There are those who say that life is pain--the pain of loss, of betrayal, of meager survival and early death. There are those who say that life is joy--the joy of love, of childbirth and children, of daffodil days and sweet, comic nights. There are those who say life has no purpose, and those who think they know its purpose like the backs of their hands. 

When you find these people, put them in a room and shoot them--you'd be doing them a favor. They don't get it. Contrary to popular belief, misery does NOT love company, and there is nothing more miserable on earth to be around than relentlessly, psychotically cheerful "morning people" who bubble and chirp like drug-addled canaries before you've had your first cup of coffee. It's like somebody blithely asking you if you want a drink of water when you're drowning. Cruel, cruel.

It is said that the female is a depository of hidden lust, selfishness, and the evil of blood. It is said that a man who touches a woman takes that evil unto himself, that women are unclean and should be shunned. It is said that women represent the dark side of human nature, and that the gods revile them.

The people who say that are nincompoops. Blockheads. Idiots with a capital I. Scaredy-cat men have said these things for centuries because a woman bleeds every month. So what? They do that because they can bestow life, you morons. Can you? No. So who are you to judge?

So women are a little nuts. Did you ever have a small animal living inside you, scratching at the dooir to get out? You did not. Well, think about it. I'll wait. Do you think that might make you a little...unstable? Of course it would. It isn't like swallowing a coin, you know--not unless the coin is alive. Maybe it's like swallowing a frog....

Women should be celebrated for this ability, not condemned for it. You wouldn't be here if it wasn't for a woman, think about that. I'll wait. Got it? And if you can't celebrate them, at least treat them like normal people. That's what they are...most of them. Maybe not Ann Coulter, but then, she doesn't count as a human anyway.   

What's a little blood? I don't have any. I think I'd enjoy it.  

There are those who worship death and fear life. They walk the land as men of stone, without hearts to warm their days or souls to bear their nights. They are as those already dead, and yet they breathe; they are as ghosts, and yet they have substance. These are the ones who worship Osiris, God of the Underworld, and long for an end to their Earthly tenure. They cry out to him, "Take us, O Great One, for we are Yours!" and do not hear when he answers, "What are you, nuts? Get lost."

I, Horus, God of Wisdom, say unto you, "Get a grip." In the first place, death is not an end but just another beginning, and if you don't like this life, you're going to hate the next one. They get harder as they go along. More responsibility, more knowledge, less television.  Secondly, you don't get to bail out. Osiris will snuff your escape like a candle in a draught (being none too gentle about it) and shove a ticket back to Earth in your pocket with a note: "Do it again and try not to screw it up this time."
 
Before you can worship death, you must at least have tasted life--and that doesn't mean cocktails every night at 5 and kicking a beggar before you go to sleep. Eternal rest has to be earned, pal. You think we let every Tom-Dick-and-Harry into Paradise even if they're chicken? No way. The Heavens of the Gods aren't for sissies. First you must survive The Five Tests:

1) Make it all the way through a Britney Spears concert without barfing

2) Actually, truly, genuinely, and deeply love and respect another human being for more than 2 consecutive hours (bonus points if you can make it for one full day; automatic entrance through The Gates if it's Donald Rumsfeld)

3) Go to the church of your choice and sit through the entire service without once thinking of the rain gutters you have to clean out or worrying that your new hair style makes you look too much like Harpo Marx 

4) Manage to appreciate your kids despite the disheartening facts that they are A) wearing tattoos that say "Kill all the Parents and let God sort 'em out", and B) teenagers.

It is said that the evil one walks the land freely, that he lurks in the hearts of men like a blood-drenched stone, stealing their souls and bending them to his will.
 
Well that's crap. There is no evil one. What you do you do because you decided to do it. There is sickness, there is warpedness, and some people do evil things and maybe some people are evil, but there is no devil and there is no hell. All is one under The Great, Omnipotent Nut, Guardian of the Heavens and all that lies under them, may She reign forever. We gods may get pissy from time to time, but that's in our natures. 
 
You control who and what you are. Demons are a myth, devils are imaginary, and Beelzebub is a used car salesman in Duluth. Get over it.