So, Enigma welcomes you to his first Chick Tract deconstruction (while speaking in third person, no less. Enigma likes speaking in third person.) I should point out that me using deconstruction is ironic because deconstruction is a bastard child of the post-modernist movement, but I won't. Instead, let's get to the deconstruction:
This is Sarah Palin in a few years. LOOK OUT, MOMMA GRIZZLY!
Enter: Generic Preacher. Scene: Solo funeral, all alone in the rain. Dialogue: standard stereotypical funeral fare.
This guy doesn't even look like a preacher. He looks like some kind of journalist reading over a grave.
"Damn it, I knew I should've taken that turn here. Now I'm stuck out here in the rain, this graveyard. And this map isn't helping at all."
I guess this means it's time to park Mr. Parker in the last lot he'll ever be in.
He looks like he's drunk. "How tragic! I lost my last bottle of Jack Daniels!" *hic* "That was the saddest funeral I've ever done, and I still can't find that damn bottle."
That lady looks like someone just rammed something up her ass. "OH!" Grandpa Parker, you dirty old man!"
"Grandpa Parker" - no relation to Uncle Parker, who died suddenly of gunshot wound from a run away thug only to be brought back again because the writers lacked creativity, only to be killed again. Comics are confusing.
Yes, because there's nothing better to report in the newspapers then how this man, known to everyone as Grandpa Parker, had nobody at his funeral. If this lady knew him, why didn't she go to the funeral?
"Wait, didn't he have a daughter?"
"Well, no. He had a flower, and everyone hated it, because he never watered it, and when it died, it rotted, and it stunk really, really bad." See how much I hated it? I'm going to dislocate my jaw and stick it out way far, like this - HUNH!
Look out, that lady's head is going to explode! Sliver storm!
"Oh my, I just had a horrible thought! What if I can never find those slivers I just shed?"
Hey, I know that dog. He's got a name around the webbertubez; they calls him Fang. Hi, Fang! Consider this a formal introduction. This is the one good thing that Chick draws in his comic.
What house? Where the hell did "that" come from? They weren't even talking about it.
Ahahahahaha - this next picture is hilarious. Take all the text out and just look at the picture. HURR I HAZ TEEFS. She looks like she was trying to pick her nose but missed. "Ouch! My gum line! I was digging for gold but I found a molar instead!"
I dunno. She looks like she has all her teeth. She beat me up twice and knocked out three of my teeth, which averages out to about 1 and 1/2 teeth per beating. I can just imagine her: "Okay, I got 1 and 1/2 of that tooth, so I'm here for the other molar and the rest of that tooth. I'll take that instead of your lunch money."
It's another silver storm! Duck!
So... Petunia Parker burned a library, complete with books? That makes her a Religious Righter then, doesn' it? Holy shit, it is Momma Grizzly!
"Don't worry. Nobody knows where she is. She's only on television with her own FOX news program. That house will probably go to those dirty bastards in the government."
TWO WEEKS LATER
"Get off my place?" Bad syntax or Ms. Petunia is a flower with a bad attitude and this guy is standing in the middle of her garden. I REPORT, YOU DECIDE.
Please don't shoot me! I'm like, a quarter of your size, but I come with good news - your old man croaked! He's dead, and you didn't even bother going to the funeral!
You don't see too many houses with a white picket fence on the edge of nowhere.
That's not a dress. That's a cloak of straws and she's covered in a half dozen flies.
He's gone for good? Well, not really Lady, see, sometimes people come back after they die, especially if you're Epic Level. Death is cheap, but hey, enjoy it while you can.
Damn. That woman's as big as the house. That or it's a really small shack inhabited by gremlins, who start out angrily at this stupid lady who dresses in cloaks of draws and rolls around in honey to draw flies.
Coneheads - the White trash version.
"Good heavens! What I have just unleashed upon the world? And it's almost lunch, and I'd like to go somewhere, but I can't, because it's nothing but an endless sea of white from the edge of this crazy bitch's yard to eternity. God was a lazy creator."
It's the Happyville Hillbillies, a cheap imitation of the Beverly Hillbillies.
"This is our town, now!" I thought she just got left the house, not the whole town. Who the hell was this Grandpa Parker guy, anyway? Some kind of millionaire? Is that why everyone knew him?
They hated me, and they'll hate you! No, seriously, I know because I hate you.
Mr. Wilson went on a diet. And is growing gills on his forehead. Mrs. Wilson is looking a little a little scraggly and dear God look at that tumor growing from her face. Welcome to Happyville; thirty years ago Happy Corp. ran this town and they dumped a bunch of shit in the local water. Now we're a town of degenerate mutants. And we're your new neighbors!
