Church of Euthanasia

The One Commandment:
"Thou shalt not procreate"

The Four Pillars:
suicide · abortion
cannibalism · sodomy

Human Population:

Translate button


by Rev. Chris Korda

Just past Hartford, on the "Christopher Columbus" highway...a highway named after a pirate who cut people's hands off...Burger King smokestacks spewing burning flesh...bulldozers in clearcuts, giant stacks of dead trees like fingers...sewers, roads, malls, expanding, encroaching, more and more and more...a continuous megalopolis from D.C. to Boston, why not? Commuters safely ensconced in their pods, keep moving, normalcy at any price...High school prison-like on the horizon, conform to this way of life or be outcast, a lifetime of burger-flipping, truck-driving, cashiers, conveyor belts, unimaginable tedious hours of metal-mouthed coffee and plastic food, wrists numb, eyes glassy, time clocks ticking, calendars marked with standardized Hallmark holidays, flag-waving lunacy of convenience stores and gas stations.

I'll be the one to change it, I'll stop the madness, I'll have a baby and bring it up right, I'll teach it to fight the ugliness, to live the right way, in harmony with the earth, no more supermarkets and plastic diapers and baby toys, only politically correct eco-food from coops, recyclable everything, catalogs of earth-friendly merchandise, Visa, Mastercard. Clad in a loincloth of spruce branches, living in a tee-pee, my baby will think like me, do everything that I can't do, fulfill my dreams of glorious righteousness, because I'm better, none of this is my fault, it's not me, it's the bad ugly stupid people, clogging up my drains with their turds, consuming and procreating and breathing my air, my precious air that's meant for me, me and the other good intelligent sensitive well-educated clever articulate people, God's chosen people, the master race, we mustn't let these morons, these cretins, these useless cocksucking niggers inherit the earth, outbreed them, more eggs, more sacred white patriarchal jism, spurting into the fertile cunts of perfectly-formed aryan poetesses, we won't stop until everyone on earth thinks like us, total control, boxcars full of stupid people, gas them like Jews, in ovens of fast-food restaurants, eat them, make them into lampshades, an army of babies, with my baby leading them, the new messiah, ripping, tearing the mutant TV-watching shit-babies into pieces, baby arms and legs in piles, triumph of Shakespeare and Descartes and Plato, swells of Handel and Bach, victory.

Wait! What is this thing coming out of my anus? No! It can't be! A turd, a turd, no, no, what is the thing I'm gripping, could it be the steering wheel of a car? Oh God, no, I'm driving down the highway, toxic fumes wafting out of my backside, it's me, it's me, I'm in the dirt, consuming! My kitchen is filled with tupperware, my walls are smooth and white, with plenty of outlets, appliances beckon me, "turn me on, use me," I'm standing in line, clutching my debit card, some hairless ape is jabbering at me, what is it saying? "Paper or plastic"? My precious baby is a chocolate bunny, flush the toilet, oh the humiliation.

 top  email the Church of Euthanasia