Way to Screw Up the Whole World with Your Religion
the commune’s Omar Bricks plans on inheriting the world while the meek are off hiding in their meek little caves 

God bless Christianity.

What kind of mixed-up, unrepressed world would we have without it?

People eating pizza with chopsticks, talking dogs, upright-walking salmon for president. In a word, it would be fuckin’ great.

We’d be able to drive alcohol-fueled funnycars to work, jerk off in the shower, smoke tobacco out of our neighbor’s asscrack if we wanted to. It would basically be like living in France, but without all the French people. Shit yeah.

It really makes you want to go all Ramrod Hurley on whoever it was that made the world all Christian in the first place. And I know it’s all sacrilegious to say you want to box with the son of God and all, but that’s not even what I’m talking about. Even though the thought of Jesus wearing a spandex jumpsuit that says “The Flying Jehovah” or something on it is kind of funny. Nope, Omar Bricks doesn’t even blame Christ for the whole Christian thing, because last time I heard, he was real good at serving watered-down wine and making eyeballs out of spit and all that, but he was pretty fuckin’ lousy at flying a plane.

Hey, I’m just saying. No need to get all offended. My point is, if were just up to Jesus, Christianity would have stayed over there in Tatooine or wherever all those desert people live. It took some other plane-flying assholes to bring it over to Boca Raton and all over America and whatnot. It would have worked out better for all concerned if they had just stayed in the desert, since Christianity wouldn’t have spread all its butter too thin and those crazy fuckers over there would be crashing their planes into abortion clinics and rap groups and shit instead of having some “think big” Muslim agenda.

But it didn’t work out that way, because some self-righteous dipshits had to make some kind of Hot Air Balloon Tour for Christ, spreading Christianity and measles to all the indigenous people all around the world, totally harshing their buzzes and making them wear ridiculous powdered wigs and shit. And before you knew it, they were selling the locals on communion wafers instead of bottled Jamaican monkeyfarts or whatever they were using previously to bend God’s ear. The indigenous people didn’t care; they thought the shit was Pringles. But eventually they had to all convert to Christianity to get the cure for the measles that the white man brought over in his big happy balloon of death.

So that’s the way it shook out and now we’re all repressed, thinking it’s a big deal if somebody stuck their dick in the pudding at the commune Christmas party (it was Hurley) and calling the cops just because some guy’s bowling naked. As if you can be naked while you’re wearing bowling shoes. And we’ve got all kinds of bullshit rules like no borrowing animals from the zoo and a dude can’t marry another dude. Omar Bricks is all for dudes getting married unless the two dudes happen to be Phil Collins and Ving Rhames. Cause look out if those two wouldn’t make some powerful ugly children, damn.

It all makes you wish you could hop in a time machine and go back in the day to kick some ass. If you wore some football pads and had a broomball bat or something you’d be like an ass-kicking God to those people, because they’d never seen any Bruce Lee movies. Sad for them, but good for your ability to kick some serious missionary ass. They’d probably chuck a couple of bibles at you, but unless they got lucky with a few paper-edge shots to the jugular, you’d do all right.

But all in all, I admit I’m probably getting a little carried away with the whole thing.

I mean, who sells broomball bats anymore? Good luck there. Bricks out.

Sign Me Up For a Frivolous Lawsuit
It’s probably a good thing I never finished law school, because I obviously don’t have a mind for this stuff. It never occurred to me to sue when I fell through the roof of that Taco bell when Dave and I climbed up there to make off with the bell.

This is a Bitchin’ Watch
Most people are happy to settle for watches that don’t do a goddamned thing other than tell the time and look swanky on their wrists, but not Omar Bricks. I’ve always demanded more from a wristwatch.

Aye, She Chimmied Me Chonga
Time to face the facts, Omar Bricks loves Mexican food. I am a certified Mexican Food Freak. Not to be confused with a Certified Mexican Freak, that’s some kind of license you need to wrestle down there, keeps them from losing all their wrestling jobs to people from Tennessee. It’s all a part of NAFTA.

Balls to the Wall
Let me be the first to say I have no idea where I met those East Germans. It was one of those things where one minute you’re ordering a vodka drink named after a Muppet, the next minute you’re one of the founding members of a kraut-rock quartet and then the next thing you know you’re smuggling guns into the harbor on an air skiff.

Nude Year’s Resolution
One year it was to make a shitload of money. The next year it was to quit gambling and get out of debt. Another year I resolved to be a Big Brother to some underprivileged kid, until I found out that was a different thing than living in a house with a bunch of hot bimbos and everything you do is on TV.