"I'm Petunia Parker and these are my boys. What do you want?"
They want to suck your brains out, being the mutant scum they are, through those straws you've so graciously provided them in the form of your dress.
*SLURP*
Hurr... haz cake. Wait, where the hell did that cake come from? Aha! I know what this place is; this is the home for the mutants who didn't make the cut in X-men! This lady's superpower is mass producing cakes from her ass. Sort of like how Jack's is mass producing these tracts from his.
Uh... given their faces, I'm rather glad that there's that speech bubble there. "And this is my wife, Abigail. You don't mind if we get it on right here, do you? Of course not."
"My husband is dead for killing someone, so you'd better stay away from us - but I'll take this delicious asscake anyway! We don't like people either! But it's a good thing you're mutants and not people, so we can be friends."
Look at the little monster down there in the corner. Let him have some of the asscake, Momma Grizzly. That or she's choking the spit out of him. He looks positively psychopathic - I'm gonna murder that asscake!
Maw Parker's gonna gaze daggers through you, you ugly mutants. You better run, or she'll sic her little runts after you!
THREE MONTHS LATER
He's got a banana on his lunchbox. I wonder if he likes bananas a lot. And it looks like he's got his dick caught in his zipper just under that speech bubble. "Shut up lady, so I can call 9-11 so they can help get it unstuck for the third time this week!"
What the hell is Generic Black Officer 001 doing back there, beating up a scarecrow? "Rar I haets me some scarecrow!" He looks positively rabid. Hope you have decent insurance, scarecrow. This'll teach you to pour that fear gas into the city water and create all those hideous mutants out there on the edge of town!
"This the sixth emergency this week John. She's driving me nuts! I'd say she's driving me bananas, but I'd rather not. Bob apparently has a thing for bananas, and well, the less said about that and zippers, the better."
"Save it for the town hall meeting, John. There, all of the mutants will get together and kill her and then eat her and her little devil spawn, and all of our problems will be solved."
Is that Sigmund Freud up there?
Holy shit look at these specimens of humanity. Noses - holy cow I don't see a normal nose among them. All of their noses take up like, half of their faces. "Don't just sit there, Mayor - tell us what to do about these massive tumors growing from our faces!"
So let's see... We've got a talking coat asking the Mayor what to do, a talking elbow saying that the family from hell came into their town, and talking chest hair who knows what can help them. "I think I know who can help us... a razor blade and a full-body waxing, that's what'll help."
Holy shit Grandpa Parker got to him, too! Look at that face - you just know something to rammed up his ass without warning. Here's a fun game - read his first line from the previous panel in a deep voice, then inhale a balloon of nitrogen and read his other lines.
Pastor Sam Jones, the flowerwhisperer.
"What will you need?" Mayor Freud asks. "I can give a psychoanalysis, but trust me, given the branch of Christian theology you belong to, that's the last thing you want."
"I'll need lots of prayer. But first, you'll have to donate everything you have to me, otherwise God will take me home and then y'all will be really screwed."
Dig the deformed Sean Connery in the corner: "That's stupid!" Finally, someone with some sense in a Chick Tract. And with that revelation, I think I need to lie down.
"Who is it?" That's some weird emphasis on the words there, Jack.
"It's me, the flowerwhisperer. I'm here to whisperer to you and OH MY GOD WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU SHUT THE DOOR BACK I'M RUNNING!"
Stupid little Sammy? Really, that's the best she could come up with? Geez. Given some of the insults thrown around today, that's almost a term of endearment.
That's what you called me! But that was then, and this is now, and now I'm back, and it's personal, lady! I'm going to exorcise you and all your hellspawn at pointblank range with my shot gun!
I'm a preacher now, Petunia! And I'm going to go off an build a cult in the jungle, and I was wondering if you would be interesting and helping. There'll be free Kool-aid.
HAW HAW HAW
By my understanding, that's the Evil Chick Villain Laugh (tm). Note, now, this is THREE MONTHS LATER and she still hasn't changed her dress. I understand why there's flies there, now, and it's got nothing to do with honey.
Goodness sakes, lady, you could torpedo a U-boat with that head of yours. If you buried yourself up to your neck in the road, you'd flatten tires.
These are my boys. This one right here is a mutated rat. The other two I'm not sure about, but I assume they're human. But he's the spittin' image of his daddy, who got hung for killing someone, and don't you forget it. Cuz we don't like people, either.
