Come on, anti-party people (the priests, preachers and nuns, I mean), it’s time to face the music. Nobody cares about your stories anymore. It’s not that they lack interest -nothing like some good ol’ Jesus-lynching before bedtime to put you to sleep-, it’s that they’ve lost their punch. Your sermons are passé, as they say.


I know you might think you’re teaching us a valuable lesson or that you’re scaring us away from sin by explaining how this guy got thrown to the lions, the other one was turned into salt and the scrawny carpenter dude was carved up like a Thanksgiving Turkey.


But do you really find that hardcore? I grew up watching Freddy Krueger and Jason Vorhees dismember horror-stricken teens. I listened to Death Metal for a while (we all did). I read Japanese mangas and comic books about The Joker falling face-first into a barrel of acid. Do you really think a story about one dude being flogged and crucified hits the spot with my generation?


It’s not that we’re impervious to morale or ethics. It’s just that you need to speak our language. Alien 2, for example. About 50 guys get trapped in a nest of acid-spitting, stomach-exploding creatures. They scream in terror as they’re massacred. That, we got: *don’t fuck with the aliens*.


A cop screaming in terror as Michael Madsen slices his ear off in reservoir dogs; Robocop being impaled by the bad guy at the end of the movie; those are our references.


You know us, the 21st century schizoid man : we’re jacked up on soft-porn from TV and advertising, rattled from all the violence and worried the Apocalypse will happen soon (in 2000! No, 2001! No, May 21st! No, 2012… yawn).


So why not make church fun for once? I mean, the Apocalypse is coming, with or without our consent. We can’t avoid it. So let’s go down in style: Reaguetton churches. That’s what I’m thinking. You want to get us out of bed in time for mass at noon on a Sunday? Think “big, wet asses”, bouncing all over the pulpit. Yeah, baby. That’ll get more than one lost soul in there.


Because church is supposed to be sexy. Isn’t it all about “love”? But the only ones getting some are pedophile priests, and I don’t think that’s fair. Why is he allowed to have a hard-on during mass, while he scopes the audience for new, ripe lips to wrap around his cock?


We, heterosexuals horny as fuck from Kardashian Reality-TV shows, should also be allowed to get boners.


Or you could change the language, give it some nuance. Take French, for example. In French, the word “Jesus” is strangely close to the phrase “I blow”: “Je suce“. My oh, my, have I had some interesting religious conversations with French girls! “I blow, it’s all about love”, she would say to me, while her eyes, big as almonds, looked me over in the Alcoholics Anonymous meeting at the local Church. “For sure, baby, I couldn’t agree more”, I replied, trying my sexy-eyebrow move on her. “I blow, you say? Tell me something else about this fascinating practice”.


I’d never felt so religious in my life.


“Epiphany” they call it.


That’s what I had, a huge epiphany, bulging through my pants.


That’s why I -heart- religion, especially the one that blows you to clear your sins.