Dedicated to Vincent vanGogh and the 2011 graduating class of every school at every level everywhere in the known world.
3rd February 2011
The captain and first mate were chatting on the bridge, miles from
nowhere, and a fog bank up ahead, still low on the portside horizon.
“Religion is such a waste of time,” the captain whined, biting the end
of his smoldering pipe, and causing a sharp pang in the throat of his
much younger, somewhat evangelical first mate. “All it does is keep
you from seeing God how He really is, because they tell you who they
say he is, and if you’ve spent any time out in the real world, you
know for sure that’s not who He really is.”
The first mate adjusted his microphone. “I’m not so sure the good book
doesn’t have some good examples of how people can be good,” he offered
timidly, adding, “not to mention it does have good news.”
“It’s bogus,” the skipper sputtered. “It passes itself off as an
authority on attributes that people already possess, fetishizes the
practice of reminding them of it, and then charges them for doing it.
“Not to mention turning your brain to mush by preventing you from even
considering any other frame of reference, most of which are far more
relevant and beneficial to your life than the homey, mind-control
homilies like ‘render unto Caesar’ that priests are fond of laying on
you. Given any thought to the relevance of Jesus on one of Jupiter’s
Realizing for the umpteenth time that he would be beaten badly in any
further conversation of these matters, the early 30s first mate tried
to change the subject.
He blurted: “I find the sense of what I’d hoped to be much finer than
what I have eventually discovered. Therefore, this is proof that we
can achieve our future, as our goals continue to evolve based on
expanding information. We keep looking, and it doesn’t quite measure
up, so we keep looking. This is a great game, when you think about it.
We may never get to the end of it, but what a great quest just to
chase it, and build on the knowledge for those to follow.”
The wizened old captain yanked the pipe out of his mouth and smiled.
“That’s more like it, meeboy! But before we pass out of this channel,
and the harbor pilot comes aboard, let me update you on some new
information you may not have heard, occupied as you usually are with
your various universes on the Universewideweb. This is the very latest
“Jesus Christ has come out and declared himself the eternal enemy of
all the Christian churches, for all the perfidy they have condoned and
the crimes that they have committed over these many bloody centuries.”
The captain gnashed onto his pipe and threw a cursory glance at the
rising fog bank now seeping toward the port bow. “But besides that,”
the skipper continued, “the whole mythology is a farce about control,
standardizing people’s beliefs to reduce conflict and increase control
over the choices they make and the money they spend.
“The great scam is that humans are bad — it’s the scam of all
organized religions and the scam of all governments. If people have
enough food, stay healthy, and raise honest children, the only problem
that remains is those who try to make money without working who invent
scams to live off the labors of others. Only morality in government
can prevent that, and that has never happened — at least not for very
long — in history, because bureaucracy is always overtaken by
corruption when whatever common sense of past generations is not
renewed and consolidated by the future. When these historical
precedents are carried over into succeeding generations, the message
is always diminished, until corruption eventually totally reverses the
original message, as we see now in the churches, stressing the nation
of Israel as more important than the message of Christ. Instead of
spreading His message, they’re erasing it. Remember the words
“synagogue of Satan.” Now the church says he’s our friend, and we
should tolerate him. Jesus would turn over in his grave, if he had
The first mate regarded his mentor respectfully, and offered, “The Ten
Commandments have served us as pretty good rules over time.”
The captain looked at the first mate with a paternal eye. “It’s a
scam, laddie. Listen to me.
“I’m going to give you five reasons why humans are a beautiful and
reliable lot that will blow your Ten Commandments to hell. The great
financial fathers have imposed these rules on us to regulate us so
that we won’t rise up against them, and as a result, they have stunted
and are stunting our growth. But all they’re doing is covering up the
real humans, that are greater, more compassionate and more peaceful
than the droids they produce in their God fearing schools who are
known for their lying and their hypocrisy after being drilled for
years with that insane pious muck that teaches nothing except how to
kill on command.”
The skipper, now moderately worked up, took a deep breath and
continued. “Humans know the basic things. They don’t have to be told.
Maybe if we treated more people like adults there’d be fewer children,
The first mate settled in for the lecture as the fog bank, now grown
to enormous proportions, began to engulf the forecastle in mist.
“The first thing is love. What does the church teach about love? Don’t
do it! Isn’t that what you heard? You don’t have to tell humans
anything about love, although you do have to constantly remind
children of the consequences of certain acts. No church, no philosophy
can teach what happens between a boy and a girl about the age of 13.
It’s hardwired into the animal, a cultural courtship best observed
among brilliantly plumed African birds circling each other on the
savannah, but also seen in convertibles at drive-ins snarfing burgers.
Spring. It’s about life. And no celibate saint has a goddamned thing
to say about it, except to try to take control of it with his
“The second thing is a mother’s love. Surely you’ve watched a mama
bear with cubs on the Wild Kingdom TV show or, God help you, in the
wild. It is beyond comprehension, the etheric bond that triggers
mindboggling responses from the giver of the care to her young.
Nothing in the Bible about that, for sure. And this is the one human
trait to be revered above all else.”
“The third thing is how every person in the world, at least those
young and fit enough to have moderate alacrity and physical
capability, will act automatically to save another person from
drowning. Every single one of us. I bet you didn’t know that. The
churches try to say to follow their example and that’s why you save
someone else, but that’s not it, at all. It’s instinctual and
automatic, built into the preliterate human mindset. All preachers try
to convince you that you get it from them, but it’s just one of the
many lies they tell you to keep you in line.
