Cussing

Cussing: (n) the act of using profanity in speech

Since I am not God and certainly not even piously positioned, I do have sins I think are worse than others.

When I was a kid, I was told that cussing was just as bad to God as killing.

Even as a young person, this pissed me off. How could words flung into the air be anywhere as volatile as bullets taking a similar path?

I didn’t buy it.

I don’t buy into it today.

If God is just, God knows there’s a difference between “get your shit together” and “get over there in the corner where I can shoot you.”

I think it’s religion at its very worst when people start pecking at other human beings for language just because they’re chicken to live their own lives at full throttle.

So I will tell you the top five sins in my mind, counting down from #5:

5. Stealing

4. Self-righteousness

3. Selfishness

2. Lying

1. Killing

Cussing doesn’t even crack my top five.

Why?

Because as human beings, there are times we need to release our frustration—so we don’t steal, get self-righteous, become selfish, lie and kill someone.

Cussing is a better choice.

 

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Convey

Convey: (v) to communicate; impart; make known

I believe in God but sometimes I wish I didn’t.

God has some of the shittiest front people you’ll ever meet. They are unkind, self-involved, pious, ignorant of history and single-minded in a way that makes them appear to be brainless.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

The truth of the matter is, if you lock a child up in the basement, he or she will begin to believe the whole world is a basement.

There will be no attempt on the child’s part to expand his or her vision to conjure a world of pleasantries and peace. The church has imprisoned its members in the catacombs of ignorance. So…

How can I convey the love of God without being associated with the hatefulness of God?

How can I convey the mercy of God without coming across as an airhead who doesn’t really care that there are standards in life?

How can I convey that Jesus has been abducted by religion and is being held hostage for your tithe?

Sometimes I want to throw my hands up in the air—and not as symbol of praise, but rather, desperation.


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Consternation

Consternation: (n) feelings of anxiety or dismay

I agreed to go shopping with a friend. I don’t do that very often–not because I am anti-social or unwilling to get out of my house and peruse the neighborhood.

To me, shopping is a personal thing, with a personal approach.

I like to organize before I go, flow into the shopping center, pick my things up, take advantage of any sales, acquiring a surprise or two, andfunny wisdom on words that begin with a C get back home with the sense of accomplishment.

I don’t hurry but I also don’t linger.

So my decision to go shopping with this other person was carefully made, and decided in order to promote some good fellowship.

We arrived at the shopping mall and it was crowded.

My friend had to circle several times to find a parking space, and then a guy with a little car pulled in front of him and took it.

Honestly, my friend was already a little dismayed over having to search for a parking anyway, but the action of the little car turned it into consternation.

He sat there, blocking traffic, until the driver of the little car got out. My buddy yelled at him.There was no profanity, but he made it clear that he thought the dude had no upbringing and was basically “an common asshole.”

After this he sped away, looking for a space, grumbling under his breath. He peered at me and posed the question, “Have you ever seen anything like that before?”

I had, so I truthfully replied, “Yes.”

He was not satisfied, so he pursued. “Well, don’t you think that’s stupid–what that guy did?”

Also easy to answer. “Yes.”

“So,” he continued, “would you have done what I did?”

Uh-oh. Now I was trapped. I could lie and tell him I would have done the same thing, to make sure the shopping trip was more pleasant, and to take away the dark cloud brought on by the “space stealer.”

But I decided to tell him the truth. “My friend,” I said, “I don’t pursue confrontation unless the person receiving my challenge has the possibility of learning from it and becoming different.”

My friend didn’t like my answer. For the entire two hours we were at the mall he remained grumpy. He didn’t like what the stores had to offer, he hated the prices, and when we stopped at the Food Court for a delicious lunch, he was convinced his burrito was too salty and not made with actual meat.

He faithfully maintained a pious position of consternation.

I, on the other hand, was grateful to get home.

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Clay Pigeon

Clay pigeon: (n) a saucer-shaped piece of baked clay thrown up in the air as a target for shooting.

I have shot a gun. It was delightful. I liked it.

Yet I am completely against killing people. Those two sensations do not have to be at odds.

But saying that “guns don’t kill people” is one of the more ridiculous statements ever made.

Guns will continue to be the main way that people kill each other if they happen to be in the same location when people are angry at one another. Strangling someone to death is not even a close second.