Look at that eyeshadow. God lady, go easy on it. It's like the Goth edition of... that bear on all those honey containers.
I'm not entirely sure she's aerodynamic. I mean, maybe - that pointed head would help clear a lot of friction, but she's not exactly Saturn Rocket material here.
"This is my baby, [generic name associated with Southern White trash here]. So what made you become a preacher, huh? And you'd better give me the right answer, otherwise I'll shoot you with a blast from my hand and feed your remains to my hellspawn. GURRR."
"He died for us, Petunia. Except he really didn't, like that lawyer was talking about earlier, because he casts resurrection as a level 30 spell like ability. It says so on his entry, right here. I swear I'm not making this up."
So Jesus is like God? No Petunia, he's nothing like God. He's just pretending, that's all.
Dig Pastor Jones, the Smug. That's more concentrated smug than one poor comic can handle, right there.
Panel two: John 3:15. I'm said it's not John 3:60. That'd be an awesome name for a television show: "TONIGHT, on John 3:60".
*Poke* *Poke* - is it done yet? *Poke* *Poke*
"Be afraid of God! Be very afraid!"
What the hell is that thing on the front walk. Some kind of mutant gate?
Jeeze. She looks more and more like a man every time we see her. And you could ski off of that head she has. Oh, I know - that must mean she's onna them (wait for it) - pointy-headed intellectuals!
"Well, I'm too wicked for God to scare me. What's he gonna do, huh?" Lady, trust me. You cannot match the Fundie God in wickedness. Believe you me, one look through the Bible will back that up 100%.
A Bible-quoting house. That'd be kinda of cool for parlor tricks, especially for the "Guess this verse! My house will spit a bible verse at you, and you have to find it! First on to find it wins a bigger mansion in Heaven than everyone else! Go!"
"Doomsday, Petunia! That's when we all sing the DOOM song! Oh, and, uh... yeah. Something about a lake of fire."
Sure, that's a hell of a way to win new converts. "You'd better fear God! Really, you'd better. He's got wiseguys everywhere, and if you're not careful and say the wrong thing, they won't find the body. God's miracles are made manifest through concrete shoes."
Oh, but his response is even better. "You evil bitch, I'll be praying that God punishes you, so that way you'll come to the fold of our religion! And you won't even get that Kool-aide now, so there!"
He's striking a pose. "Uh huh. Oh yeah. Uh huh." There's something wrong with his face... he looks like Richard Nixon, kinda. This is your president. This is your president on drugs. Meanwhile, Mamma Grizzly is waving her fist, and Pastor ZZ-top there is summoning a storm for awesomeness (okay, no; there is no awesome in a Chick Tract. But here's a fun fact: The only member of ZZ-top without a beard is their drummer, and his last name is Beard.)
"Listen to yo momma. That preacher lied. There ain't no Kool-aid, there never was going to be any Kool-aid, and if I have to listen to you little runts go on about it, I'll feed you to the rabid pitbulls we have out back."
Err... someone doesn't understand atheism. Just because there's no observable God doesn't mean that you can do whatever you want. Sorry Jack, I think you're confusing atheism with Randianism/Objectivism. And as an atheist, I take offense to that last one - I'm a lot of things, but Randroid is not one of them.
"Be not deceived; God is not mocked" - it just takes him a while to get around to doing anything about it.
TWO YEARS LATER
"I clocked that truck at 93! It's a good thing, too, because if I'd clocked him at 94 or 95, we'd all be in serious trouble." 93 what? I assume miles per hour, but it could also be kilometers per hour (silly me, the metric system is OF THE DEVIL) or feet per second or yards per minute or whatever.
"It's stolen, and there's a kid driving! He's going to get himself killed! Someone call for back up!"
DUN DUN DUN
This is an example of where are they now: Piglet from Winne-the-Pooh grew up to become a police officer in a Chick Tract. Like most childhood stars, he's fallen a long way.
"Oh no! Officer Piglet, turn the wheel! TURN THE WHEEL!"
KABOO... er, Crash?
That car is made of explodium. That or the telephone pole is, not sure which. "Damn it, Piglet, I told you we should've been using nitroglycerin for fuel!"
Oh no, wait - that's explosive teleportation. That explains why the telephone pole is impaling the middle of the car.
"I hate you God! You took my favorite boy! I curse you! No, really, I do. Do you know how long I had to carry him, and do you realize he had absolutely nothing to do with this, you gigantic jackass?
UH OH. Charlie's her favorite. Sorry Austin, you know what this means, don't you? Yeah, you might as well just...
