PRO: He’d learn how to dance a popular 1970s dance.
CON: None that I can see.
PRO: He’d learn how to dance a popular 1970s dance.
CON: None that I can see.
By: Brother Waldo, BQB’s Spiritual Advisor and Member of the Church of Not Giving a Shit
Greetings and no shits be upon you, 3.5 readers. When BQB asked me to be a columnist for this blog, I didn’t really give a shit about that. But then I thought about it and decided that to not write on this blog would be to say that I give a shit about not appearing on this blog. Ergo, I decided to write on this blog, but to not give a shit about whether or not anyone would read it.
Why should you not give a shit? Personally, I don’t give a shit if you do give a shit, but if you are asking why should you not give a shit, my first response is to ask you what has giving a shit ever gotten you? Probably just a bunch of shit, which you’ll have to give many of your precious shits about. Never give a shit about any shit.
More importantly, since the dawn of time, man has given shits and those shits have always gotten the shit givers into a whole mess of trouble.
Let’s examine this further. Wars are started by people who give a shit about something. They are waged against people who give a different type of shit about something. Both sides give so much shit that they kill each other just to prove who gives more of a shit. In the aftermath, the world just turns to shit.
Violence, famine, turmoil, strife – all started by people who gave a shit and all actions to make others give a shit just shitting up the place.
But, 3.5 readers, for as long as there have been people shitting up the world through the shits they give, there have been fine, upstanding members of the Church of Not Giving a Shit who stood up to not give a shit. Those non-shit givers typically always made it through the most difficult of historical times by simply keeping their shits close to the vest rather than give them away with reckless abandon.
Take Brother Alistair, who was once asked by an ancient British king to join the army and run at a bunch of marauders and get his legs chopped off. All the other shit givers gave a shit and they were hacked to pieces. Brother Alistair, on the other hand, just shrugged his shoulders, said, “I don’t give a shit,” and walked off the battlefield. He lived to be 102 which was fairly unheard of in those days, yet it was made possible for not giving a shit spared his body so much stress.
Yes, for as long as people have made the world shitty by giving a shit, there have been proud members of this fine church who didn’t give a shit and lived to tell the tale. From the earliest wars in human history, all throughout the dark ages, the renaissance, the Revolutionary War, Civil War, Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan and more have all saved themselves from destruction simply by not giving a shit.
Ah, but here’s where our movement gets interesting. Many did not give a shit about wars so they were saved by walking away from battle. Others who gave a shit joined the army and fought because, when asked whether they were scared to fight, they simply said, “I don’t give a shit.”
Yes. You see, it’s possible for two different people to not give shits and yet the shits not given lead to different paths, war and abstention from war, respectively. Shits can be given in different ways, from those who don’t give enough of a shit to fight, to those who don’t give enough of a shit about the fear of death that they sign up. Ironically, those who don’t give a shit about dying tend to be the most valiant fighters who live to tell tales of battle, or at least they would tell them, if they gave enough of a shit about you to tell you.
Ultimately, as long as there has been time, there have been people who do not give a shit. Not giving a shit is one, if not the, oldest movement of all time. Why, if you give a shit to find out, you’d know archaeologists have found ancient cave paintings featuring cavemen falling asleep whilst being chewed out by their cave wives for not picking up enough rocks on the way home from caveman work.
It’s up to you and if you give a shit about joining our church, you’d be taking part in a longstanding tradition of not giving a shit, a movement filled with a vast, vibrant history of not giving any shits at all.
Ironically, if you don’t give a shit about joining, then you’ve already joined. We’d add your name to the roll of the great non-shit givers, but we don’t give a shit whether or not your name is recorded for posterity.
Thank you for giving a shit about this column, but also know that if you did give a shit, our church is not for you.
You don’t give a shit about that? Welcome back.
Hey 3.5 heathens. BQB here. I must confess, the utter failure of this blog has caused my to realize something very important, namely, that I need religion in my life. After all, we all need something to believe in to get us through the day, a source of spiritual healing and guidance just to get us through the journey of life.
