The Good. The Bad. The Asinine.

Hypocrisy, thy name is Jim

If there’s one thing I hate, it’s only being able to list one thing that I hate. Oh, and I hate those little stickers that they put on fruit. They are very annoying.

Jesus hated a few things, too. Fig trees, for instance. But also, hypocrisy:

“And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother’s eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?
Matthew 7:3

“And when thou prayest, thou shalt not be as the hypocrites are: for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and in the corners of the streets, that they may be seen of men.”
Matthew 6:1-6

“Ye hypocrites, well did Esaias prophesy of you, saying, This people draweth nigh unto me with their mouth, and honoureth me with their lips; but their heart is far from me.”
Matthew 15:7-8

With that in mind, you’d think that his modern day followers would also hate hypocrisy, wouldn’t you? And fig trees, of course.

Sadly, that doesn’t seem to be the case, at least, not if the Australian Christian Lobby is anything to go by. Not only are fig trees readily available from a wide range of nurseries, but the hypocrisy of the ACL, and its managing director in particular, apparently knows no bounds.

As I mentioned here the other day, Jim Wallace, the aforementioned MD, was a little put out when 7’s Sunrise came out in support of same-sex marriage:

That a TV current affairs show, let alone TV station, should take sides in such a highly contentious issue in the public square is disgraceful.

Fine Jim, fine. As long as you’re prepared to label any corporations that support your position as ‘disgraceful’, too. You wouldn’t have a problem with that, would you Jim? So when Gloria Jeans donated $30,000 to your organisation, an organisation that spends most of its time battling against equality for gays and lesbians, you just gave the money straight back, didn’t you Jim?

Jim? Are you there?

Didn’t think so.

You’re probably out battling fig trees.
____

Chrys Stevensons’ awesome summary of Gloria Jeans’ connection to homophobia can be found here. And, if you’re so inclined, there is a Facebook page, too.

Bronte and Jim go to the dog park

I have two golden retrievers, Bronte and Rory. They are awesome. But Bronte hides a terrible secret.

When she was born, I said to myself, “As long as she doesn’t get my nose, I’ll be happy”. And I was happy. Well, as happy as you can be if you have a nose like mine.

The weeks went by, we ran, we played, we pooped in the backyard. As her personality began to express itself, however, I started noticing things. Bronte started noticing things, too. And by “things” I mean “much smaller dogs”. And by “noticing” I mean “seeking them out in the dog park and forcing them to play with her against their will until they ran back to their owners for protection and a doggie treat which she thought was all part of the game so she’d run over to their owners as well and jump on them and steal the treat and then sit there asking for more and thinking ‘This is the best game ever, I can’t believe I invented it'”.

To be fair to Bronte, she always had good intentions. Golden retrievers are nothing if not big, smiling, balls of goofy happiness, and Bronte certainly fits the mould. But you can’t escape facts. And, sitting at the dog park watching her playfully terrorise anything smaller than herself, the fact seemed to be that she was a bully.

After a couple of years, we started to wonder that perhaps the reason Bronte was so, er, enthusiastic, was that she didn’t really get to play with other dogs that often. I’m sure Bronte was wondering things, too. Mostly why the government set the carbon price at $23 per tonne, but also why none of her little playmates ever visited. Anyway, we decided the time was right to get another dog. Another goldie. Someone to keep her company, and teach her some playtime manners.

Ah, Rory. The definition of a letdown.

I’m kidding, of course. Rory is absolutely sensational, and we don’t call him “Rorgeous” for nothing. But teach Bronte manners? He practically begs her to pick on him. Don’t get me wrong, they get along like a doghouse on fire, but Bronte’s bullying seemed to just carry on as normal.

Enter Trixie, Mum and Dad’s german shepherd. Trixie loves playing with Bronte, in much the same way that Bronte loves playing with small dogs with treat-laden owners. And Bronte doesn’t like it, not one bit. As I was watching them the other morning, a sudden thought occurred to me. Bronte and Jim Wallace, the managing director of the Australian Christian Lobby, have a lot in common.

You see, Jim is a bully, too. That’s all his opposition to same-sex marriage is. Bullying.

Jim is happy to stand up and tell homosexuals that they are immoral. That they aren’t fit to raise children. That his dogmatic definition of a family, cherry-picked from a randomly-selected holy book, is better than everyone else’s. That his opinion on your personal life is worth more than yours.

But don’t you dare disagree with him. He doesn’t like it:

What it says for the respect they have for alternative opinion, even our values, is extremely disappointing and we need to register our disappointment.

We must respect your opinion that gays are inferior? Sorry Jim, but no, we don’t. You’re just a bully, running around telling everyone else what they have to think and believe, and then crying foul when someone disagrees with you. Which is exactly what Bronte does.

Although, she’s a young dog, and means well.

You’re an adult human, and just, well… mean.

It’s time to have a look in the mirror, Jim, or pretty soon no one will want to play with you at the dog park. Not even Bronte.

Children need a mother and a father… who won’t try and kill them

There are so many depressing aspects to this story, I’m really not sure where to begin:

Doctors made an urgent plea to the Supreme Court yesterday to help save the life of a Jehovah’s Witness girl dying of leukaemia. Justice Richard White ordered the girl, 4, receive treatment, including a blood transfusion to which her parents had objected on religious grounds.

The poor, poor girl. Having leukaemia try and kill you is bad enough. You really don’t need your parents giving it a crack as well.

Oh well, at least she doesn’t have two dads. Imagine how bad that would be?