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I mentioned one time the parallel between the procreative habits of amoebas, one-celled, brainless animals and TV and radio evangelists. A few of my detractors failed, inconceivably, to see the connection. But I bow to the superior wisdom of Walt Kelly who wrote: “Break out the cigars, this life is for squirrels: We're off to the Drugstore to whistle at girls.” A far superior religion than some others or Satan worship. At least good, old-fashioned sex and a good cigar are enjoyable and non-existential or transcendental.
While these detractors of mine are convinced that my soul is going to wind up being stir-fried in the nether region for eternity, I rather compare my thoughts on the subject of religion to that of the flight of a butterfly. One of the most charming characteristics of a butterfly is its seemingly erratic flight path. The beauty of the fractal/symphonic pattern of the countless firings of the neurons of the brain is just such a...
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