Evil Origins: A Horror & Dark Fantasy Collection

by J. Thorn

  Confused? You should be. You have been led to believe that God preordained the United States of America as his prized jewel of human civilization. The biblical tenets run through our nation’s origins. The idea that the Christian conservatives would protest the removal of the Ten Commandments from federal buildings is proof that we have been duped by those rewriting our own history. The Founding Fathers would be rolling over in their graves if we erected nativity sets at federal sites, not if we removed them.

  In June of 2009, the American Civil Liberties Union won a decisive battle against the county commissioners in Haskell County, Oklahoma. The group sought to promote their personal religious beliefs by erecting a Ten Commandments monument on the front lawn of the county’s courthouse. From the ACLU press release:

  This decision is a victory for the cherished American value of religious freedom,’ said Daniel Mach, Director of Litigation for the ACLU Program on Freedom of Religion and Belief. ‘The government should not be in the business of promoting religious viewpoints. In our country, people should be free to express their faith—or to exercise their right to hold no belief at all—without government interference or favoritism.’

  Not only is the connection between Christianity and the founding of the United States nonexistent, it’s unconstitutional as well.

  I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.

  Sound right? Do you think the Founding Fathers would have put “under God” in there? That part was added by congress in 1954 after the Knights of Columbus, the world’s largest Catholic fraternity, began inserting the phrase as early as 1951. See how easy it is to change the past?

  ***

  The Constitution of the United States does not mention God. Not once. It is a completely secular document that abhorrently rejects any supposed connection to religion. In the Treaty with Tripoli drafted during Washington’s presidency and ratified under John Adams, it states, “The government of the United States is not in any sense founded on the Christian religion.” The Founding Fathers were deists, not Christians. According to Wikipedia:

  Deism is a religious and philosophical belief that a supreme being created the universe, and that this (and religious truth in general) can be determined using reason and observation of the natural world alone, without the need for either faith or organized religion. Deists tend to, but do not necessarily, reject the notion that God intervenes in human affairs, for example through miracles and revelations. These views contrast with the dependence on revelations, miracles, and faith found in many Jewish, Christian, Islamic and other theistic teachings.

  Deists typically reject most supernatural events (prophecy, miracles) and tend to assert that God (or ‘The Supreme Architect’) has a plan for the universe that is not altered either by God intervening in the affairs of human life or by suspending the natural laws of the universe. What organized religions see as divine revelation and holy books, most deists see as interpretations made by other humans, rather than as authoritative sources.

  Our Founding Fathers believed in a supreme being that created the universe and has a plan for it, but that plan cannot be changed by his (her?) intervention or the acts of humans.

  ***

  Chuck refused to stand. He remained silent during the song until his protest graduated to the next level.

  Chuck was a kid of mixed racial ethnicity which probably set him up as different from the beginning. His father, a white musician, traveled the country performing, rarely showing up for school events. Chuck’s mom was black and drifted in and out of his life like a good beer buzz. He wore his black hair in a mohawk and never went anywhere without his green army jacket. Chuck maintained a strictly vegan diet, which was quite a feat for a kid in sixth grade. He often sipped his soy milk while munching raw vegetables while other kids in the dining hall tore through pizza and hamburgers. In addition, Chuck proclaimed himself an ardent atheist. He was as gentle as a summer breeze and rarely spoke an unkind word about anyone. However, his lack of belief in God, specifically a Judeo-Christian God, made it difficult for others to relate to him.

  Most of the kids tolerated Chuck, but they did not go out of their way to befriend him, either. Some were plain scared of him without knowing why. Two other kids from the Land of Misfit Toys hung out with Chuck; one remained at the school while the other was expelled after flashing a knife on the school bus. Chuck loved Jimi Hendrix and played an electric guitar solo for the middle school talent show. It was terrible, but Chuck did not care. He existed within his own reality.

  Seventh grade became difficult for him as the pressure to conform grew. The two lead teachers in that grade espoused classic institutional perspectives, conditioning kids to respect authority and tradition, both of which meant nothing to Chuck. His silent protest began innocently and then blossomed into a school-wide dilemma. Chuck refused to sing the National Anthem at the beginning of our assembly. Although our school did not require an American flag in every classroom or the recital of the Pledge of Allegiance, it did hold on to a few artifacts of patriotism. At first, the teachers had no idea how to deal with Chuck. A few dismissed him as a troublemaker out to get laughs, but his convictions went much deeper than that. He felt no allegiance to the United States, did not feel as though he owed anyone a song. Therefore he chose not to sing it. Meetings were held to find a way to “make” Chuck sing the National Anthem. The result was his new refusal to even stand during it.

  I remember having a talk with Chuck about it. Being the hyper-individualist (the weird guy) on the faculty, the administration thought I could talk some sense into him. Chuck told me that he was not trying to disrespect his teachers or his school but that he felt no pride towards a nation that treated his ancestors as they had. He said he did not want to get in trouble but that he would not sing or stand for the National Anthem. I tried appealing to him, tried getting him to do it until I realized I was applying the same pressure to Chuck as the others had done. I wanted him to conform.

