearly unavoidable. I’m sure if another religion managed to get the same level of influence over Congress, teenage goths would be just as angry at them.

“Evangelical atheism is just as bad as…”

I’m gonna cut you off right there. Yes, it is “as bad as” evangelical Christianity, or anything else that goes out and tries to convert people. But my position is, those things aren’t all that bad. Many sects of Christianity consider witnessing or evangelizing to be a major part of their faith, like attending church or ignoring all but four Gospels. I can complain about it, which achieves exactly nothing, or I can offer a counterpoint, which might achieve slightly more than nothing. I have no holy obligation to make my case, nor am I working in the service of any organized group, but if I see bad ideas or faulty logic, I’m going to point them out. If a belief works for you but not for me, I’m not going to pretend that discrepancy doesn’t exist. If a religious system appears to have a set of coherent rules, I am going to ask about those rules, and yes, I am going to attempt to examine and critique them. If I’m evangelizing, that’s because I’m pressing believers to make their case. They have a hypothesis about the nature of the universe, and I’d like to know it.

“Well, I think all efforts to convert people are wrong.”

No, you don’t. In all likelihood, you adopted that position defensively after someone called you out for making fun of Christian evangelists, as a means of deflecting future accusations of intolerance. We all say this — even I say it sometimes — and we are all full of shit. So go nuts. Mock whoever you want, and feel free to focus on things that are relevant to you (angry street preachers), rather than abstractly criticizing things that will never, ever come up (angry street rabbis).

“If science is so certain that [religious/mystical belief] doesn’t work, why don’t they test it?”

Okay. You ever see Cosmos? Carl Sagan? Go watch it. All of it. It’s on Hulu. Pay special attention to the part where he says that modern astronomy exists because of scientific inquiry into astrology. It won’t be hard, since he says it in almost every episode. Likewise, much of modern science rose out of the failures of alchemy and similar systems. We, as a species, came up with science because the alternative wasn’t working. Books have been written, studies have been published, and science has no obligation to start over from square one just because some random dude who wasn’t paying attention asked them to go over the old material again.

“Well, that doesn’t mean you have all the answers.”

That’s true, but I won’t just assume there’s a supernatural explanation until someone proves otherwise. I believe we are capable of finding any answer, as long as we have half an idea what the question is. Some people consider that view reductive, but come on — don’t you want to say you were there when they discovered something? Really give those great-grandkids a legacy to live up to? We can’t let that thieving prick Edison get all the glory!

…And that’s about it. I suppose if I had planned this better — or just had Blasphemy Day to inspire me last year — I could have turned the above text into a whole series of posts, and spent today writing about the actual value of blasphemy instead. If anything, it’s a good excuse to celebrate again next year.

Well, it’s Easter. The day Jesus Christ rose from the dead and absolved us of all our sins, but not really. Technically, the absolving-of-sins happened when he died a couple days before Easter; the resurrection was more like the religious equivalent of a showboating touchdown dance. Issues of good sportsmanship aside, though, this day is all about forgiveness, assuming you follow a certain major religion.

That’s right! According to the Christians, Jesus sacrificed himself around 2000 years ago, washing away the sins of mankind in the process. Anyone born since that time can have their own sins washed away, simply by believing that this was indeed the reason behind Jesus’ death. Pretty sweet deal, right?

I’d like to pause here to relate a story.

A few years ago, I was waiting for a bus when a profoundly creepy gentleman approached me and introduced himself as “Shablinky”. Before I could say a word, he began ranting at me, telling me that Jimi Hendrix was a hack who had stolen all of his ideas, demanding I maintain eye contact with him, and just generally making me feel like I was about to get stabbed. After a few minutes of shouting, and several unsuccessful attempts to bum a cigarette, he stepped back, waved his hands arhythmically, and insisted I now owed him a dollar as payment for this “dance.” I didn’t want to get stabbed, but I didn’t want to give him a dollar either, so I stupidly tried to reason.

“How can I owe you a dollar?” I asked. “I didn’t ask you to dance. You just did that out of nowhere and started asking for money.”

He repeated: “You owe me a dollar.”

“I don’t think I do. That’d be like giving someone a gift, and then giving them the bill for it. I mean, it’s technically allowed, but it’s kinda sleazy.”

“You owe me a dollar, fucker.”

“Look, the dance wasn’t even that great,” I said, then trailed off, filled with a renewed fear of stabbing. Could I have been in the presence of a very creative but incompetent mugger? Was he really crazy enough to attack me in broad daylight, surrounded by witnesses? Should I just give him the goddamn dollar?

All my questions were rendered irrelevant just a few moments later. Shablinky spotted a man crossing the street and chased after him, hurling accusations of interracial sodomy at his presumably baffled new victim. When I related the story to my friends later that evening, many of them replied with stories of their own — they too had encountered this man, and been charged a dollar for his unsolicited (and very lame) dance moves.

The Easter season always makes me think of Shablinky. Except instead of getting stabbed, you go to Hell. Happy Fucking Easter, everybody!