To that end, I looked high and low. I spoke to the Christians and they told me that Jesus died for my sins. I preyed to Jesus to thank him and told him if he died just for my sins, then the whole cross thing was an overkill. My sins aren’t voluminous and I don’t think anyone should have to die just because I eat an extra slice of pizza and cry while I masturbate myself to sleep every night. Gluttony and lust, right there.
Next, I talked to the Jews. I told them that I’m a failure as a blogger. They told me that Moses parted the Red Sea and wandered the desert with his people for forty years, so fear not, becoming a great blogger, like any other goal, takes time.
I spoke to the buddhists and they said don’t worry if you’re a terrible blogger because your blog, like anything else, was never meant to last forever.
I searched high and low and all representatives of religions were helpful, but none really spoke to me until I met Brother Waldo in a supermarket in East Randomtown.
“Damn,” I said. “This store is all out of milk.”
“So?” Brother Waldo said. “Who gives a shit?”
“Why do you give a shit?” Waldo asked.
“Because I want strong bones,” I replied.
“Why do you give a shit about strong bones?” Brother Waldo asked.
“Because I want to be able to walk well into my old age,” I said.
“Who gives a shit about that?” Brother Waldo asked.
“I do,” I said.
And so, the conversation continued like that for an hour until Brother Waldo let me in on a secret.
“I’m Brother Waldo,” the man said. “I’m a member of the Church of Not Giving a Shit and what you’ve just witnessed is the infinite cycle of circular shit giving.”
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“It’s possible for you to give a shit about something into perpetuity while also giving your reason for giving a shit as little more than a constant refrain of the lie that somehow, you must give a shit because you feel you are required to,” Brother Waldo explained. “But you aren’t.”
Wow. That changed my life. I AM NOT REQUIRED TO GIVE A SHIT!
Blah, blah, blah, long story short, I moved Brother Waldo into BQB HQ, named him my spiritual advisor, joined the Church of Not Giving a Shit, and gave the good brother a column on my fine blog sooooo….enjoy.
Just a slob like one of us, just a stranger on the bus, trying to make his way home?
I know it’s a Joan Osborne song from the 1990s but still, it’s a good daily discussion question, 3.5 readers. What if God was one of us? Do you think he’d be happy to be one of us or would he be sad?
Discuss. By the way, if one of you is God, you have to tell me…and if we could talk that would be awesome. I have questions.
Hey God. Godster. Godamundo. God-a-rama. The Godmeister, makin’ copies.
Your devoted servant, BQB here. I know you can hear me even if I don’t post my thoughts on a website that only has 3.5 readers.
Listen, I don’t mean to tell you how to do your business here. You don’t come to my work and slap the pizza out of my mouth, so I don’t go to your crib and tell you how to supervise the angels and so forth.
But check it. If you’ve got a suggestion box lying around, I’d like to pop one in there and you can take it or leave it.
You know old people get older, and older, and even older?
Right, and do you know how people start out in life looking like happy young people and by the end they all look like the Crypt Keeper?
Thought: What if, and follow me on this one, what if:
A) everyone gets a standard 100 years. No more worrying when you’re going to die, when it will happen, will it happen too early, will I leave my loved ones too soon? No more young people getting into freak accidents that cut their lives short. No more old people suffering through their last years in the hospital, having surgery after surgery with all sorts of machines hooked up to them.
100 years. That’s it. Everyone knows up front that 100 years after their birth date, whammo! That’s all she wrote.
B) What if, and again, hear me out, no one had to get physically old? Again, no diseases or health problems or gray hair or baldness or people ending up with hair growing out of their ears and hobbling around with hunchbacks while leaning on their canes?
How about everyone stops aging at, say, 25 and then we all keep looking like when did when were 25 until we’re 100 and then bam, we just drop.