  Chuck left the school after seventh grade and took the controversy with him. No other students challenged the system in the same way, and that is very unfortunate. Chuck has graduated from high school and no longer sports the mohawk. He does still wear the army green. On a chance meeting, we spoke for only a few minutes, but somehow I felt defeat in his voice after years of conformity were pounded into his head with a sledgehammer of religious dogma and nationalistic fervor.

  ***

  In 2008, comedian Bill Maher released Religulous. His irreverent humor and pointed interview tactics pulled the hood back on organized religion to reveal all of its inner workings. His reasoning behind the documentary is posted on the film’s website.

  Since starting on Politically Incorrect in 1993, it has been my pleasure over the last decade and a half to make organized religion one of my favorite targets. I often explained to people, ‘I don’t need to make fun of religion, it makes fun of itself.’ And, then I go ahead and make fun of it too, just for laughs.

  With religious fanatics like George Bush and Osama bin Laden now taking over the world, it seemed to me in recent years that this issue—this cause of debunking the man behind the curtain—needed to have a larger, more insistent and focused forum than late night television. I wanted to make a documentary, and I wanted it to be funny. In fact, since there is nothing more ridiculous than the ancient mythological stories that live on as today’s religions, this movie would try to be a real knee slapper. Unless, of course, you’re religious, then you might not like it.

  The shadow of religion falls on all educational institutions, both public and private. While not overtly present, it ruminates under the surface like a weed ready to burst through the soil. Prayer in public schools is still an issue. Many athletic teams use it in a pre-game ceremony. The most chronically unconstitutional abuse of separation of church and state can be seen in the “evolution vs. creationi
sm” debate.

  Dictionary.com defines “religion” as follows:

  1. a set of beliefs concerning the cause, nature, and purpose of the universe, esp. when considered as the creation of a superhuman agency or agencies, usually involving devotional and ritual observances, and often containing a moral code governing the conduct of human affairs.

  2. a specific fundamental set of beliefs and practices generally agreed upon by a number of persons or sects: the Christian religion; the Buddhist religion.

  3. the body of persons adhering to a particular set of beliefs and practices: a world council of religions.

  4. the life or state of a monk, nun, etc.: to enter religion.

  5. the practice of religious beliefs; ritual observance of faith.

  Assuming this definition is accurate, can evolution be a religion? If not, how does one argue that creationism or intelligent design should be taught as alternatives when they clearly require faith and ritual as a component of belief?

  The inclusion of faith-based theories of creation clearly breaches the separation of church and state as well as the First Amendment’s proclamation of religious tolerance. Claiming evolution as a religious theory is like saying rainbows prove the existence of leprechauns (magically delicious). The courts have repeatedly struck down efforts to incorporate religious theories in public education.

  In Peloza v. Capistrano Unified School District (1994), the court made it clear that evolution is not a creation theory and does not claim to explain the origins of the universe.

  We reject this claim because neither the Supreme Court, nor this circuit, has ever held that evolutionism or secular humanism are ‘religions’ for Establishment Clause purposes. Indeed, both the dictionary definition of religion and the clear weight of the case law are to the contrary. The Supreme Court has held unequivocally that while the belief in a divine creator of the universe is a religious belief, the scientific theory that higher forms of life evolved from lower forms is not.

  The American Civil Liberties Union fights this front on a daily basis. In June of 2009, they helped to block the Louisiana Science Education Act, which would have allowed teachers to “use supplemental instructional materials not approved by the State purportedly to help students foster critical thinking skills regarding various ‘controversial’ subjects, such as evolution and global warming.”

  ACLU of Louisiana Executive Director Marjorie R. Esman explained: ‘For the Science Education Act to remain in keeping with the law, it must not allow religion into the public school classrooms. BESE has a duty to ensure that Louisiana students receive public educations free of religious doctrine.’

  ***

  The First Amendment to the United States Constitution states the following:

  Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

  One nation under God, in whom we trust, founded on Christian beliefs, for the sake of God and country.

  God bless America.

  Are You Serious?

  I looked at the video camera and then at Bill. I could see the twinkle of mischief in his eye as we both smiled.

  “Go for it,” he said with a slight nod of his head.

  I am not sure how he knew of my intentions, but he did. Call it manstinct (not to be confused with manstink), if you will. I felt the plastic casing in my hand as my other slid the lens cover back. With no more than two or three minutes to pull it off, I closed my eyes and asked for divine inspiration.

  It came.

