|"If you like your Christmas presents, you can keep them!"|
Wednesday, December 25, 2013
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|JamesTripp, Dylan Brody and Matt Kirshen join hosts Emery Emery and Heather Henderson to discuss, among other things, The Hierophant.|
Monday, November 25, 2013
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Thursday, October 10, 2013
I started following the N.S.A. on Twitter. Now they’re following me! I’m glad the N.S.A. is spying on everyone…just in case I lose my car keys, maybe they’ll know where to find them. If it wasn't for the N.S.A., no one would be reading my blog.
Privacy is for the guilty. It’s for the instigators. If you’ve got nothing to hide, you won’t mind the government feeling up your girlfriend. And your girlfriend won’t mind the government feeling her up. By the way, has anybody checked your balls lately?
This is America. Love it---and when you do, use a rubber, because it has a disease. If America were to be psychoanalyzed, I think you’d find it has a military industrial complex, caused by too much love for the mother, and a hatred for the father.
I don’t need privacy. I need a hi-def camera for the next time I jerk off! Privacy is for privates. You want to be an enlisted man?
I love the N.S.A. I just think they ought to pay my internet bill.
Privacy is for the old. I’m young. Young people don’t care about privacy. Young people are sexting each other pictures of their private parts! A lot of parts aren’t even private anymore! Some parts get favorited. Some parts get retweeted. Some parts get their own web series.
Nobody wants privacy. They want followers! Everybody has a website. Everybody’s on twitter and facebook and linked in and vine and instagram and pinterest and YouTube and up my ass! You don’t need the N.S.A. to take away your privacy. You’re taking it away yourself! I’m being poked by grown men on facebook, and I’m not too sure what that means, but I don’t like it.
I’m leaving an internet trail that Hansel and Gretel could follow home, especially if they did a search on Google. Every time I look at a website, Google has an ad for it on the next website. They know where I’ve been. I can’t wait until they know where I’m going, because I don’t.
Privacy is for the weak. I got nothing to hide, and I hope nobody finds out!
I’m just glad this is being recorded right now. It saves the government the trouble.
You’re better off without privacy. There’s less bullshit. Most people spend their lives trying to cover up all the fucked up things about themselves. They’ll be a lot better off when there’s nothing covered that hasn’t been uncovered by a government agency!
I’m James Tripp, and that’s what you can do with your privacy!
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Friday, September 13, 2013
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Now that the Pope has been paroled, I am ready to hear his confession, especially if his sin involves his red Prada shoes. I bet Jesus would have looked great in red Prada shoes---“What the well dressed messiahs are wearing…”
It makes you wonder what the crucifix would have looked like if Gucci had designed that little loin cloth that they always depict Jesus wearing.
Anyway, the fun part about hearing a confession is assigning penance, and I don’t think Emeritus is going to like his.
The first time I went to confession, I was about six years old. You’re not supposed to have your first confession until you’re seven years old, but I was visiting an aunt who figured, “If I’m going to confession, you’re going too.” She must have spotted the darkness in my soul.
So I went into the confession booth, and I didn’t know the routine, and the priest yelled at me because I told him I hadn’t committed any sins. “You didn’t commit any sins?” He said I was wasting his time. “Don’t come back until you’ve sinned!”
If I’d known I was going to confession, I would have prepared better. Maybe I could have stolen some candy or told one of my teachers to fuck off. Maybe I should have told the priest to fuck off so I’d have a good sin to confess for my “official” first confession.
Anyway, he gave me a penance, even though I hadn’t done anything. “Say four Hail Marys and two Our Fathers.” Yea, I’ll rattle those right off, Padre.
When I was a kid, the sin I usually came up with when I went to confession was that I was disobedient to my parents. Not really a sin in my book, but it kept the priest happy. They loved this one. It was one of the Commandments.
The Ten Commandments came in handy if you couldn’t think of anything to say in confession. “Yea, this week I was coveting my neighbor’s wife and his daughter.” That second part always confused the priest, because technically, it really wasn’t part of the Commandment. But I think it’s implied. Because I think the Commandments assume you’re married and you shouldn’t be looking at anybody---unless your wife is a hundred years old and you want a kid; then you can have sex with your maid.
You have to read the Ten Commandments in context. “Obey thy father and mother.” Who wrote that? A father. Nice try.
Moses was like the David Letterman of his day: “From the home office on Mount Sinai, I am now holding in my hand the top ten list of things though shalt not do. Ladies and gentlemen, these are things though shall not do.”
What is a sin? Somebody else’s idea of what you shouldn’t do? Is it just a way to try to implement institutional control? Like comedy, sin is subjective, especially if you’re the Pope. “Well, it’s not a sin if I do it.” This is why I’d make a good Pope. Sin involves judgment, and isn’t that a sin? Stupid Pope. Stupid Catholic Church.
Now that the Pope is no longer Pope, that means he’s no longer infallible, which leaves only me. Don’t forget to vote for James Tripp for Pope. And hey, if I win---Pope Party!
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