100 monkeys typing.

Dirty Harry Goes To Church

Dougie Hits One Out of the Park

Can you imagine Dirty Harry Callahan attending a highly effeminized church?

Dirty Harry is a rough, butt-kicking character portrayed on the movie screen by Clint Eastwood, an accomplished man and a noted actor and director. Envision Callahan pulling into the parking lot in a black Range Rover amidst a sea of minivans and station wagons.

Oh, the horror, all these ghastly parishioners who can't afford a $45K+ gas guzzler. Pussies.

.... continued after the jump.

Hesitantly, Harry gets out of his ride, straightens his Ray Bans, adjusts his jacket and begins the testosterone death march to the front door of the “sanctuary.”

Or as Doug refers to it, the 2nd floor Royal Palm Ballroom.  

Ascending the steps toward the entrance of the church, fourteen women and one man greet Harry. The male greeter he’s forced to interface with is the kind of guy you wouldn’t want to have as your young son’s babysitter. I’m talking a Mango meets Dom De Luise amalgam.

The kind of guy one would see at a church who's mascot is the ass-end of a fleeing lion.

(...)

Moving past the “greeter,” Callahan is then hit with more contrived hugs than he would face at a Stuart Smalley-run support group. Attempting to avoid this barrage of groping, flabby, clutching arms belonging to people he doesn't know, but now is expected immediately to embrace, he tries to fade from view and take refuge against the wall. Unfortunately for him, he cannot hide because the floral arrangements in the narthex are so profuse that they make an FTD warehouse look like the Mojave Desert. With no other recourse, Harry frantically begins to move two big sprays and one gaudy wreath in a worried attempt to carve out a refuge from this molestation.

The only thing that makes Dirty Harry cringe and become the angry, yet powerless wallflower of yesteryear is a obese sweating cow, hugging in the name of Christ.

Finally, out of reach and trying hard to avoid eye contact with anyone, Harry starts whistling and locks his gaze on the artwork. On his right are six matching prints of fat baby angels in various Little Rascal poses; they look like they have a good buzz going from their mommy’s milk, laced as it is with Diet Coke and Xanax. Book-ending the baby angel prints are two Precious Moments posters: one shows Christ holding a bunny rabbit, and the other one shows Christ skipping while carrying a lamb. On Dirty Harry’s left are three pieces of art which depict Jesus, Peter and John the Baptist, all in aggravated states of angst, looking more like soft-focused and melancholic Victorian women than the men they were: masculine revolutionaries, heralds of truth, and rough pioneers of the greatest story ever told.

Forgetting completely that Dirty Harry is a character, played by an "artiste", Doug dives into the character's repulsion to the church's choice of artistic representation of stories intepreted by man and drawn by 'art fags'. Mr. Harry, in a fit of reality pulls out his Sharpie(tm) and colors in the skin tone to be more reflective of the region.

Finally it is go time. The service is begins.

Harry strides into the mauve and cream sanctuary, taking his seat amidst a crowd that is made up of 80% women, 1% masculine men and 19% quasi-males.

Dirty feels both underdressed and horny. Having not been surrounded by this much poontang since that hooker bust in '82, his testosterone was running unmodulated in high gear.

The music starts.

It is aphoristic, predictable and cliché-riddled. It is subjective, reflective, emotional and a bit erotic, with Jesus being sung to as “my lover.” After two hours of three chords and four songs, the worship leader commands the congregation to turn around and ... yep … here it goes again ... hug three people and tell them “you love them with the love of the Lord.”

Harry, being more of a Old Testament type who prefers the Lord's commandment to slay those who offend you, reaches for his trusty sidearm.

Harry can’t take it anymore.

He makes a quick strategic exit before he hurls on the pews because of the over-the-top, saccharine-laced liturgy.

After decompressing for several minutes and firing up a Montecristo #2 in the parking lot, Harry begins to process this little experience. He does the math and comes to this conclusion: if I convert to this sort of Christianity, then I must sacrifice not only my sins but my God-given innate masculine traits with which Jehovah naturally and rightly equipped me.

Mr. Dirty, having realized he was just run out of a building by metrosexuals and missies, places the barrel of his one-and-only love in his mouth, wraps his aged and lined, but no less pouty lips around the cold steel and immediately stains the interior of his Range Rover forever.

(blah blah blah......)

My ClashPoint is this: for all you Dirty Harry’s out there who have been rightly turned off by the girlie man culture of the pre-9/11 Church, you might want to re-visit the house of God. There have been some changes. Sure, there are still churches which are run by and appeal to soft, pudgy indoor boys who want to sit out on life, but many … many … houses of worship are realizing that difficult times demand change, and one area where the Church needs a change more than a 1-year-old baby who accidentally got into the ExLax is in relation to its feckless effeminate culture. Sure, there still are moronic malleable ministers who will forever be products of public opinion and perpetuate spineless spirituality. However, many pastors have realized that the Church and the nation need strong men in times of crisis.

Yay, Jesus! Manly men, putting the umph back in the pew.

(...)

With men returning to the Church and being welcomed for who they are and what they bring to the table, the lunatic left should expect to see their values and vices curbed and their policies opposed. With the Dirty Harry-like prophet, patriarch, warrior and wild man returning to the house of God, we can expect to see, once again, righteousness exalted in this nation and weirdness effectively mitigated.

Righteousness, spurred on through the increase in XY chromosomes marching as to war, with the cross of iconography... Remember folks, God's looking for a few good men. He's not happy with the ones he has.

Posted by kerry at November 29, 2004 09:07 AM | TrackBack