And as a reminder, when we drop, that’s it, we drop. No agony. No pain. No extended hospital stays. Everyone just throws a big ass party on their last day and when their last second is up, they just switch off like a powered down robot someone just flipped the button to off on.
I know, human suffering makes us all the more stronger for whatever you have planned for us in the afterlife but if you think about it, you’ve already given us this great world and this great gift of life and the idea, the very idea that one day we’ll have to give this all up…doesn’t that hurt enough?
Is it really necessary for us to all end up looking like Abe Vigoda? Is it all really necessary for us to get cancer, or heart complications, or syphilis or the clap or have our heads knocked in by one of your less virtuous creations who is convinced he needs our money more than we do?
Just let us stay young for 100 years…then switch us off. No muss. No fuss.
Like I said, God, just a thought. It’s in the suggestion box. You like it? You run with it. Don’t like it. It’s your call, boss. It’s your call.
Keep being you, G-Man. Keep being you.
BQB, Your Ever So Pious Servant, Educating the 3.5 Heathens who Frequent this Fine Blog Sicne 2014.
If I’m understanding Buddhism correctly, and I probably am not, life and in particular, all of the material and greedy pursuits that we tend to seek are fleeting and impermanent, therefore they can never make us truly happy so we should either stop chasing them or if we do chase them we should not feel bad if we fail because had we succeeded we were eventually going to lose whatever it was that we were pursuing anyway.
The big house, the fancy car, the supermodel girlfriend with the giant fake boobs – these will all be lost sooner or later so rather than beat yourself up for not achieving them, focus on calmness of mind and spirit and meditate.
If your mind starts to dwell on mistakes you made in the past, mistakes you made that cause you to hate yourself because you feel they prevented you from getting the big house, the fancy car and the girlfriend with the big fake boobs, then close your eyes and mediate. Focus on your breathing, focus your mind on thinking about nothing, repeat a mantra and chant it over and over again, essentially distract your mind. You will only feel bad if you keep rehashing all of your failures in your mind. Focus instead on meditation.
It’s basically like those shirts – “Keep calm and…” Well, instead of “and drink beer” or whatever, it’s “Keep Calm and Meditate.”
Anyway, I’m sure there are better buddhists out there who could explain this better. I tend to research subjects related to novels I am working on at the moment so don’t mind me, I’ll be researching something else in the next five minutes.
Also, in theory, I feel like the girlfriend with the big fake boobs would be a calming influence but only if you could have access to the big fake boobs without the ensuing problems that go with them but let’s keep it real. She’d probably bring a lot of drama into your life, want all your money, leave you broke, cheat on you with the pool boy and so on.
Until they invent robot girlfriends with big fake boobs, meditation may be our only hope for staying calm.
What say you, 3.5 readers?
Hey 3.5 readers.
Are you a fan of Pulp Fiction?
Of course you are. If you aren’t, what’s wrong with you?
If you can’t remember the text of Ezekiel 25:17, that bible verse Jules (Samuel L. Jackson) uses before he shoots someone, here it is:
“The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the
inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men.
Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother’s keeper and the finder of lost
And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious
anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers.
And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee.”
There you go 3.5.
Oh, its the question we all hate to think about, isn’t it, 3.5 readers?
Honestly, I don’t know, though the idea that one day this all stops and that’s all she wrote is depressing.
The idea that we wake up and we are ourselves but somewhere else, hopefully somewhere nice, is a good thought.
I worry about it sometimes and all I can do really is push the thought away. It becomes paralyzing if dwelled on for too long.
I can see both sides. There has to be something more than what we know about life, the universe, human existence, than what we already know.
Scientists can explain the Big Bang Theory but where did all the rocks that banged into each other come from?
On the other side, life can be hard. A lot of tragedy. Suffering. It becomes difficult to not assume we are alone.
Moreover, its hard to go to a funeral and see someone who was once alive lying there all quiet and still and not think that that’s all there is to it.
