By Ken Marks[Originally posted on The Scratching Post, April 26, 2016]. Republished here by permission of the author.]
I want to introduce a new word – or repurpose an old one; I’m not sure which. The word is “bibliopath,” a person whose thinking is disordered by blind reverence for a book or a particular interpretation of that book. In most cases, the book is a sacred text, like the Holy Bible or the Quran.
In America, most bibliopaths live in Red States, with a heavy concentration in the South. They think of homosexuality as an abomination; that’s the biblical label for it. I don’t think the Bible has a classification for changing one’s gender, but doing so repudiates what God has made, so I guess it’s an abomination, too. Gays who marry defile both themselves and a holy institution. They double down on sin.
Today, in Missouri, Tennessee, Mississippi, Georgia, North Carolina, and other enclaves of superstition and ignorance, a war is raging. Small bands of activists who abhor intolerance and discrimination are squaring off against a bibliopathic majority. So far the outcome is inconclusive, but Big Business, fearing a setback to their profits, has linked arms with the activists. This may well be a telling alliance.
Still, I’d like to be more sure of the outcome, and I have a plan for making success much more probable. We need to widen the war with a full-court press. All of us are multiple sinners, but we don’t own our sins. This has to change. No more asking for absolution in a confessional. That’s exactly the wrong thing to do. We have to acknowledge our sins openly, even flaunt them! Therefore, I propose that we follow the LGBT example and parade our sins.
It’s pretty easy to imagine what a Sin Parade would look like. It would consist of one or more floats for each of the seven deadly sins – Pride, Envy, Wrath, Gluttony, Lust, Sloth, and Greed. I’ll elaborate…
The Pride floats. I envision several of them. One is a swath of red carpet on which celebrities pose and strut. See-through designer dresses are de rigueur. Deep cleavage and side-boob are encouraged. (Any Kardashian who volunteers is given priority.) Another float features a body builder, totally ripped from head to toe, wearing only a Speedo brief. He strikes various poses, grins, and flexes. Next comes a bevy of well-endowed young women in wet T-shirts. They thrust their chests out and smile proudly. Their T-shirts read “YEAH, THEY’RE REAL!” Last, there’s a pudgy guy dressed as Elvis and bedecked with bling. He combs his hair in front of a mirror while muttering, “You ain’t nuthin’ but a hound dog.”
The Envy float. There’s only one. A handsome fellow and a killer blonde are in a Corvette convertible with the top down. They’re talking, laughing, smooching. As they go at it, several people covered with green body paint circle the car, crouch, and snarl. They’re at liberty to hop off the float, hop onto any other, and act out their displeasure again.
The Wrath floats. They present two kinds of enactments: murderous fury and sublimated fury. For murderous fury, there’s a staging of the rumble scene from West Side Story. True to the story, two stabbing deaths are acted out. For sublimated fury, a guy sits in front of a TV with a beer in one hand. A hockey game is in progress. The viewer shouts, “Kill the bastard! Smash his face! Hit him with the stick! Yeah! Ha ha!” He’s allowed to ad lib, of course. Profanity is encouraged.
The Gluttony floats. Three of these have the same theme: an obese couple lovingly feeding each other something that’s horrifyingly fattening. It might be Lappert’s Coconut Macadamia Nut Fudge ice cream or Kettle Krinkle Cut potato chips with sea salt or chocolate chip cookies from Neiman Marcus. Whatever it is, the gluttons make orgasmic noises between mouthfuls. Another float features a woman in a muumuu sitting at a table with a heaping plate of spare ribs before her. Her mouth, chin, and fingers are smeared with barbecue sauce. A pile of unused napkins is at her left, a mound of used ones at her right. The last float is nothing more than an obese man in a too-small Hawaiian shirt trying to get into a pair of jeans. He grunts and strains but closure is impossible. He curses in frustration, plops down on a chair, stands up a minute later, and tries again.
The Lust floats. These are pretty basic. One features a stunning, half-naked pole dancer, another an Adonis who strips down to his skivvies. On the platforms of each is a large sofa. They dance and gyrate provocatively. After several minutes of this, they point to a cheering onlooker and shout something like, “You in the plaid shirt (or you in the blue, V-neck dress) – come on up!” Nudity and copulation are recommended. At the least, the performers should test the enforcement of the public indecency statutes.
The Sloth float. Again, there’s just one. On the platform, we see a man in a La-Z-Boy recliner. He’s dressed in pajamas and a bathrobe. Behind him stands a woman costumed as a French maid. Beside her are miscellaneous objects on a counter. The man snaps his fingers and commands, “Coffee with cream and sugar, two lumps!” Minutes later, snap, “Pipe, tobacco, matches!” Still later, snap, “Newspaper – the Sports section!” Eventually, she brings and removes all the objects that were on the counter. As a finale, she washes and massages his feet.
The Greed floats. The model for these is a four-person poker game, The players represent the greediest people on the planet. For example, Charles Koch, David Koch, Martin Shkreli, and Sheldon Adelson sit at one of the tables. (The actual people are invited to participate, but in the likely case they refuse, look-alikes are used.)
All the players wear casual clothes with mics attached. The Koch brothers smoke cigars. Shkreli fidgets and drums his fingers on the table. Adelson sits in a wheelchair, a cannula in his nose with a tube to a portable oxygen concentrator. A private nurse stands behind him. The dialogue is typical:
Shkreli: I’ll bet $200,000.The avaricious are everywhere, so it should be easy to find players for a second float. Carl Icahn, Donald Trump, Larry Ellison, and Carlos Slim come to mind.
Adelson: I’ll see you and raise you a day’s take at the Venetian Resort Hotel Casino. And I’ll throw in my nurse.
C. Koch: I’ll see you and raise you the value of my chemical holdings.
D. Koch: Hey, you can’t bet those! We own them jointly.
C. Koch: Okay, look. You can bet our energy, finance, plastics, petroleum, pulp and paper, and ranching holdings, but I get to bet our asphalt, chemical, commodities trading, fibers, fertilizers, and natural gas holdings. Deal?
D. Koch: Deal. I’ll see you and raise you the value of my energy, plastics, and petroleum holdings.
Shkreli: Shit – I’m out!
The onlookers. They are, of course, the most important component of the event. Very likely, they’ll be enthusiastic, but that’s not enough; they have to identify with the sinners on the floats. To facilitate, members of The Friends of Sin are planted among them. The FOS volunteers are easy to spot: they wear orange and red jumpsuits. They offer “PROUD SINNER” stickers to random onlookers. If an onlooker points and shouts “That’s me!” – or, if it’s a Lust float, “I wish that was me!” – they receive a Dollars-Off Coupon, as long as supplies last. The coupons are redeemable at virtually any fast food restaurant, even in Utah. (Anyone who identifies with the French maid or Adelson’s nurse receives only pity.)
There you have it – my plan to vanquish the bibliopaths. Some of you will think it’s extravagant and even a bit odd. I get that. I also get that we won’t overcome pious fanaticism until we fully embrace our humanity.
| Copyright © 2021 by Ken Marks Ken Marks was a contributing editor with Paul Clark & Tom Lowe when “Moristotle” became “Moristotle & Co.” A brilliant photographer, witty conversationalist, and elegant writer, Ken contributed photographs, essays, and commentaries from mid-2008 through 2012. Late in 2013, Ken birthed the blog The Scratching Post. He also posts albums of his photos on Flickr. |
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