Read Every Day is an Atheist Holiday!: More Magical Tales from the Author of God, No! Online
Authors: Penn Jillette
Every Day is an Atheist Holiday!: More Magical Tales from the Author of God, No!
ALSO BY PENN JILLETTE
God, No! Signs You May Already Be an Atheist and Other Magical Tales
Sock
BY PENN JILLETTE AND MICKEY D. LYNN
How to Cheat Your Friends at Poker: The Wisdom of Dickie Richard
BY PENN JILLETTE AND TELLER
Penn & Teller’s How to Play in Traffic
Penn & Teller’s How to Play with Your Food
Cruel Tricks for Dear Friends
Published by the Penguin Group
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Copyright © 2012 by 10 IN 1
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Published simultaneously in Canada
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Jillette, Penn.
Every day is an atheist holiday! : more magical tales from the author of God, no! / Penn Jillette.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-1-101-60074-0
1. Religion—Humor. 2. Atheism—Humor. 3. American wit and humor. I. Title.
PN6231.R4J546 2012 2012035920
818'.607—dc23
While the author has made every effort to provide accurate telephone numbers, Internet addresses, and other contact information at the time of publication, neither the publisher nor the author assumes any responsibility for errors, or for changes that occur after publication. Further, the publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
DEDICATED TO
FEBRUARY 28, 1966
JUNE 3, 2005
MAY 22, 2006
CONTENTS
EVERY DAY IS AN ATHEIST HOLIDAY
SOMETIMES A SHEET IS NOT JUST A GHOST
HERE COME OUR “CELEBRITIES”—CUE THE FREEZING RAIN
NOVEMBER 9, 1909—EVERYTHING IN THE WORLD IS ENOUGH
I DEFY THE JAILS OF THE WORLD TO HOLD MY SON
AND SPEAKING OF . . . KEVIN POLLAK NEEDS TO PLAY HOUDINI IN A GREAT MOVIE
THANKSGIVING—IF YOU WON’T PUT YOUR DICK IN IT, I’M NOT GOING TO EAT IT
THE MAGICIAN STANDS LAZILY HALF NAKED BEFORE THE WORLD
A TELEPHONE CONVERSATION WITH GILBERT GOTTFRIED ON JANUARY 13, 2002
NEW YEAR’S DAY, GYMS, WHOREHOUSES, AND MOURNING WITH PROSTITUTES
MARTIN LUTHER KING JR. DAY—YOU CAN BE IN MY DREAM, IF I CAN BE IN YOURS (BOB DYLAN SAID THAT)
HAVE A NICE EASTER, YOU CHRISTIANS YOU
EASTER IS A HOLLOW WAXY CHOCOLATE RABBIT WHO SUFFERS IN AN UNSATISFYING WAY FOR YOUR SINS
GRADUATION DAY—NOTHING IS FUNNY BUT PENN JILLETTE
“VISSI D’ARTE” EVEN ON
THE CELEBRITY APPRENTICE
MY SON’S MORALITY DOES NOT COME FROM GOD
EVERY DAY IS AN ATHEIST HOLIDAY
Joy to the world, the Lord is come!
Let earth receive her King;
Let every heart prepare Him room,
And heav’n and nature sing,
And heav’n and nature sing,
And heav’n, and heav’n, and nature sing.
Joy to the earth, the Savior reigns!
Let men their songs employ;
While fields and floods, rocks, hills, and plains
Repeat the sounding joy,
Repeat the sounding joy,
Repeat, repeat, the sounding joy.
No more let sins and sorrows grow,
Nor thorns infest the ground;
He comes to make his Blessings flow
Far as the curse is found,
Far as the curse is found,
Far as, far as, the curse is found.
He rules the world with truth and grace,
And makes the nations prove
The glories of His righteousness,
And wonders of His love,
And wonders of His love,
And wonders, and wonders, of His love.
LYRICS BY ISAAC WATTS
THIS IS NOT A HALF-ASSED XMAS SONG.
It’s not at all secular Coca-Cola Christmas. This is authentic Christmas jive. The music was either adapted from a song by Handel or ripped off from part of his
Messiah
. The melody descends right down the major scale on its way to hell, but lands firmly on the saved tonic. When the Sex Pistols’s music descended directly down the scale, the lyrics were “No future,” and those clever boys go back up and start down again a few times until they land on the tonic with “for you.” I’m not going to get too programmatic with “Joy to the World.” It is a descending scale, but it’s major and confident and root landing makes it safe and jubilant. The music is consonant with joy in the world.
But it’s not about joy
in
the world. It’s about joy
to
the world, and there is a world of difference there. I’ve read the Bible and I’ve listened carefully to all of the popular Christmas carols. I enjoy listening to lyrics. I’ve listened to the “Theme from
Shaft
” a lot and it’s an almost perfect song. It’s recorded with a full orchestra including two wah-wah guitars. Yes, two wah-wahs. You know that the brown-chicken-brown-chicken-brown-chicken part is wah-wah, but the other guitar is wah-wah too. If Beethoven were writing today, he wouldn’t consider an ensemble without two wah-wah guitars to be a proper orchestra.