  The kitchen happened to be serving French fries on this day, the kind formed into smiling happy faces. I looked down and saw them piled on the side of my plate. The ketchup bottle sat to my left within a hair of my fingers. With my right thumb, I turned the camera on and looked at my lunch through the LCD viewfinder. With my left hand, I doused the happy-faced fries with ketchup, all the while wailing, “Oh God, no! Oh, the humanity!” (I later learned that potatoes do not in fact resemble anything human, unless they are shaped into smiling faces, in which case they do.) I picked up the butter knife and proceeded to slice and stab the ketchup-bloodied fries with cries that would make Wes Craven proud. Before hitting “stop” on the camera, I sniffled into the embedded microphone.

  Julie returned to the table with her salad and, other than her camera pointed in a slightly different direction, was none the wiser to my Spielberg moment. Bill and I snickered through the entire lunch, giving Julie the impression that she was witty and humorous (not and not).

  “How long until she sees it?” he asked after Julie went on her way.

  “Today or tomorrow, at the latest.”

  Julie was creating a video project to show to the entire student body that had something to do with what makes the school special. She planned to get footage, edit it, and then present it as a warm-fuzzy moment when everyone could feel good about themselves. Little did I know how my cinematic inspiration would derail the endeavor.

  ***

  For a stretch of seven years in the mid-1990s, I was part of a faculty at a small, independent school in northern New Jersey. The school sits on the NJ Transit line that runs from Sussex County to Manhattan, and the communities on the line serve some of the wealthiest suburbs of the New York rich that would rather not live in one of the Five Boroughs. Because of its location and history, the school developed a reputation as being one of the most challenging and academically rigorous programs on the East Coast. While aspiring to a few progressive ideas, such as a laptop program, the school played the traditional role very well. Women wore dress slacks or skirts, while the male teachers wore a coat and tie every day. Unless you were hired with facial hair, this would be frowned upon (a faux pas for men, too). Within the high-pressure, fast-paced environment of academic achievement huddled a core group of teachers known as the GOB, or the “Good Ol’ Boys.” They used this term with affection, not derision. The group consisted of several members who had been at the school for twenty years or more, and it took me about two years before becoming accepted into the club. While being sexist and slightly perverted, the GOB excluded people without a sense of humor (almost all women, shocker). They played basketball together on Thursday nights and then went out to the bar to talk about sports, music and, most importantly, which woman on the faculty had the nicest ass.

  The buttoned-up environment and the smothering population density of northern New Jersey created a pocket of guydom where the GOB could unwind, relax, and prank the hell out of each other. Without this outlet, I am positive they would have all ended up in prison or, worse yet, in a cubicle.

  During a Christmas party held at the headmaster’s house, the GOB got stinking drunk. At some point in the recent past, the school had installed an elevator in the home. One can only imagine that the Board of Trustees had plans to cripple the guy (see “Tonya Harding” on Wikipedia), or that a handicapped person lived there prior to its purchase. Five of us climbed into the elevator on the living room floor and took it downstairs. We did not get out. One of us pushed the button, and the elevator went back up. After seven beers, this was really funny. The headmaster was not too crazy about the fact that we stepped all over the wrapped Christmas presents he had stored in the elevator. That’s what you get when you combine an open bar, the GOB, and a mechanized lift.

  On another occasion, the business manager took a glue gun into the faculty room. He proceeded to melt a hole in the top of the water cooler and drop two goldfish inside. Several of the women in the lower school found this appalling, and slightly fishy. The GOB nicknamed this group of moody, bitchy women the “CC.” The second C stands for “club.”

  The best pranks were ones that targeted another member of the GOB. Getting an unsuspecting member of the faculty is a blast, but nailing one of the GOB gave you bragging rights for months.

  On one fin
e autumn morning, I tucked a can of fart spray in my bag and arrived to school at seven in the morning, well ahead of the maintenance staff and other teachers. I snuck down to my friend’s room, another member of the GOB and the seventh-grade math teacher. Not remembering the potency of fart spray from childhood, I gunned several dozen spritzes around his room before running back to my end of the building. If Febreze worked this way, it only seemed logical that fart spray did too. What I did not realize, but Charlie does to this day, is that fart spray is heavily concentrated, like skunk pee drank by a skunk and then re-peed. It’s really, really smelly. Within fifteen minutes, the maintenance staff was checking the basement for a gas leak, and the head of the middle school began an exhaustive search to find the culprit. I think seventh grader Gary Frakin took the rap for it, and for this, I am truly sorry (not sorry at all). For days afterward, that level of the building reeked beyond imagining, and Charlie swore he would get me back. I have had my head on a swivel ever since.

  The most heinous, despicable, and unprofessional activity of the GOB came with the birth of the Sick Pool. The SP, (later changed, under exhaustive debate, to the SAPP, standing for Sick and Personal-day Pool), as it would later be named, was the brainchild of Dan and yours truly. During a drive to school from the local YMCA, where we worked out in the morning, we listened to Howard Stern (mid 1990s, when he was relevant and funny). Stern’s crew engaged in a Death Pool where they had a list of celebrities “on their roster.” Each participant kicked in a certain number of dollars to the pot on a weekly basis. If one of the members on their list died, they won the pot, and it would start over. Morbid, sick, and very funny.