Unfortunately, the only ones who know for sure are the dead and they aren’t talking – whether because they can’t because they’re in another world or because they just don’t exist anymore – I don’t know.
People fight too much over religion. Nobody really knows. We hope. I hope there’s life after death. This all seems like a big waste if there isn’t.
I know people will probably say, “It isn’t a waste if there isn’t” and I suppose that is true.
Still, as I get older, I look back on mistakes made, paths not taken, I realize there’s less and less time to accomplish what I wanted and that hope for an afterlife is more and more needed – the idea that maybe this life is to suffer through the learning process and then in the next life you be great knowing what you know after a lifetime of trial and error.
I’m just talking out of my butt.
I don’t know what happens after we die, but I hope its something more than becoming a leftover carcass.
Don’t let me get you down though. If you’re young, live life to the fullest so you don’t end up wondering about the “would have, could have, should haves.”
If you’re old, well, you’re still alive, so there’s still time to do some stuff you always wanted to do but haven’t yet.
Sorry to start your day on a depressing note, 3.5 readers.
What say you?
Jesus H. Christ! What a great movie!
Ha. Blasphemous wit.
BQB here with a review of the biblical epic Ben-Hur.
I suppose you could call this a remake of the classic Charlton Heston film of the same name from 1959.
Then again, what was that 1959 movie other than a re-telling of a tale as old as time?
Jack Huston, formerly of Boardwalk Empire, stars as Judah Ben-Hur, a wealthy Jewish prince falsely accused by his brother, Roman Army Officer Messala Severus (Tony Kebbell) of committing treason against Rome.
Blah blah blah…stuff happens, more stuff happens….Ben-Hur loses everything and the former brothers who once loved each other very much end up competing in a chariot race.
Boy howdy, 3.5 readers, let me tell you, chariot races were some gruesome shit.
Horses get bashed (I don’t think they really were, obviously, but you still hate to see that), drivers get trampled and maimed, but its what ancient Romans did for entertainment back in the day I guess. Without TV, Internet, or blogs catering to 3.5 readers, a bunch of sweaty assholes riding around and around a track colliding their chariots into each other was about as entertaining as it got.
Director Timur Bekmambetov does yeoman’s work in transporting the viewer to historic times. Everything’s more or less authentic as possible while still being understandable to the modern viewer.
Morgan Freeman rounds out the cast as Ilderim, the traveling gambler who sponsors chariot drivers, putting up his horses and chariots and making his money off wagers.
Ilderim ends up being the Mickey to Ben-Hur’s Rocky, sponsoring him in a race against Messala.
Jesus (Roderigo Santoro) makes a cameo. It was a bit surreal to see a movie where Jesus is part of the supporting cast rather than a main character, but it works.
I complain about Hollywood constantly on this blog so when the Tinsel Town suits do something good, I have to give them credit, and credit is due here.
This movie is a sweeping historical epic based on a biblical tale. A ton of cash was clearly doled out to make it. One can take a look at the big chariot race scene to see that.
Historical/biblical tales just aren’t being lapped up by today’s modern viewers, who can’t pull their dumb faces away from their cell phones for 3.5 minutes in order to learn something.
In fact, I’m sure there are a lot of people who see a movie like Ben-Hur and think, “Pass. I don’t want to learn anything.”
Ironically, there are a lot of messages about war, relations between countries and different groups of people, the need for peace or “to turn the other cheek” as cameo star Jesus taught us.
I enjoyed it. It deserves a big audience and recognition. I’m not sure today’s take a selfie every two seconds crowd will provide it, but here’s hoping they prove me wrong.
Will it draw in the big bucks? Probably not. But Hollywood sunk cash into an effort to preserve history and educate people about the past by funding a movie that doesn’t quite fit the mold of a box office smash, so I applaud the Hollywood suits for proving they aren’t all bad.
