Burnt Toast#11, 1992
Megan Cutcliffe, of Miranda, was speaking to her friend Joanne, who likes to visit clairvoyants. Joanne said her next appointment was tomorrow. "Oh, you can't go then -- it's April Fool's Day," said Megan. Joanne: "Oh that doesn't bother me -- I'm not superstitious."
Sooner or later, (and it is becoming increasingly clear which), I should turn up on your television sets and devastate the foundations of astrological belief with a couple of well-chosen words. This is if a) you watch Couchman, b) they end up running it (it was filmed in February) and c) they don't edit my bit out.
And of course, Astrology deserves to be devastated, I mean, people are getting rich on the belief of millions that those cute little points of light can affect what we do and think and feel, no to mention the travel arrangements of tall, dark strangers. The astrologers themselves weren't helping much by, literally, contradicting themselves and each other with just about every statement they made. We had a good old laugh.
And Creationism... God Almighty. There is a major Australian magazine dedicated to the subject whose very name has a theological flaw and whose arguments are laughable. They really are. But people are being duped into believing this is true, and argue a 'scientific' case that makes no sense. More importantly, to me anyway, I have in the past attended weekly prayer meetings, and what they were saying didn't mean a thing.
Now you know me. I'm a bit of an irreverent soul, don't mind playing round with religious imagery now and zen. But... as for actual belief, why bother?
It is the main tool of the skeptic, I am assured, to laugh at any assertion and say 'why?'. I wasn't really in the audience that night because I was taking sides you see, I was just the chauffeur (and almost didn't make it into the studio anyway (and do you know how tatty that set looks off camera?))
Why bother giving money to the fakes to assure yourself that the future means something? Why bother worshipping a God to escape the fear of death? Why bother editing a fanzine because you think it might make you a writer? Or, heaven forbid, why bother going out on Saturday and getting pissed out of your skull just because you're going to enjoy yourself senseless?
Just say why, and laugh.
Of course, it may be that those able to survive the laughter are doing better than anyone else.
But that sounds like a hell of a patronising attitude to me.
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