What we should be discussing is how much fun guns are–and also opening up more places where people can go out and safely fire a gun until they get sick of hearing it, shooting it and breaking apart clay pigeons, which, by the way, they will probably miss most of the time. (Perhaps the reason we don’t do this is that so many clay pigeons land safely, and somebody has to go out and pick them up.)

Since guns aren’t going anywhere, we should find ways to enjoy them before the lack of having fun accidentally turns us all into killers. And don’t get pious and say, ‘I would never shoot anyone…”

Each one of us gets angry enough to pull a trigger if our finger happened to be near one. But if we had just finished shooting 125 clay pigeons, we might have put the gun away in the closet, weary of the exercise–and the kickback.

 

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Chortle

Chortle: (n) a breathy, gleeful laugh.

What is your percentage?

What is the percentage of the things that happen in life that you find funny?

It’s a very important number. If you’re not careful, you can start taking everything very seriously, and end up frightened, aghast and terrified
to “move about the cabin.”

But also, if you think everything is a joke, somebody eventually gets the commitment papers signed and puts you away.

For instance, I don’t take government seriously at all. People who encourage me to vote because “every vote counts” are always complaining to me within a few weeks after the election–because every vote didn’t count.

There is a certain number of lamentations which can be changed into jubilations simply by altering one’s perspective.

For instance, some people take religion deadly somber. But you see, since we do not know if there is anything after death, it’s really not necessary to speak definitively or act pious.

What percentage of the things that happen in life do you find worthy of a chortle instead of needing to be treated as immortal?

I certainly think that every human soul, if he or she is to maintain sanity, needs to have a chortle meter set at 51 or above. Yes, over half of the things that we muse, confuse, diffuse and refuse end up being just meaningless worry which collected on us like morning dew, waiting for the sun to burn it away.

And as I get older, my percentage of laughs has increased, and therefore, in my opinion, my sanity is bolstered.

When I heard about the “war on Christmas” I laughed. Nobody’s gonna mess with Christmas. It’s when everybody makes their money.

When somebody told me that immigrants were causing problems in this country, it crossed my mind that this might be a color issue, colored by how these individuals view coloration.

Sometimes I giggle to myself because I don’t want to hurt the feelings of those who have brought a whole platter of difficulty and expect it to be honored.

What is your percentage? Are you prepared to go crazy with every piece of lunacy that leaps at us from the moon?

Or have you set your mind in the direction of silliness, allowing yourself the benefit of releasing your frustration–through a good old-fashioned chortle?

 

 

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Caustic

Caustic (adj) sarcastic in a scathing and bitter way.

Being negative to another human being when positive energy could be beneficial is a great offense.

But equally as caustic is to piously tell folks they can do things that they can’t. It is cruel, mean-spirited and to a large degree, self-righteous
–simply because we want to be known for giving flowers instead of stopping and working with people’s soil, and teaching them how to get something to grow.

Life is not about me. Rather, it’s about me learning to be honest with myself, and then gradually sharing with the world around me.

Yet I will tell you–it is sarcastic, bitter, childish and ridiculous to take humans who have chosen mediocrity and insist that they are just as valuable as those who are laying their lives down to discover greater purpose.

If the truth makes us free, then anything short of that freedom is bondage.

For after all, you can tie people up with fuzzy bows just as easily as you can with barbed wire.

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Brute

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Brute: (n.) a savagely violent person or animal.

Violence usually connotes physical contact:

  • A smack

An attack

An assault

Yet there is a passage in the Old Testament where a prophet named Ezekiel attributes the term “brute” to pastors and religious leaders.

It’s rather doubtful that these shepherds were beating the hell out of the sheep. Being pious sorts, theyDictionary B probably prided themselves on never lifting a hand to harm anyone.

So was Ezekiel misusing the term? Or is there another possibility?

Let me say–it is savage to lay burdens on people who you know are unnecessary, mean-spirited and lack significance.

Case in point: I went to a church one Sunday and the minister, in his sermon, informed me that my problem was that I didn’t pray enough, I didn’t worship right and I must have some “hidden sin”–otherwise, God would be blessing.

Now, this was not just addressed to me, but to the entire body which came together needing encouragement–and left brutalized.

If God made me human and He knows my capability, then God can simply go to hell if He’s not going to give me a successful pathway to commune with Him.

Being a brute does not require that you throw a punch.

You can be a brute simply by putting unreasonable, unrealistic and unkind demands on another human soul.

 

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