First, let me just say I’m a big fan of your work. Big fan. I mean, the Grand Canyon? Am I right or am I right?
Anyway, I don’t mean to tell you how to do your job. God knows, or rather, you know that you don’t start telling me how to run a blog with 3.5 readers or anything.
It just seems to me that with the shooting of Voice singer Christina Grimmie last Friday night, followed by the shooting of 50 people at the Pulse night club, that…
You probably could have done the city a solid and stopped that alligator from dragging that two year kid away and killing it at Disney World.
I get it. I get it. You’re a hands-off, laissez faire kind of guy.
You’re kicking back up there on a cloud, probably got a strawberry daiquiri because it’s not like you have to watch your weight or work out or anything.
You’re watching us all as if we’re one giant reality television show. I can only assume that heaven is one hip, swinging club and by our actions on Earth you judge who makes the cut and who has to stand behind the rope.
But seriously. Come on.
They say you never give people more than they can handle but, and again, I don’t mean to tell you your business here, all you needed to have done was smite that alligator and a lot of grief could have been spared for a lot of people.
Holy shit. Just imagine it. You and your family go to Disney World. You’re all bee-bopping along having a good time and “Fuck! An alligator ate my baby!”
By the way, the problem with the Internet is there are all kinds of theories without facts.
Some people blame the parents.
I have no idea what the situation was. In theory, yeah, if you let your kid run around and you’re oblivious and taking a nap or whatever then yeah you’ve doomed your child.
But if you’re just hanging out in he happiest place on earth on a nice sunny day and HOLY FUCK! AN ALLIGATOR JUST GRABBED MY KID! – Really, what are you supposed to do?
Who could ever see that coming?
Yeah. I don’t know what a parent can do. It is, pardon my French, but it is…a fucking alligator.
If I had a kid, I would surely attempt to wrestle that alligator but what am I going to do? It’s a giant descendant of the dinosaurs and has a mouth full of razor sharp teeth that closes like a steel trap.
What is a parent to do? Box the alligator? People need to chill out and not be so judgmental.
There’s nothing that can be done unless you’re Australian. All Australians are born with an innate ability to wrestle alligators. That’s just science.
And you can’t argue with science.
One or two of you 3.5 readers will think I’m making light of this terrible situation but I really am not.
I really, truly, sincerely feel terrible, both for this child lost too soon and for the child’s family who went through something no one should have to experience.
I am, in a polite manner, just inquiring why God couldn’t have intervened here and sent that alligator back into the water, thus sparing so much grief and sadness and pain for so many people.
If I’m making light of anything, it is the horrendous state of the world we live in, when people can’t go to a park dedicated to a cartoon mouse and a) not have to worry about alligators absconding with their children and b) not have to worry about getting shot because, yeah, if you missed it on the news, the terrorist did case Disney World previously.
Finally God, I know you like to stay on the sidelines and not get involved (God, er you know you haven’t intervened much on my behalf despite numerous and often pathetic teary eyed pleadings) we’re really going to need you to make an official ruling on something.
Could you take like 15 minutes out of your busy schedule and just go on one of these talking head cable news channel pundit shows – pick any one of them, any one of them at all, and just be a guest and announce once and for all that you don’t want people shooting, killing, stabbing or otherwise doing heinous shit in your name.
I feel like it could help out a lot.
But seriously dude. You really could have stopped that damn alligator.
Hey, what can I say though really? Could I do a better job at Godding? Probably not. Not unless I’ve walked a mile in your sandals. So no, I’m not going to be a pain in the ass and nag you about this all the time.
It’s just a learning lesson really. A teachable moment. You sense an alligator is about to eat a kid and you snap your Godly fingers and boom the alligator gets a bad case of diarrhea and makes a mad dash back in the water.
Thanks God. And, I’m totally not asking or anything but if you wanted to toss 20 or 30.5 extra readers my way, I would not complain at all.
Your humble servant, dedicated to singing your praises on a blog with 3.5 readers,