Isaac Hayes puts that quadruple wah orchestra to use to get the perfect classy, funky, sexy sound. He gives us a few measures of hi-hat for nothing, and the vocal doesn’t even start until we’re knocking on two minutes. The lyrics start out just right with rhetorical questions that are still answered with “Shaft.” It’s lush and inspiring and then . . . it turns into an Italian air show as the wings come off with one sloppy line. “He’s a complicated man, but no one understands him but his woman.” What? “He’s a complicated man BUT no one understands him but his woman?” Why is the first “but” in that line? How the fuck does that conjunction introduce something contrasting or contrary to what has already been stated? Huh? Are we to believe that complicated men are usually understood by most everyone other than their women? The word should not be “but.” “He’s a complicated man, AND no one understands him but his woman” is not very good either. The only being understood by his woman doesn’t really add information. I guess you could try “He’s a complicated man THEREFORE no one understand him but his woman,” or “He’s a complicated man ERGO no one understands him but his woman,” but those seem a little precious and double the syllables. “Consequently” is way too long—you don’t want a four-syllable word in pop music unless you’ve got the triple single syllable double negative of “can’t get no” to take the curse off your “satisfaction.” “Consequently” is also not exactly the right word. His complication doesn’t directly cause the lack of understanding; they’re really one and the same. It’s just restating the idea to me, which is what’s so wrong with the “but.” “Thus,” “hence” or even “so” would make sense if Isaac needed one syllable there, but I don’t feel the need. I would use nothing. “He’s a complicated man. No one understands him but his woman.” That’s fine, one but, one woman, no woman no cry—very Bob Marley. Do a full stop after “complicated man” and it will strengthen the idea; just let it hang there. Then right into “No one understands him but his woman.” Great.
Just when I’m confused by why a complicated man would normally be understood by people other than his woman, Mr. Hayes throws me another curve. I would have let this one slide by if the sandpaper of his “but” hadn’t sensitized my song safecracking fingertips. For most of the song, the excellent backup singers (one of them Telma Hopkins from Tony Orlando and Dawn—and Tony isn’t a private dick who is a sex machine to all the chicks and that’s damn right) answer Isaac with “Shaft” and then one “shut your mouth” after Isaac almost says “motherfucker.” Hayes explains that he was just talking about Shaft and they affirm that they can dig it, and I’m sure they can, even post–Dawn Telma.
The only other time they depart from just singing the surname “Shaft” is after my hated line with that confusing “but.” Right after that line, they add his given name before his surname and sing, “John Shaft” (no one mentions Shaft’s middle name, which I’ve heard is “Troy”). This means the full line with background becomes, “He’s a complicated man, but no one understands him but his woman, John Shaft.” Once you hear the chorus response of “John Shaft” as an appositive to “his woman,” it’s hard to ever disconnect it again. It certainly makes sense that a complicated African-American man could have a woman named John. Maybe transgendered, or a butch nickname, or named by the Man as some sort of weird racial commentary. What do I know? To me it would be a fine place for them to sing “Mrs. Shaft,” or if that’s not what the people want, maybe “Ms. Shaft,” although if you’re fighting the Man, you might not want to adopt your husband’s name at all. That’s a different generation’s battle and that brings us to my buddy Richie Rich’s suggestion that the line be “He’s a complicated man—no one understands him but his mother, Mrs. Shaft.” The meter fits and it makes sense on every front. If he really is that complicated, it seems like even his woman, John Shaft, might have trouble understanding him, but his mom, Mrs. Shaft, would certainly understand her sex machine son.
I’ve carried on publicly about Shaft almost as much as I’ve carried on about “Frosty the Snowman.” When the remake or reimagining or re-cashing-in of
Shaft
came out with the groovy leather coat, I was very excited that Isaac Hayes was redoing the song. I figured that Isaac was going to address my little quibbles and finally perfect the song. I attended the opening night and listened carefully, and there it was: “He’s a complicated man,
BUT
no one understands him but his woman, John Shaft.” What the f—?
Watch your mouth?
I’m just talking about word usage!
I don’t remember anything else from the movie. Right before Isaac died, someone called my radio show and said that Isaac had done a version on some situation comedy where he sang it my way. They played it over the phone, but I can’t find it. I don’t know how high on Isaac’s bucket list pleasing me with his lyrics was, so maybe it was a prank.
Now for “Joy to the World” with a very complicated savior who’s an anti-sex machine to all the Catholic chicks: this is a Christmas song that every American Christian I’ve ever heard about is fine with. They can dig it. Right on! They’re protective of this song. When Charlie Sheen sang a parody of it on
Two and a Half Men,
“Joy to the world, I’m getting laid,” there was a big hoopla from a couple people calling themselves “leagues” and “associations” but who were really writing with crayons, bitter and alone in their garages. They complained that this was a song about the birth of Jesus, and it was being parodied as a “Joy to Fornication.” Well, at least there is some joy in fornication; there sure ain’t none in “Joy to the World.”
