Undead and Unforgiven(10)
“As a matter of fact.” I whipped out my cell phone in triumph, called up the document I’d e-mailed myself. (Yeah, cell phones work in Hell. No, I don’t know why. Take it up with AT&T.) “I went through the whole list. You guys should prepare to be impressed.”
“No one is prepared,” the Ant said. “At all.”
“Shut up,” I suggested sweetly, and began.
CHAPTER
FOUR
THE TEN COMMANDMENTS REMIX
Because It’s the Twenty-first Century Already, Come On
Big Number One: Thou shalt have no other gods before God. Whether that’s God, Jesus, Jehovah, Allah, Yahweh, Elohim, Hu, Ishvara, Nirankar, Shiva . . . whatever spiritual being in your life you pray to.
That means your cellulite-free thighs aren’t your god. Network ratings aren’t your god, a fixed mortgage rate isn’t your god. Your stock portfolio isn’t your god, or your stylist, or your brand-new phone. None of those stupid material things are your god. Clear? Great. Moving on.
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Number Two: Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of anything that is in Heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth.
See number one: no other gods before the God. So don’t make a statue of whatever you’re worshipping instead of your god. The earth is cluttered enough.
* * *
Number Three: Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain.
Don’t throw around the big guy’s name like it’s meaningless. It’s the opposite of meaningless. It’s full of meaning! Look, I get it: we live(d) in a world where third graders drop f-bombs. I know you’re gonna do it. You know you’re gonna do it. I blasphemed eight times before lunch. Just . . . try not to. Or at least cut back. It’s not unreasonable to show a little respect to your creator.
(I dunno, I get that God says these sins are all equally awful, but I’m having trouble punishing the guy who lived a good life but shrieked “Jesus Christ!” when his daughter came home with four piercings, with the same intensity as the serial killer who slashed his way through an Atlantic City Laundromat.)
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Number Four: Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy.
God rested on the seventh day, and so should you. What, resting’s good enough for God but you’re above it? Your compost won’t mulch itself? (That’s what you do with compost, right? Mulch it?) There will never be a better time to micromanage your children as they clean their rooms? Ah . . . no. This commandment is like your mom’s nap-time rules: you might not feel tired, but you are. So just rest already and when you get up you can have cookies.
* * *
Number Five: Honor thy father and thy mother.
Hey, they made you! And most of the time, after making you they took care of you: they put a roof over your helpless, diaper-soiling head and fed you and basically gave up a huge chunk of their lives for you (what, you thought they loved The Lego Movie as much as you did? they didn’t; that movie sucked), and the least you can do is not be a shit about it. (All right, the least you can do is nothing.) Yes, they’re annoying. Yes, they can’t quite get the hang of seeing you as an adult even if you’re wearing bifocals. But come on. They made you.
And some parents are utter shits. They just are. My friend Jessica’s, for example; her dad molested her and her mom knew and didn’t care. So “honor thy father and thy mother” is getting a somewhat looser interpretation in cases like that: don’t kill ’em. No matter how much you dream about it. No matter how much you’re sure they’ve got it coming. You think it’ll fix things? It’ll make your life better? It won’t. So. Come on. They made you.
* * *
Number Six: Thou shalt not kill.
Really a no-brainer on this one. There are aggravating people in the world. (Me, for example.) There are terrible asshats in the world. (Sometimes also me.) That has always been true. There are people so depraved and violent and dangerous that the world is actually better once they’re dead. But don’t kill them. Not your call.
(Murder disclaimers: Self-defense is fine. War is sometimes fine. Protecting loved ones is fine. A situation that encompasses all three is fine. In this case, “fine” means, okay, it was wrong, but let’s take a look at the extenuating circumstances and see if we can cut you a break. Welcome to a kinder, gentler Hell!)
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Number Seven: Thou shalt not commit adultery.
C’mon, it’s not asking too much to expect you to keep it in your pants. You’re married; that means you’ve acknowledged that you caught your limit. You promised each other and the priest or minister or judge or aunt who was ordained by the Internet that you wouldn’t bang anyone else. So: don’t bang anyone else. Easy. (Rather: don’t be easy.) If you need it? If your life will be over if you don’t fuck that particular person? Get a divorce. Then bang away, baby.