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America's Tragedy as Seen by the World

September 25, 2001/ London, England

SHiNE - Take a Stand :: Use Your Voice :: Impact Your World

September, 2001:

To the Editor,

I am writing this letter in concern to morals, religion, and Roy Moore. Many people claim that the ten commandments should be displayed in the courtrooms because they preach good morals, that even non-Christians should accept, and that’s why Roy Moore is justified in what he’s done by sneaking in that monument. Well, that is partly true. Indeed I’m sure that the ten commandments are widely accepted by any good hearted theistic person that believes in and/or worships just one god. But what about the people that worship more than one god, and worships them equally? And then what about the more than 27 MILLION atheists, agnostics, and free thinkers out there in the U.S.A? That monument is completely insensitive to these people.

Think about it; the Christian Coalition is always talking about the Sudan crisis proclaiming that no one should have someone else’s religion forced on them, yet the Christian Coalition is one of the groups that funded this 2 ½ ton sculpture of the ten commandments in the Alabama Judicial Building. Of course this Coalition is not only insensitive to non-Christians in America but also to Christians! In Matthew 6:5-6 it says “Again when you pray, you shall not be like the hypocrites, who love to pray standing in the synagogues and at the street corners, in order that they may be seen by men. Amen I say to you, they have received their reward. But when thou prayest, go into thy room, and closing thy door, pray to thy Father in secret; and thy Father, who sees in secret will reward thee.”

I wonder how the Christian Coalition missed those verses, seeing as that only a few verses following those is the Lord’s prayer which they want everyone to say every day in public. If you want to spread good morals then you shouldn’t do it through force or censorship, that just causes anger and intolerance and more arguments about what good morals are. We should spread good morals using love and tolerance, and bringing out the mortal good that I feel is within all human beings. Indeed (as shocking as it may seem) people who don’t believe in God have good morals too. I think Buddha put it best when he said “But if there is no other world and there is no fruit and ripening of actions well done or ill done, then here and now in this life I shall be free from hostility, affliction, and anxiety, and I shall live happily.” Or, maybe it was the Beatles who put it best when they said “All you need is love.”

Michael Faulk
Spanish Fort, AL


Harold is Dead and Sylva is in love with a German Shepard
By Johnathon Mosman

Once upon a time, there was a dog. I stand corrected, once upon a time there were many dogs, but the dog in this story was special because he was completely ordinary. Since there were so few animals that can achieve the stereotype or normality, this was a special trait to own. The ordinary dog’s name was Harold, and Harold was extraordinarily dumb. He was so dumb in fact that his brain could process only two-word thoughts at a time (but preferred the much easier one-word thoughts).

On eventful day, Harold was lazily strutting about his yard, watching out for the pet hoo-man’s, and muttering something about “pretty grass”; the two words “pretty” and “grass” of course melted on his tongue to form “Woof”. He enjoyed his times outside, and the hoo-mans never failed to amuse him. In fact he was lounging in this very way when suddenly, Harold saw something out of the corner of his eye that took his breath away. The hoo-mans saw it too, and began barking.

His head turned and he stared at her. A gorgeous, intriguing white rabbit stood not fifty feet from Harold, on the corner of his lawn.
“Pretty bunny,” he thought.
“Woof,” he said.
“Her name must be Sylva, because she is so beautiful,” he said, not because Sylva meant “beauty” in any language, but because it sounded like a pretty word to Harold. Harold mongrelled over to her, jaw agape and mind racing as fast as it could.
“Hi, my name is Harold, and I own this land you’re standing on. I assume you’re name is Sylva, because you’re really pretty,” he thought clearly, and said “Woof”.
Sylva said nothing.
“Woof,” Harold insisted.
Sylva still said nothing.
“Well,” Harold thought in the time span of about fifteen minutes, “I could let this cat and mouse game go on forever or I could ask her out on a date.” Of course, he didn’t know what a date was, but again it sounded really neat to him. And of course, but the time he was done thinking (and had said “woof” and all to clear his mind of thought residue), Sylva had begun hopping away. He followed her in the only dog-way he knew, a goofy psuedo-smile pasted on his wagging tail. She wanted him to follow her. She wanted him.

Once Harold approached her, he found himself at a loss for words. Her beauty was unparallel, especially up-close. He struggled to find the right words to sway this lovely creatures favor for sure; he dreamt of castles by the sea, himself in shining-dog-armor, the whole romantic bit. He knew that she must have been thinking the same thing. So he decided to let them both close their eyes and live in a mutual fantasy world for a little while. While he daydreamt, he began to realize the strange smell of this territory. He looked around, and Sylva was gone. So was the yard and hoo-mans he loved so much. In front of him was a great German Shepard with teeth the size of carrots. Let me assure you that a German Shepard with teeth the size of carrots is by no means a pleasant substitute for a would-be lover. Especially not a giant German Shepard with carrot sized teeth and a southern accent.

“This land is your land?” asked Harold.
“Thes laynd ee mah laynd,” the Shepard hissed.
“Did you happen to see a pretty white rabbit stroll by here a little while ago?”
The redneck Shepard didn’t respond.
Harold decided to name the Shepard Thief, because he had so obviously stolen Sylva. Sylva was as in love with Harold as Harold was in love with Sylva. It was not a possibility that Sylva had in fact been leading Harold on the entire time, not a possibility at all. Thief did not take amusement in his new and rather derogatory name.
“I don’t reckon I lahck that name too very much,” he said.
“I don’t reckon I lahck you very much eether, fer comin’ untuh muh propertay.” He then proceeded to tear Harold limb from limb and consume his flesh, because Thief was hungry. Before his eyes turned black, Harold’s last words were “Sylva…”

Moral: Love is blind, Love is dumb, Love is dangerous and should come in little bottles with child-protectant tops. It might not even be real at all.

My name is Mike Faulk and this is definitely how I feel, see ya later.
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