When I was in first grade, Santa Claus came to my elementary school, and dropped in on every classroom to wish the kids a merry Christmas. The kids mobbed him, and I couldn’t get through the crowd, so I didn’t get a chance to talk to him during his brief visit. My friend Tommy did, though, and he swore that Santa had addressed him by name. The other kids confirmed the story — Santa really did know our names!

Years later, I learned the truth behind the story. Santa had indeed known Tommy’s name - because my dad had volunteered to play Santa that year.

Well, of course. It made sense that he would recognize the kid I hung out with every weekend. While he was in costume, he had also stopped by our house and given my little sister a bit of a shock — she was just as convinced as Tommy and I that she had met the real Santa Claus.

When he told me the story, though, he didn’t talk about bringing joy to children. No, he talked about how hilarious Tommy’s reaction was, and attempted to reenact the kid’s expression of joy and shock and terror. He talked about how amused he was that my sister and I didn’t recognize him.

And that, to me, is the true meaning of Christmas — getting a six-year-old to look up at you and say, with total sincerity, “You just blew my mind.”

I’ve long had an aversion to big family holidays. It has little to do with my actual family; they can be irritating at times, but it’s nothing worth getting estranged over. However, they all live far enough away that I have to deal with airports, and none of them live anywhere warm. As such, the holidays force me to spend my time and money making my way through winter traffic in at least two cities, and usually three or four, depending on how many people we’re visiting that year. It doesn’t help that, as non-religious as they are for the rest of the year, the holidays bring out the urge to start praying at every fucking opportunity, while I stand there hoping nobody notices I’m not really into it.

So this year, I took the holidays off. The whole season, from Thanksgiving to New Year’s, is going to be free of travel, gift-giving, and Jesus-based silliness. And I must say, so far, it’s been quite pleasant. There’s nobody to wake me up at 5:00 AM because we need to drive to Michigan to see relatives, nobody to tell me stories about other people’s kids, nobody to make me stop watching Ralphie because it’s time to open presents.

I suppose there should be a lesson in here somewhere. I should learn that spending Christmas alone is actually sad and horrible, and that the only thing that kept this holiday from completely sucking was the love of my family. But the fact is, I haven’t had to listen to “I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas” even once this year. (Please note, that cartoon is not by me.) I control the music! And the TV! And the PlayStation, even though I wasn’t really going to use it today. The point is, I could.

I get to cook food that I like, instead of the unevenly-heated ham that has become a family tradition. I don’t have to hear my uncle’s upsettingly graphic questions about my sex life. I get to blow off writing the second half of my Rick Warren rant until at least the 26th (that one isn’t really related to Christmas, but it’s still something I’m happy about). And I don’t have to worry about fitting a bunch of new books and sweaters into my suitcase for the trip home.

For most people, our holidays and vacations require us to face more obligations, more deadlines, and more stress than our normal lives. The fact is, if Christmas was more convenient, I wouldn’t hesitate to join in the celebration. If I lived a bit closer to my family, or if the atmosphere was a bit more welcoming, I probably wouldn’t feel the need to skip the holiday. Hell, if we just postponed Christmas to May, when we could be promised slightly more forgiving weather, that would be good enough for me.

Until I can convince the entire world to reschedule the year’s biggest holiday, though, we’ll have to make do with taking a year off every now and then. Happy Holidays, and good luck getting that fucking hippo song out of your heads.

It’s a basic holiday fact that for every truly wonderful and original Christmas song, there are about a thousand horrible ones. But in the right hands, even the worst Christmas music has high comedic potential. And in the realm of turning coal to gold, few hands are more capable than Jackson Publick and Doc Hammer, creators of the excellent Adult Swim series, The Venture Bros. Every Christmas since 2004, Publick and Hammer have crafted special Venture Bros. Christmas songs for Quick Stop Entertainment. The songs are covers of dubious classics, performed by characters from the TV show. This year’s song just went online today, and it does not disappoint.

(Note: If you’ve never seen an episode of The Venture Bros., I’m in no mood to summarize it for you. Instead, here are some episodes you can stream.)

This year, Henchmen #21 and #24 sing a cover of Paul McCartney’s 1979 classic, “Wonderful Christmastime.” They butcher the song terribly, and ad lib when McCartney’s original lyrics start to get repetitive, and it’s all quite hilarious and fun.

But there’s a deeper subtext here, relating to the broader plot of the show. As anyone who’s seen the finale of season 3 knows, 24 dies at the end, his head flying out of an exploding car in the final moments of the episode. So how does this song fit in with the canon? As 21 explains in the introduction, they recorded the song in June so that they’d have it out of the way when Christmas came, in order to focus on the plans for their big Christmas Break vacation to Cancun. Their spirits are high, and all seems well for The Monarch’s two most unkillable minions. But, alas, shortly after this recording, 24 is indeed killed, robbing 21 of his best buddy in the world. And then Christmas rolls around, and because Quick Stop Entertainment demands satisfaction, 21 is forced to send in the song anyway, the shipping envelope’s adhesive sealed with his own tears. That, dear readers, is some unquestionably rich and brutal subtext to a seemingly goofy holiday song. I hope you’re taking notes.

