Probably the worst thing for a Christian is to be confronted with your own sins. It’s like I’m always telling the third party investigators: Jesus and I can’t both pay the price for my mistakes; that’s double geography. It reminds me of the words the famous man once said, “there is only room for one on the cross,” which came from a seminary class that someone else attended and was talking about when I overheard them.
Here’s the thing about sins: if they are really that bad, would I even have done them in the first place? That doesn’t sound like something I would do. And if I did do them, it was probably someone else’s fault.
Let’s go to the Greek: in that one book, Jesus got thirsty, so he went to the well and asked the Philistine woman to draw him some water but she couldn’t because there were some mean shepherds there who were hogging the water, also they were going to stone her because she touched too many wieners. Then Jesus told the shepherds to let her get some water, then he took the water and made mud, then he put the mud on the woman’s eyes and was like “where are your accusers?” and she couldn’t see them anymore because of the mud, and then some other stuff happened, but the point is this: all of my sins are because of Elon Musk.
In the early 1990s, whenever the homeschool group would go to the library, and I wandered off to the magazine section to look at issues of National Geographic1, this was because of Elon Musk. He showed me where the good ones were.
Elon Musk made me lie and tell that one girl in college that yeah, actually I WAS cool with just being friends.
Whenever I go on mission trips, I steal things, and this is Elon Musk’s fault.
Elon Musk said that I should break up DC Talk, so I did.
Whenever I hate people who are more successful than me and secretly cheer their failures, this is all Elon Musk, not me.
Elon Musk told me to cite articles I hadn’t read when I wrote research papers in grad school; he said it would be fine.
I told Mark Driscoll that you can catch COVID by shaking hands with old people, and Elon Musk made me do this.
It is Elon Musk’s fault that I am no longer welcome on the premises of the Ark Encounter because I repeatedly left copies of my erotic end times poetry in the restrooms.
Sometimes I tell small children that God is very upset about what they did last night, and then I walk away. Elon Musk told me to do this.
Elon Musk said it was okay to throw GameCube controllers against the wall whenever NCAA Football 2003 cheated and made you fumble at the goal line in the 4th quarter.
Whenever the stress of being a global evangelical influencer becomes too much for me, I recharge myself by going out at night with nunchucks and attacking hobos. It has recently come to my attention that this may be a sin, and this is also Elon Musk’s fault.
*Weekly-ish articles are free; periodic special articles are behind the paywall. Substack won’t let me set the monthly subscription lower than $5, so I made the yearly subscription $30, which is $2.50 a month, which seems about right. Thanks for reading :)
Homeschool Playboys
I have a steadfast commitment to continue subscribing to any soul who might have the wherewithal to think up this fake confession: "I repeatedly left copies of my erotic end times poetry in the restrooms."