Fruitcake Ahoy

Homosexual rock stars! Groupies! SEX! SATAN! Oh boy:

Rocker Frank Zappa (who discovered the awful truth December 4, 1993 the second he died) proudly boasted: “I’m the devil’s advocate. We have our own worshippers who are called ‘groupies.’ Girls will give their bodies to musicians as you would give a sacrifice to a god.” (Peters Brothers, What About Christian Rock, p. 17)

14 thoughts on “Fruitcake Ahoy”

  1. …and what is so wrong about having groupies worship and sacreficed their nubile bodies to their chosen rock star gods? isn’t that why these horny geeks aspire to rock stardom? isn’t a little pussy in your youth worth an eternity in satan’s sauna?
    yer friend,
    ol’ Scratch
    “A friend of the Devil is a friend of mine…”

  2. Religion makes me fucking sick.

    “Bend up and smell my anal vapor
    My face will be your toilet paper”

  3. One of the various questions might be this one:

    What does the bright minded dr. Sharleena thinks about this?

  4. Fortunately, now : “This blog is set to private. This user must add you as a friend to see his/her blog.”
    Yeah, some things are best kept to private.
    Was this “for real” tho?
    It seemed to me it was one of those diatribes meant to instigate some kind of reaction.

    However a quick search allowed me to find this girl’s sources: check the ridiculously hilarious jesus-is-savior dot com for a big laugh…

  5. Religion? Do we need it to be good? Of course not, but it comes in handy politically. And it works best when laced out with a bit of bravado. In 1997, when Duke Cunningham’s suspicious enthusiasm for projects going to Brent Wilkes’s companies was noted by the press, the congressman stated, “I’m on the side of the angels here.” Anyone who questioned his intentions, said Duke, can “go to hell.”
    Boy, did they cheer him for that! Duke never hid his religiosity behind a barrel, and it served him well — until the evidence against him became overwhelming. Then he became very remorseful and cried.
    And while all have feet of clay, why does repentance only follow being caught? I’m sure Jimmy Swaggart impressed the true believers when he blubbered over his sin of hiring a hooker to come to his room, but only after it was reported by the media. If a god was going to get mad at him for doing it, wouldn’t he have been just as upset if he hadn’t had to wait and read about it in the paper?
    And this hypocrisy is bipartisan. Clinton was so remorseful after his transgressions that that he brought in three clergymen to control his run amok desires, but not until DNA testing of a soiled dress nailed him.
    The list goes on and on. I am hoping for a weeping plea for forgiveness for Tom DeLay’s sins. But wouldn’t it be nice if someone like him actually apologized for the cheap shots that aren’t prosecutable? In DeLay’s case I’d love to see him say he was sorry for his diatribe after the Columbine, Colorado massacre. He managed to tie in the teaching of evolution with the killings.

  6. Reality Asylum
    (Best Before)

    I am no feeble Christ, not me
    He hangs in glib delight upon his cross, upon his cross,
    Above my body, lowly me
    Christ forgive, forgive?
    Holy He, He holy, He holy?
    Shit He forgives, Forgive? Forgive?
    I? I? Me? I? I vomit for you Jesu
    Christy Christus
    Puke upon your papal throne
    Wrapped I am in the muddy cloud
    Of hellish genocide
    Petulant child
    I have suffered for you
    Where you have never known me
    I too must die
    Will you be shadowed in the arrogance of my death?
    Your valley truth
    What light pass those pious heights?
    What passing bells for these in their trucks?
    For you lord.
    You are the flag-bearer of these nations
    One against the other that die in the mud
    No piety. No deity
    Is that your forgiveness?
    Saint. Martyr. Goat. Billy.
    Forgive? Shit he forgives
    He hangs upon his cross
    In self-righteous judgment
    Hangs in crucified delight
    Nailed to the extend of His vision
    His cross. His manhood. His violence. Guilt. Sin.
    He would nail my body upon his cross
    As if I might have waited for him in the garden
    As if I might have perfumed His body
    Washed those bloody feet
    This woman that he seeks
    Suicide visionary. Death reveller. Rake. Rapist.
    Gravedigger. Earthmover. Lifefucker. Jesu.
    You scooped the pits of Auschwitz
    The soil of Treblinka is rich in your guilt
    The sorrow of your tradition
    Your stupid humility is the crown of thorn we all must wear.
    For you. Ha. Master. Master of gore. Enigma. Stigma. Stigmata. Errata. Eraser.
    The cross is the mast of our oppression.
    You fly there, vain flag.
    You carry it, wear it on your back, Lord. Your back.
    Enola is your gaiety.
    Suffer little children (to come unto me)
    Suffer in that horror. Hirohorror. Hirrohiro. Hiroshimmer. Shimmerhiro.
    Hiroshima. Hiroshima. Hiroshima. Hiroshima.
    The bodies are your delight
    The incandescent flame is the spirit of it
    They come to you Jesu. To you
    The nails are the only trinity
    Hold them in your corpsey gracelessness
    The image that I have had to suffer
    These nails at my temple
    The cross is the virgin body of womanhood
    That you defile
    In your guilt you turn your back
    Nailed to that body
    Lame-arse Jesus calls me sister
    There are no words for my contempt
    Every woman is a cross in filthy theology
    He turns His back on me in His fear
    His vain delight is that pain I bear
    Alone He hangs. His choice. His choice
    Alone. Alone. His voice. His voice
    He shares nothing, this Christ
    Sterile. Impotent. Fucklove prophet of death
    He’s the ultimate pornography
    He. He. Hear us Jesus
    You sigh alone in your cockfear
    You lie alone in your cuntfear.
    You cry alone in your womanfear.
    You die alone in you manfear.
    Alone Jesu, alone
    In your cockfear. Cuntfear. Womanfear. Manfear.
    Alone in your fear. Alone in your fear. Alone in your fear.
    Your fear. Your fear. Your fear. Your fear. Your fear. Your fear. Your fear.
    Warfare. Warfare. Warfare. Warfare. Warfare.
    Jesus died for his own sins. Not mine.

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