New Religion

Po Boy Views

By

Phil LaMancusa

Original Whim

Or

Amen I Say

            Oh God, I think that it’s time for me to start my own religion; I’ll call it New Orleans Culinary Pagan Buddhist Hokey Pokey (that’s what it’s all about!) or Children of a Lesser God LLC Inc. (CLG). It’s high time, high time I say, for the children of a lesser god to band together and take their place among the Big Boppers With Beards that haven’t done squat except foster hatred, fear, war, oppression and persecution. Can I get a witness? Add to that misogyny, prejudice, environmental destruction and slavery (get the picture?). They’re generally subject to a dreadful fashion sense and eat questionable food products; with that, you have pretty much all the world’s major religions in a nutshell; as we (CLG) say: “how sick is that?        

We (CLG) are better than that. The first thing we’ll do is eliminate the death penalty; no, not the abominable retribution penal system archaic “get even” approach to crime, although that’ll have to go as well. I’m talking about the life sentence we get the Styx crossing. I say “Screw that!” If indeed life’s too short, why die? The way I see it, the concept of Heaven and Hell are simply a way to keep us in line by promising an afterlife in which we will have to pay or play because of our behavior on this mortal coil; why buy into that if you’re not going to leave? Believe what you will: I aint dying, I’ll live forever until I make a liar out of myself. My God, although a lesser one, does not have death in store for me; rather, a life of friendliness, craftiness, irreverence and gumbo. I don’t need an incentive to be good; lord, I’ve been told enough times that I’m good for nuthin’ so I’m goin’ with that.

Next: we’ll find a cure for bacon or for pork in general. Oh, I know it’s the tastiest food product ever invented; but, hogs are fine sentient beings that we over feed, keep in  unsociable living conditions, slaughter (against their wills) and stuff their own flesh into their own intestines, smoke them, grill them and put them into our own bodies; how sick is that? We say: leave that piggy to go to market, stay home and eat what they damn well please before going “wee wee wee (all the way home)”! I realize that smoked dead pig will be a hard habit to cure; but, folks, we gotta do it!

Speaking of smoking: “take finely shredded vegetable matter, roll it into a tube of paper, light it on fire and stick it in our mouths and suck that smoke in” --- and it doesn’t get you comfortably numb like marijuana--- how sick is that? NO SMOKING TOBACCO!

We will also observe a Monday Sabbath with the blessed sacraments of red beans, rice and our holy water of Crystal Hot sauce. We cannot help that the rest of the world takes Saturday and Sunday as days of rest; we’ll take Mondays as well and have a religiously sanctioned three day weekend—every blessed week!

We’ll build an altar to patience, which will take a longer time than the construction on Louisiana Avenue; have an anarchists mass (which no one will attend) and sing hymns according to the Gospels of James (Brown) Nina (Simone) Frank (Sinatra) and Stevie (Wonder or Nicks, take your pick). We’ll create the creator in the image of an eight month old child; you know, the age when wisdom is ours, we communicate in coos and cries are gender neutral and have no facial hair.

An eight month old is the perfect image of a lesser god; those of you that have had children know how perfect and knowing they are at that age before they forget all the wisdom that they learned in their last life. All hail Eight Month Olds! When life is as simple as mother’s milk, and the changing of a diaper is a major event; plus, eight month olds have reached a plateau where they sleep the night through and are just learning to get upright, after that they become prejudicially influenced (f*cked) by their environment. Everything’s perfect at eight months.

Each Monday service will be an adventure of discovery: avocados, chocolate, breadsticks, applesauce and finding our big toes. We’ll meditate on the meaning of meanings, the in between of the in between, the sounds of silence and the wonders of cookie dough; we’ll play nice, share and won’t abide by anything that can hurt another person.

Holidays: Valentine’s Day, Thanksgiving, all the solstices and Santa’s Birthday… the Easter Bunny will officiate; we’ll all have deviled eggs with Jam.

 However; being children of a lesser god does not exempt us from working for the common good; we’ll teach our children well, give comfort to the sick, feed the hungry and learn the words to Village People songs. We’ll dance the Funky Chicken, Pony, Surfer Bird, Monkey, Jump Back Jack and See Ya Later Alligator. From the gospel of James we’ll sing “I Feel Good (“cause I Got You!) and “Papa’s got a brand New Bag”. No one need die for our sins because we won’t accept any doctrine that defines sin; being good for goodness sake and being harmlessly crazy but not stupid is our lane and we’ll stay in it.

We’ll wear mismatched socks, play with jacks and yoyos and avoid social media (we’re sociable enough without media). We’ll spend our off time shopping at farmer’s markets and cooking things that are good for our bodies and spirits and sharing them with our brethren (everyone).

There’s no dues or tithes, we’ll worship wherever we are, each body a temple and every home a church; we’ll change the world and we’ll do it dressed to the nines!