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“And now a few words from my dick…”

Today President Donald Trump leaves on his first official foreign trip since being fraudulently elected by an archaic system and with the help of Russian hacking. He’ll be visiting Vatican City, Saudi Arabia, and Israel and will be taking his teddy bear and night light since he doesn’t like not sleeping in his own bed. Trump is no doubt hoping for a respite from unending witch hunts at home, even though everyone including his enemies agree that he’s doing an amazing job and has all the best words, really.

What can we expect from the trip to the centres of Catholicism, Islam, and Judaism? Reports have surfaced of Trump’s wishlist for activities, although the feasibility of some has already been questioned. Here, from unnamed sources <cough, Comey! cough> is the President’s Holy Land(s) bucket list:

  • Take the Popemobile out for a spin in St. Peter’s Square; if possible, do some donuts
  • Land a helicopter on Masada, proving that the US Army is better than Rome’s
  • Kiss the Black Stone at the Kaaba, to get the “gift of the grab”
  • Solve the Arab-Israeli problem, if time allows also bring peace to entire Middle East
  • Pick up one of those Pope hats at the Vatican gift shop
  • Take that oil
  • Make a deal to build a hotel on Palestinian land, probably
  • Find out how Michelangelo painted all that stuff even though he’s just a turtle
  • Kiss Benjamin Netanyahu right on the lips
  • Have some protestors beat up, like that Erdogan guy did in Washington
  • Send postcards to Michael Flynn, a really great guy
  • Cause at least one international incident every day
  • Tweet out locations of Israel’s nuclear weapons
  • Make joke about how he hasn’t seen a sand trap this big since golfing at the beautiful Trump Mar-a-Lago course
  • Find out where the Vatican hides all its women; grab their pussies
  • Put ketchup on hummus

Mamma Mia Teresa!

Mamma Mia Teresa!

Aren’t you a little short to be a saint?

I think “Saint Teresa” is already taken.

Wanna be the patron saint of osteoporosis?

You’re not my mother!

Mother Teresa… if that is your real name.

Is there a Mister Mother Teresa?

Sure, she’s a saint, but would she be allowed on a French beach in that burkini?

Isn’t becoming a priest or a nun just a radical method of birth control?

Any relation to Sister Souljah?

It took me more than forty years to sing in public, but now I quite enjoy it, even if I still have anxiety because I know I don’t sing well. Still, it’s a long way from the time when I wouldn’t even sing in front of my family. My father was happy to sing but he embarrassed me, because he always sang with a huge smile on his face, while I rarely smiled at all. I can’t pinpoint the time when I changed from the happy child that can be seen in early photos to the miserable bastard that I am now. It was well before the typical age when changes like that happen, as a teenager. Was it the same age–eight or nine–as I stopped believing in Satan, and then God? But shouldn’t that have been a happy time, knowing I was free of the illusions that held most of the world down? Or did I then begin to mourn the realization that I was different, and therefore doomed to a life of loneliness? That was a tough understanding to come to at such an early age, especially since it’s turned out not to be a pessimistic lie, but eerily prescient: I have indeed spent the bulk of my life alone. Contrary to popular opinion, my greatest fear isn’t to die alone, but to live alone, since I have to face that reality every day, and I’ve always had the feeling that, while I may not be immortal (although, I might be, it remains to be seen), I’m going to live for an awfully, terribly long time. When Halley’s Comet was all the rage in 1986, and everyone was thrilling to its rare appearance, I determined that I’d wait until the next time it came back to view it, even though I’d begged for a telescope for Christmas, largely on the premise that I’d need it for this once-in-a-lifetime experience. Well, once-in-a-lifetime experience for most, but surely at least twice-in-a-lifetime for me.

Leap before looking.

Do unto others as my whims dictate.

Say “fuck” more often.

Give peas a chance.

Direct my feet to the punny side of the street.

Masturbate to images that I should be ashamed of masturbating to.

