this story is a bit long, but its worth reading for comedic value[views:2429][posts:20]_____________________________ [Oct 5,2006 1:03pm - Yeti ""] i hate bullshit like this. my parents forward me things like this in vain attempts to "open my eyes" to the sickly world of god and jesus and other fictional characters. read it if you want. does anyone else have this problem? jesus is creepy, no man should love another man so much. god has no place within these walls. THE ROOM 17-year-old Brian Moore had only a short time to write something for a class. The subject was what Heaven was like. "I wowed 'em," he later told his father, Bruce. "It's a killer. It's the best thing I ever wrote." It also was the last. Brian's parents had forgotten about the essay when a cousin found it while cleaning out the teenager's locker atTeary Valley High School. Brian had been dead only hours, but his parents desperately wanted every piece of his life near them-notes from classmates and teachers, his homework. Only two months before, he had handwritten the essay about encountering Jesus in a file room full of cards detailing every moment of the teen's life. But it was only after Brian's death that Beth and Bruce Moore realized that their son had described his view of heaven. "It makes such an impact that people want to share it. You feel like you are there." Mr. Moore said. Brian Moore died May 27, 1997, the day after Memorial Day. He was driving home from a friend's house when his car went off Bulen-Pierce Road in Pickaway County and struck a utility pole. He emerged from the wreck unharmed but stepped on a downed power line and was electrocuted. The Moores framed a copy of Brian's essay and hung it among the family portraits in the living room. "I think God used him to make a point. I think we were meant to find it and make something out of it," Mrs. Moore said of the essay. She and her husband want to share their son's vision of life after death. "I'm happy for Brian. I know he's in heaven. I know I'll see him. " Brian's Essay: The Room... In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endless in either direction, had very different headings. As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read "Girls I have liked." I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one. And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was. This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. He re were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't match. A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching. A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I have betrayed." The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird "Books I Have Read," "Lies I Have Told," "Comfort I have Given," "Jokes I Have Laughed at." Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I've yelled at my brothers." Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done in My Anger", "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents." I never ceased to be surprised by the contents Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to fill each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature. When I pulled out the file marked "TV Shows I have watched", I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of shows but more by the vast wasted time I knew that file represented. When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts, " I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded. An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!" In insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it. Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh. And then I saw it.. The title was "People I Have Shared the Gos pel With." The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand. And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt. They started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all.. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key. But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him. No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I s aw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one? Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me. Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card. "No!" I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was "No, no," as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood. He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smi le and began to sign the cards. I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished." I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written. "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."-Phil. 4:13 "For God so loved the world that He gave His only son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life." If you feel the same way forward it to as many people as you can so the love of Jesus will touch their lives also. My "People I shared the gospel with" file just got bigger, how abo ut yours? IF THERE IS ONE EMAIL THAT I HAVE READ THAT NEEDS TO GO AROUND THE WORLD, IT IS THIS ONE, PLEASE PASS THIS TO EVERYONE YOU KNOW, CHRISTIAN OR NOT! "LET'S FILL OUR OWN FILE CARD" AND MAY GOD BLESS YOU ALL! You don't have to share this with anybody, no one will know whether you did or not, but you will know and so will He. May God Bless You This Day~ ~ ~ |
| _____________________________ [Oct 5,2006 1:09pm - Yeti ""] and heed the warning, HE WILL KNOW!!! |
| _____________________________________ [Oct 5,2006 1:09pm - the_reverend ""] I skimmed that and you are an asshole for making me skim it. I'm writing that shit on your card. |
| __________________________________ [Oct 5,2006 1:22pm - dreadkill ""] i skimmed it and the funny part was the electrocution. |
| _______________________________ [Oct 5,2006 1:23pm - Ryan_M ""] That sounds like something my mom would get sentimental over. I hate that fucking guilt trip that Christains put on people. |
| _____________________________ [Oct 5,2006 1:26pm - Yeti ""] thats exactly it. i denounced religion 12 years ago but they still send me this crap all the time. i dont feel guilty, it makes my stomach turn. it just seems so wrong. |
| __________________________________ [Oct 5,2006 1:27pm - dreadkill ""] my parents never send me stupid shit like that. they accept the fact that i don't follow christianity. also, i don't think they have my email address. |
| ________________________________________ [Oct 5,2006 1:37pm - SacreligionNLI ""] THERE'S AN INVISIBLE MAN IN THE SKY THAT SEES EVERYTHING YOU DO! AND HE HAS A LIST OF TEN THINGS HE DOES NOT WANT YOU TO DO! |
| ___________________________________________________ [Oct 5,2006 2:12pm - menstrual_sweatpants_disco ""] There, I just jazzed up this loser's essay by replacing the word "Jesus" with "The Fonz" and "card" with "dead kid"... Brian's Essay: The Room... In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with small dead kids. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endless in either direction, had very different headings. As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read "Girls I have liked." I opened it and began flipping through the dead kids. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one. And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was. This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. He re were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't match. A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching. A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I have betrayed." The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird "Books I Have Read," "Lies I Have Told," "Comfort I have Given," "Jokes I Have Laughed at." Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I've yelled at my brothers." Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done in My Anger", "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents." I never ceased to be surprised by the contents Often there were many more dead kids than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to fill each of these thousands or even millions of dead kids? But each dead kid confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature. When I pulled out the file marked "TV Shows I have watched", I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The dead kids were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of shows but more by the vast wasted time I knew that file represented. When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts, " I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size and drew out a dead kid. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded. An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: No one must ever see these dead kids! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!" In insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and burn the dead kids. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single dead kid. I became desperate and pulled out a dead kid, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it. Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh. And then I saw it.. The title was "People I Have Shared the Gos pel With." The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the dead kids it contained on one hand. And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt. They started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all.. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key. But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him. No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but The Fonz. I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the dead kids. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I s aw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one? Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me. Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each dead kid. "No!" I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was "No, no," as I pulled the dead kid from Him. His name shouldn't be on these dead kids. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of The Fonz covered mine. It was written with His blood. He gently took the dead kid back. He smiled a sad smi le and began to sign the dead kids. I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished." I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still dead kids to be written. "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."-Phil. 4:13 "For God so loved the world that He gave His only son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life." If you feel the same way forward it to as many people as you can so the love of The Fonz will touch their lives also. My "People I shared the gospel with" file just got bigger, how abo ut yours? |
| _______________________________ [Oct 5,2006 2:46pm - xmikex ""] "And then Jesus and I found a file cabinet marked 'Masterbation Fantasies'. It was 5 stories tall, and dripping wet with what looked to be spent motor oil. Jesus yanked open the first rusty drawer and pulled out a card. He grimaced at the fist card, raised a curious eyebrow at the second card before shaking it off, and by the 5th card he had to sit down and ask for a glass of ginger ale." |
| _______________________________ [Oct 5,2006 2:50pm - xmikex ""] I made a re-write of my own: In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endless in either direction, had very different headings. As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read "Girls I have liked." I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one. And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was. This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. He re were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't match. A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching. A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I have betrayed." The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird "Books I Have Read," "Lies I Have Told," "Comfort I have Given," "Jokes I Have Laughed at." Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I've yelled at my brothers." Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done in My Anger", "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents." I never ceased to be surprised by the contents Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to fill each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature. When I pulled out the file marked "TV Shows I have watched", I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of shows but more by the vast wasted time I knew that file represented. When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts, " I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded. An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!" In insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it. Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh. And then I saw it.. The title was "People I Have Shared the Gos pel With." The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand. And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt. They started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all.. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key. But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him. No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Marty Janetty. I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I s aw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one? Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me. Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card. "No!" I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was "No, no," as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Marty Janetty covered mine. It was written with His blood. He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smi le and began to sign the cards. I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished." I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written. "I can do all things through Marty Janetty who strengthens me."-Shawn Michaels. 4:13 "For God so loved the world that He gave His only son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life." If you feel the same way forward it to as many people as you can so the love of Marty Janetty will touch their lives also. My "People I shared the gospel with" file just got bigger, how abo ut yours? |
| _____________________________ [Oct 5,2006 3:16pm - Yeti ""] xmikex said:"And then Jesus and I found a file cabinet marked 'Masterbation Fantasies'. It was 5 stories tall, and dripping wet with what looked to be spent motor oil. Jesus yanked open the first rusty drawer and pulled out a card. He grimaced at the fist card, raised a curious eyebrow at the second card before shaking it off, and by the 5th card he had to sit down and ask for a glass of ginger ale." dude that is fucking hilarious. |
| _______________________________ [Oct 5,2006 3:57pm - xmikex ""] HAHA an hour after I posted that the night tech at my work came down with a sudden "illness" and left meaning I have to stay till 9:30 tonight. The Lord works in mysterious ways. And most of them involve cheapshots at me. |
| _______________________________ [Oct 5,2006 3:58pm - xmikex ""] "I can do all things through Marty Janetty who strengthens me."-Shawn Michaels. 4:13 " Glory be to the Rockers. |
| ___________________________________ [Oct 5,2006 4:14pm - anonymous ""] gay |
| ________________________________________ [Oct 5,2006 4:20pm - SacreligionNLI ""] xmikex said: "I can do all things through Marty Janetty who strengthens me."-Shawn Michaels. 4:13 " Glory be to the Rockers. it was a sad day when marty was thrown through brutus' glass window |
| ____________________________________________ [Oct 5,2006 8:12pm - MarkFuckingRichards ""] i love my parents for supporting my lack of religion/worship, especially my dad who would prefer to mow the lawn than go to church. that's saying something. i love menstrual sweatpants disco even more for his version of the story. and i love xmikex the most for helping me to realize that marty janetty is jesus. let ted debiase be with you. |
| ___________________________________ [Oct 5,2006 8:36pm - anonymous ""] tHIS MADE MY NIGHT ABSOULTLY FUCKING HILLARIOUS, i LIKE THAT "GOD" CARED SO MUCH ABOUT HIM tHAT HE HAD TO KILL HIM |
| _______________________________ [Oct 6,2006 9:34am - xmikex ""] MarkFuckingRichards said:i love my parents for supporting my lack of religion/worship, especially my dad who would prefer to mow the lawn than go to church. that's saying something. i love menstrual sweatpants disco even more for his version of the story. and i love xmikex the most for helping me to realize that marty janetty is jesus. let ted debiase be with you. my dad used to refer to the tabernacle as the "holy microwave" IN CHURCH during the communion ceremony, and do nothing but make fun of the mass. it would always piss off my mom. |
| ____________________________________________________ [Oct 6,2006 10:04am - menstrual_sweatpants_disco ""] My dad always enjoys a good pedophile priest joke. |
| ____________________________________________ [Oct 6,2006 6:29pm - MarkFuckingRichards ""] xmikex said:MarkFuckingRichards said:i love my parents for supporting my lack of religion/worship, especially my dad who would prefer to mow the lawn than go to church. that's saying something. i love menstrual sweatpants disco even more for his version of the story. and i love xmikex the most for helping me to realize that marty janetty is jesus. let ted debiase be with you. my dad used to refer to the tabernacle as the "holy microwave" IN CHURCH during the communion ceremony, and do nothing but make fun of the mass. it would always piss off my mom. hahahahaha! your dad is the greatest man to ever walk this earth. when my sister was like 3 or 4 years old, whenever she was in a church she'd disrupt the mass by dancing in front of the priest. kinda fucking creepy. |