The lyrics are not about the birth of Jesus. This is not “Away in the Manger” or (as children always sing it) “We Three Kings of Orientare.” This is not about the birth of Jesus. This is about “Jesus 2, the Return—Electric Boogaloo.” It was written by Isaac Watts (See? The same first name as the composer of “Theme from
Shaft
,” and you thought it was a random digression—fuck you), and is based on the 98th Psalm, and is all about Jesus’ triumphant return to Earth at the end of times. The big Christian “Told ya so!” So, where is the joy? There really isn’t any joy now, here on Earth, not in this world, is there? Not in this song.
No more let sins and sorrows grow,
Nor thorns infest the ground
If you think I love discussing the lyrics of “Theme from
Shaft
,” that’s nothing compared with how excited I am to segue into the saying “The exception proves the rule.” Oh man, feel how hard I am! I know you’re reading a book, so we’re time traveling, but if you ever bump into me after a show or on the street or something, you just ask me to talk about “The exception proves the rule,” and then reach down, grab my crotch, and feel how hard I am. I get as hard about “The exception proves the rule” as I get limp with the misuse of “begs the question” or Phil Collins.
I hope no one reading this book thinks that “The exception proves the rule” means that if you have an exception, it means the rule is true. That’s just bugnutty. I had it explained to me as “The exception
tests
the rule.” Also not true. The exception does not
test
the rule—it disproves the rule. In its proper use, “The exception proves the rule” is a legal concept, and it’s important. If you were to say to me, “No, you can’t fuck me in the ass on Saturdays,” that implies there’s a rule that says I can fuck you in the ass on some other day or days. The example usually given is parking signs. If a parking sign says you can’t fuck it in the ass on alternate sides of the street from three to four p.m. on weekdays, it means you can fuck it in the ass all other times. You wouldn’t need an exception if there weren’t a rule. If you sign a lease that says you’re not allowed to have any loud parties on weeknights, that means you can have loud parties on weekends. It doesn’t matter—you’ll be out in the parking space with that slutty parking sign most nights anyway.
Every good thing in “Joy to the World” is an exception that proves the rule. The joy itself is after the lord is come. Before the lord is come, no joy. Before the lord is come, before the end times, it’s all thorns and sorrow. Even when the lord comes, he makes the nations prove his righteousness and what’s that going to entail? If the rest of the Bible is any indication, and Jesus never negated anything in the Old Testament, it probably means genocide.
“Joy to the World” is one big exception to the rule of pain and suffering on Earth before our lord and savior comes back. The thing about religious holidays is that they aren’t about how good and happy life is. Far from it. Religious holidays are about how bad life was, or how good the way distant future or even the afterlife is going to be. The “Joy to the World” is going to come at the end times. Jesus was born in a manger, and his heavenly father forced his horrible tortured death so that anyone who believed in him would experience joy either after they died or right when everyone else was going to die and suffer. It’s not joy
in
the world, it’s joy
to
the world, and that joy gets here in the future. Way in the future . . . like never is way in the future.
They say this cat, Jesus, is a bad mother . . .
Shut your mouth.
But I’m just talking about Jesus. In his booklet, there’s little joy in this life. The Prince of Peace is not a barrel of laughs. I’ve read the New Testament; there isn’t much stop and smell the roses. There isn’t much playing with those groovy little Cars toys on the iPad with your son. There isn’t much joy in this life at all. There’s lots of “forsake your family and come with me.” There’s a lot about getting your reward in the afterlife.
You don’t have to go to the Bible for this POV; just stay with the Christmas carols that flood the ears of Christians, Jews, Muslims, Scientologists, and atheists alike for about a quarter of the year—where is the fucking joy in this life? “O Little Town of Bethlehem” is all “in this world of sin” up in your face. “Silent Night” is full of quaking shepherds reminded that heaven is far away and it’s just the dawn of redeeming grace. “Away in a Manger” gives us “Bless all the dear children in Thy tender care and take us to heaven and live with Thee there.” You’ve got to go way back to Lou Reed and the Velvet Underground’s “Sweet Jane” to get more dismal than that, but in Lou’s case it’s some evil mothers (Shut your mouth!) who are saying “Life is just to die.” Even the rock-and-roll animal on heroin is tame compared with that buzzkill lord Jesus Christ. “O Holy Night” sings of the thrill of hope, but no joy right now. “O, Come All Ye Faithful” just commands that we fall on our knees and adore him, not that he’s going to do jackshit for us. I’m not cherry-picking, or in this case, pit-picking; they’re all like this. “The First Noel” talks about how hard the wise men worked to find him and then fell to their knees. “The Dreidel Song” is about playing with a top—it’s seasonal—but it’s not a religious song. Gaiety is not the backbone of Jewish holidays.