“And that segues nicely into the fourth thing, instinctual knowledge
and unspoken communication, which is best seen in our contact with
animals, both pets and enemies. How many old ladies’ lives have been
saved by cats and parakeets when otherwise the walls of time would
have long ago enfolded said pet owner in certain darkness? How many
old men bereft of baublier bank accounts found the friend they always
wanted in a hound? And whoever can hear the whales and understand what
they say knows far more than any god can ever teach. I’m forever hung
up on the story of the elephants in India, who, when one of their kin
was struck and killed by a train in a remote section of forest, dozens
of them gathered around their departed friend and cried out loud for a
day and a half.
“Fifth and final, me lad, is that everybody on this planet can tell
automatically and almost without thinking — this is universal no
matter what the level of language development — when somebody else is
getting screwed, not something complex, but something obvious. The
universal feeling is to root for the underdog, to have some inner
knowledge that predates all the teaching, to demand justice from the
world, which is why so many of us are so often frustrated when that
appears not to be the way the world really is.
“So, matey, you can take your Ten Commandments and I’ll take my five
obvious facts about human beings and senses they intrinsically possess
without any obnoxious religious training, and I’ll tell you this —
I’ll have a much better time with more honest people who will try to
make me happy rather than berate and inveigle me with complex false
strategies to escape the discomfort that pursues them. Did you get all
that, my boy?”
The first mate spoke seriously. “Captain, we’re totally fogged in.”
“All stop!” the captain barked. “All stop!” the first mate poured into
the microphone in a measured but penetrating way. “Right five degrees
rudder,” the skipper added. “Aye sir,” said the mate, tugging on the
“Is the harbor pilot on board?” the captain asked. At that moment the
hatch on the stern bulkhead of the wheelhouse creaked open, and
crewmen ushered in the harbor pilot, covered in a yellow rain slicker
and wearing an oversized black fedora. Dare I tell you he had a long
To use a baseball metaphor, a harbor pilot is like a relief pitcher
for the captain of any big ship. The harbor pilot knows the
idiosyncrasies of his harbor, along with the wind and tidal
proclivities and conditions, plus is up on the latest logistical news
of other sealane traffic, so that the pilots of the ships at sea can
relax a bit in the knowledge that here is a man (usually a man) who
really knows his job and can be trusted.
The harbor pilot shook a wave of rainwater off his slicker and
“I am Rabbi Fausto F. Frankenstein, harbormaster for the port of New
York, capital of the Jewish World Empire.” (The F. we were later to
learn stood for Flagellus, famous Phoenician slavemaster during the
“I am here to announce that you are under arrest for propagating ideas
that are contrary to the Jewish rules of truculent subservience that
you have violated repeatedly, especially your continuing effort to
lift the wool from sheeple eyes regarding the masterpiece of Jewish
death art known as the 9/11 caper, or as we like to call it, the Big
“What cargo are you carrying?” the harbor pilot demanded to know.
“Supplies for starving people and knowledge about how to escape the
Jewish world conspiracy,” the captain responded clearly but curtly.
“May I use your radiophone?” the harbor pilot said. The captain made
eye contact with the first mate, then scratched his armpit, something
he very rarely did. Harbor pilot Frankenstein spoke into the phone.
“Goymaster One to Base, come in.” The phone emitted a scratchy
response. “Send a grade two airship swat squad to the following
location . . .
At that point the captain yanked the phone out of the harbor pilot’s
hand and nailed him with a stepaway left hook that he’d learned so
long ago watching the Canizales brothers (Orlando and Manny) dispatch
opponents who never once saw the punch coming. It dropped the harbor
pilot to the floor in a heap of yellow plastic and black felt. In
short order, the first mate and a couple of boatswains gathered up the
Jewish lump of Talmudic hatred, dragged him out of the wheelhouse and
threw him over the side into the botulinic brine of New York harbor.
The skipper turned to the first mate send, “I guess we won’t make port
here.” “Sounds like a good idea,” said the mate.
“Right full rudder, all ahead one third; when you reverse course, it’s
all ahead full.”
“Right full rudder,” echoed the mate. And the ship began to turn around.
“Where are we going to go?” said the mate, relieved but depressed.
“To the place where dreams are made,” the skipper responded. “To a
place where we are not ruled by insane people who try to make
everybody else insane just like them, to a place where real people do
real things and get along with everybody else because it’s such a
pleasure, and we can live our short little lives in sweetness and
tranquility . . . for as long as we both shall live,” the captain
tittered, emitting the closest he could come to a giggle.
“Where is this place?” the mate asked, “and when do we arrive?” At
that moment the ship emerged from the fogbank.
“I don’t know,” said the captain, “but I’ll let you know when we get there.”
John Kaminski is a writer who lives on the Gulf Coast of Florida,
urging people to understand that no problem in the world can be
authentically addressed without first analyzing tangents caused by
Jewish perfidy, which has subverted and diminished every aspect of
human endeavor throughout history. Support for his work is wholly
derived from people who can understand what he’s saying and know what
250 N. McCall Rd. #2,
Interesting addendum: My Mac spellchecker wanted to change “sheeple”
to “shekel.” Hmm.
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