#462 Depravity

We were having one of those discussions around the office the other day about natural forces. You know, like death and taxes, and gravity and depravity. The consensus was that even if there isn’t original sin there certainly is enough current sin to go around. And people go out of their way to justify what they want to do already as being less than sin. As if some rules are now footnoted in the old Ten Commandments. I call it bachelor party morality. Like the “500 mile rule.” You got you’re your basic commandment: Thou shalt not commit adultery. Hey. It’s got an asterisk. Follow the asterisk to the bottom of the moral page and it says, within 500 miles. Oh yeah. Sure. Travel was a little problematic in the days of the ancient Hebrews. After all, they spent forty years wandering around a desert it would have taken your average Bedouin two weeks to cross. Of course, the Hebrews were fresh from the navigator-deprived occupation of Egyptian slave and all. Plus, they were following their faith, which at that time was taking the form of a column of smoke or cloud or pillar of fire. So, you know, desert winds mean following clouds isn’t always the most direct route. So I can see how adultery committed beyond five hundred miles may have seemed like sleeping with someone in a different life. But today? Pick up the phone and you’re in Las Vegas in a few hours. And what happens in that desert is a lot different than what happened in the Sinai. Although I do think I saw a few golden calves when I was there. Or maybe it was golden-earringed bluehairs being led to the slaughter of their retirement money. I’m sure the husbands that went to early graves providing that retirement are happy watching from above as Agnes and Edna and Maybel keno there way to the catfood aisle. And bachelor parties. There’s a moral monstrosity. Let’s see. I’m committing myself to one woman for the rest of my life. I’ve sworn my undying love to her. I’ve asked her to marry me and share my life with me. But before I sign the actual contract I’m gonna party till the cows go home. Call up a stripper and a hooker and have one last fling before I tie the knot. What’s that all about? If you love her, you don’t want to mess around on her. What’s this one last chance nonsense? You had your last chance before you asked her to marry you. It was the asking-to-marry that was the real contract. Not some piece of paper, which with your bachelor nonsense you have prenuptially dishonored. At what point does the commitment start? When you tell her you love her. It’s like mardi gras, the big all-senses orgy before Lent. Uh oh, we’re gonna have to give things up to prove our faith. Let’s have one big satanic party before it hits. Yeah—I’m quitting smoking on New Years, so I’m gonna smoke a pack and a half on New Years Eve. Hope no Hebrews are following me.
America, ya gotta love it