Publick and Hammer’s previous holiday forays are equally brilliant. In 2004, The Monarch and Dr. Girlfriend reenacted a 1977 sketch performed by David Bowie and Bing Crosby. Verbatim. With The Monarch taking the part of Bowie and Dr. Girlfriend taking the part of Crosby, they sing “The Little Drummer Boy,” banter, and even replicate all of Crosby’s cheesy jokes about how ancient he is. Not only is it surreal, but it also has this wonderful, “holy shit they’re really going to do the whole thing,” quality.

In 2005, The Monarch and Henchmen #21 and #24 sing the song “Hard Candy Christmas,” from The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, made famous by Dolly Parton. At this time in the series The Monarch is incarcerated in a prison full of supervillains, and Dr. Girlfriend has left him for Phantom Limb. The Monarch is thus at his lowest point, and easily matches the despair of Parton’s prostitute. 21 and 24, taking on the roles of all the other whores, provide comic relief.

Focus shifted from the villains somewhat in 2006, when Dr. Thaddeus Venture assembled his family, friends, and enemies for Venture Aid 2006 and performed “Do They Know It’s Christmas?” The original song was performed by Band Aid, a fundraising group created by Bob Geldof and featuring a large section of the best pop musicians 1984 had to offer. In 2006, instead of Freddie Mercury, Simon Le Bon, George Michael and Bono, Venture Industries assembled the likes of Dr. Byron Orpheus, Pete White, Master Billy Quizboy, Hank and Dean Venture, and the entire Monarch Horde. Far from the well-meaning post-colonial famine-induced sympathy of the original, Venture’s version highlights the sinister implications of the song’s lyrics. One feels distinctly uneasy as Orpheus sings of “the clanging chimes of doom,” and delightfully horrified when Dean Venture enthusiastically shouts, “Thanks, God!” that it’s the Ethiopians, and not him, who are starving.

In 2007, The Monarch and Dr. Girlfriend treated us to a rendition of The Pogues’ beautiful and tragic holiday song of love, entrapment, and desperation, “Fairytale of New York.” The song tells the story of a young Irish couple who emigrate to New York City, fall in love, and make each other’s lives miserable. The pain and devotion mirror The Monarch and Dr. Girlfriend’s own storyline, as they (at the end of season 2), reunite and get married.

Taken as a whole, the annual Venture Bros. Christmas songs are both delicious fan candy and a welcome departure from the sentimentality typically found in most holiday music. Hopefully they’ll keep it up, at least as long as the series runs on television. At any rate, enjoy these songs, and enjoy the genius of The Venture Bros. in general. But keep an eye out on Christmas Eve, lest the Krampus appear at your house to punish the wicked:

We’ve been naughty, too. Oh, and if you want to see “A Very Venture Christmas” in its entirety, click here for a free stream courtesy of Adult Swim.

Hey there Beaky Buddies, it’s time for another peek into The Beak’s Holiday Advent Calendar! Yeah, we skipped a few days since the last installment, but trust us, you didn’t miss anything. Day #16 was a Lego donkey and Day #17 was a California Raisins Christmas tree ornament from 1987. Days 18 and 19 were both Cadbury Creme Eggs (Varius likes them so much that he insisted on putting two in). But Advent Calendar present #20 is truly a gift worth writing about!

This one goes out to all you nerds who have spent the last eight years complaining about how the 21st century isn’t as cool as your childhood fantasies. “Waah,” you’ve cried, “Where’s my jet pack? Where’s my Rosie the robot maid? Where’s my renewable nonpolluting energy source? Where’s my flying car?”

I got your flying car right here!

That’s right kids, it’s an honest-to-Beak brand spanking new Terrafugia Transition flying car! And all you need to claim your present is $148,000 and a pilot’s license. You can go ahead and place your $10,000 deposit online, guaranteeing that you’ll be one of the first to get your very own flying car when they go into mass-production in 2009.

Actually, Terrafugia, Inc. refers to the vehicle as a “roadable aircraft,” so it’s more accurate to think of it as an airplane that can drive, rather than as a car that can fly. The Transition has wings that fold up for easy storage in your garage. It has a propeller on the back and runs on ordinary gasoline. For a closer look at the interior controls, here’s a video starring a nice man who has the same haircut that I had when I was five years old:

I’ll grant that it’s fucking goofy-looking. I was hoping that the carplane of the future would look more like a cross between a Ferrari and an iPod. And there are other factors which inhibit the Transition from being a first class Jet Punk fantasy. The propeller doesn’t work in ground-mode, a runway is required for takeoff, and the thing doesn’t turn on without an access code keyed in by a licensed pilot. But I’m sure all that shit can be hacked eventually.

So! Your holiday mission is to convince all the rich people you know to start buying up Terrafugia Transitions. Because the more they sell now, the more we’ll be able to find (comparatively) cheap used ones a couple of years from now. And then we can mod the fuck out of ‘em, and have a 2012 D.I.Y. Beaksmas Eve convoy in the sky!