Cut once; fuck that “measure” shit.

Spank that ass.

Have false gods before thee.

—–

2016 is going to be a hell of a year!

Recently a co-worker of mine quietly said, “Is it bad that I don’t know who Judas is?”

Although I was initially taken aback, I quickly realized that she has no real reason to know the story of Judas: even if Muslims consider Christians and Jews “People of the Book,” they would have little occasion to actually read our holy texts. A lot of Christians, to say nothing of secular Westerners, haven’t read the Bible either. But most of us know the story of Jesus, and by extension Judas, anyway, because it’s become a part of the larger culture.

Relating the story to my colleague, I mentioned Jesus Christ Superstar, which is the source of much of my understanding, and thinking, about Judas–I didn’t have to read the Bible to know the story and, because my knowledge came from an arguably blasphemous source, my take on Judas is tinged with a radical, hippie-flavoured veneer. Whether Judas betrayed Jesus for silver or to fulfil his destiny is one of the great theological debates, and can be had whether you’re a believer or not.

I wonder which universally-relatable stories I’m missing out on because knowledge of the history of Islam and the Qu’ran is as lacking in Western societies as tales of the Last Supper and the 12th disciple are in young Somali-Canadians. Who is Muhammad Ali (not the boxer, but his namesake?), and what could I learn by studying his life?

The story I told her:

Judas and Jesus were best mates at school but Judas was always jealous because Jesus was better at sports and had an easy way with the birds. Still, they went into business together as freelance prophet and disciple. But Judas thought they’d switch off roles as they moved from city to city: being a disciple was hard work while being a prophet was where the real money was. When Jesus started making time with the lass Judas fancied, the disciple had had enough and sold his stake in Salvation, Inc. for 30 silver pieces, intending to set up shop in another town and help the poor there. But when Jesus got nicked by the bill for claiming divinity, Judas was blamed for betraying his old son and, knowing his propheting days were over, packed it in, offing himself in a right nasty way.

Hey, it’s not up to me to spread the so-called truth.

What if, instead of yelling our contempt at the people who consternate us, we quietly said, “Nevertheless, I love you”? What would the assholes think about that?

NGOs with attitude should be kicked straight outta the UN.

Don’t be angry with slaves: pity them, for they are but servants to the tyrant. Damn, that was a tough day at work.

Is there a Christian line of succession, e.g. God, Jesus, Holy Ghost, the Virgin Mary…? If God dies or is killed does Jesus take over, then the Holy Ghost, etc.? At what point does Barack Obama become acting God? What about Kanye?

Rejected Nas album titles: Jagged Little Ill, Triumph of the Ill.

Keep the home fires burning, but don’t burn my home fries!

New elements for the Periodic Table, 2015: idriselbium, bromancium, kardashium.

New dishes for my pun-themed restaurant: Baklava to the Future, Mongolian Custard Fuck, Mumford and Plums.

Despite well-intentioned efforts by people like Jimmy Carter, Habitat for Humanity is consistently outfunded by Habitat for Inhumanity, which has branches in nearly every country in the world.

After months of writing and editing and rewriting, my first book is finally done, and available to purchase online!

What I (Don't) Know About Every Country in the World

What I (Don’t) Know About Every Country in the World

“There are 193 countries on Earth and Robert James Bell knows something about all of them. This brilliant, maddening, and all-too-often stupid exploration of the world’s nations artfully combines history, geography, sociology, and prevarication to provide insight into our global neighbours that is essential for travelers or anyone who wants to be a better person. Yes, you.”

“This is a very foolish book, apparently written by an idiot.” —Simon Winchester

“I couldn’t decide whether to put it in geography or humour, so in the end I just didn’t order it.” —Chief Buyer, Globo Books

“It brings the entire field of human knowledge into disrepute.” —National Geographic

“When in doubt, assume it’s a dick joke.” –the Author

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