Friday, July 27, 2007

Comedist Theology

Brothers, Sisters, and Transgendered Comedists Everywhere,

For those who are new to the Playground, weekends are dedicated to Comedism, the new religion. It's been a while since we've looked at the basic tents of the faith,so this weekend we'll do a little housekeeping.

As so many religions do, this one began with an epiphany. I was teaching an evening ethics class at a community college and we were discussing the difference between ethical precepts and social mores. A student in the front row raised his hand and asked me, "Steve, what are mores?" I looked him straight in the eye and replied, "When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that's amore." Bathed in the groans of pun induced pain, I instantly understood that set ups that perfect don't just happen. That could not have been a random humorous, that was Divine Comedic Intervention, it had to be the work of the Cosmic Comic.

And so I came to realize that it was my job to spread the gospel of Comedism.

Other religions may have Gods that are all-loving, all-knowing, and all-powerful, but our God is funnier than their God.

The structure is similar to that of the Judeo-Christian picture. Life is a test, when you die, your soul ascends to the pearly front of which is The Book. Behind The Book is Saint Shecky who tells you of your eternal judgment. You get only so many set ups in your few years on Earth and for every punchline you deliver, that is one mark in your favor. The "that's amore" line, one in the plus column for me. But if you miss one...

A year after the ethics class, I was out for a walk. As I ambled along, a couple walked past me. The man looked at me with a strange puzzled look on his face. He said to me, "Didn't we just see you with a dog?" I said, "No. You must have me confused with someone else." As they walked away, I realized the correct answer was, "Excuse me. That was my wife." I had lost a Divine set up. So much the worse for my comic soul.

If you make more than you miss, you are admitted into comedy heaven where you sit at the right hand of Groucho. If you miss more than you make, you go to comedy hell where it is very hot and all the drinks are in dribble glasses. If you come out even, it is comedy purgatory for you, where you have to watch nothing but re-runs of Three's Company for all eternity.

Our sacred text is, of course, the Comedist Manifesto and it is being revealed bit by bit each year on our holiest day of the year, April 1. You can read the first two installments here and here.

We fully believe in gay marriage because it would be wrong to deprive one tenth of humanity of being able to tell mother-in-law jokes and because "Take my civilly-united, legally recognized, domestic partner, please" just really screws up the timing.

Best of all, friends, because Comedism is a young religion if you join now, as one of the early adopters, you are all but guaranteed sainthood. Leave a sufficient number of comments that are funny enough, bam, you're a disciple. Think about it, to go anywhere in the more established religious corporations, you need to be Mother Teresa or Pat Robertson and, let's face it, the wardrobe options either way are not what you would call optimal. All you need to do to join is say you did.

People ask me whether this new religion is a joke. I tell them, of course it is; it wouldn't be holy if it wasn't.

We end today with this classic:

A preacher is buying a parrot.

"Are you sure it doesn't scream, yell, or swear?" asked the preacher.

"Oh absolutely. It's a religious parrot," the storekeeper assures him.

"Do you see those strings on his legs? When you pull the right one, he recites the lord's prayer, and when you pull on the left he recites the 23rd Psalm."

"Wonderful!" says the preacher, "but what happens if you pull both strings?"

"I fall off my perch, you moron!" screeched the parrot
Other churches ask for monetary donations, we pass the plate for jokes. Leave your contribution in the comments and say five "hail Grouchos."

Live, love, and laugh,

Irreverend Steve