Oh. Heh. I guess there's no sense making a joke here, but it's no good for me to just leave you hanging, right?
That dog isn't sad. It's sniffing of his corpse, waiting for it to rot so he can start eating it.
THREE YEARS LATER
God's revenge is long lasting. It's like a bad burrito - you earn it's wrath in one setting but it sticks with you for a long time.
Blast it? Her son is home, by himself, sick in bed with a tornado barreling down upon him and the best she can manage is a blast it? This woman doesn't seem very wicked here. Jackass, maybe.
That's one hell of a massive turd falling from the sky. Nah, wait, that's a tree. A twisted, wicked tree. And it's got little... fingers or branches sticking from the canopy.
If that's a turd, does this make the tract one giant shitstorm?
There's just so much wrong here I don't even know where to start. Really. Her son is dead, killed by a giant falling turd form the sky, and her first concern is "OMG JEZUS GONNA JUDGE ME!"
If you take this panel out of context, it looked like she finally got sick of those mutants and hulked out, beating the shit out of their little town and is now standing in the remains.
"The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge..." Like any good parent, you should fear them. Love is second, but since Jesus wrote The Prince under the pen name Machiavelli, it's better to be feared than loved.
"I'm terrified for my own life, Sam! Never mind that my children are dead, I'm scared for myself! I want to be saved, will God sill save me?"
"No Petunia, you just have rot in hell with your demonspawn children, because they never got the chance to be saved before they died, and because they were listening to you and didn't believe in God, they went to hell, anyway! But I'll tell you what - since we're offering Salvation two-for-one deals and God pays in commission fees, I'll pull some strings and see what I can do; maybe Purgatory, huh? But you have to do something for me."
"Oh... show me what I can do then!"
*In Mickey Mouse voice* "Okay!"
"That's not Jesus, Petunia, that's Dr. Doom's Death Ra... PPZZZIIIT ... Oh well."
"Ima waving my hands in the air, like I just don't care..." GIANT FACELESS GOD ALERT!
He's exploding because he's sat on the holy hand grenade. You gotta clear those giant piles of shit out of there somehow.
"You've got mail:"
From: JESUS2U@HOLYMAIL.COM
SUBJECT: SAVE NOW!
MESSAGE: DO YOU LOVE ME CHECK ONE: YES ___ NO___
Click HERE to mark as spam: __
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Someone, and I won't name names, didn't understand Job very well.
Well folks, I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. Stick around; I plan to do a whole lot more in the future.
All images and pictures copyright Jack T. Chick, 2011.
"Damn it, I knew I should've taken that turn here. Now I'm stuck out here in the rain, this graveyard. And this map isn't helping at all."
I guess this means it's time to park Mr. Parker in the last lot he'll ever be in.
He looks like he's drunk. "How tragic! I lost my last bottle of Jack Daniels!" *hic* "That was the saddest funeral I've ever done, and I still can't find that damn bottle."
That lady looks like someone just rammed something up her ass. "OH!" Grandpa Parker, you dirty old man!""Grandpa Parker" - no relation to Uncle Parker, who died suddenly of gunshot wound from a run away thug only to be brought back again because the writers lacked creativity, only to be killed again. Comics are confusing.
Yes, because there's nothing better to report in the newspapers then how this man, known to everyone as Grandpa Parker, had nobody at his funeral. If this lady knew him, why didn't she go to the funeral?
"Wait, didn't he have a daughter?"
"Well, no. He had a flower, and everyone hated it, because he never watered it, and when it died, it rotted, and it stunk really, really bad." See how much I hated it? I'm going to dislocate my jaw and stick it out way far, like this - HUNH!
Look out, that lady's head is going to explode! Sliver storm!
Hey, I know that dog. He's got a name around the webbertubez; they calls him Fang. Hi, Fang! Consider this a formal introduction. This is the one good thing that Chick draws in his comic.
What house? Where the hell did "that" come from? They weren't even talking about it.
Ahahahahaha - this next picture is hilarious. Take all the text out and just look at the picture. HURR I HAZ TEEFS. She looks like she was trying to pick her nose but missed. "Ouch! My gum line! I was digging for gold but I found a molar instead!"
I dunno. She looks like she has all her teeth. She beat me up twice and knocked out three of my teeth, which averages out to about 1 and 1/2 teeth per beating. I can just imagine her: "Okay, I got 1 and 1/2 of that tooth, so I'm here for the other molar and the rest of that tooth. I'll take that instead of your lunch money."
It's another silver storm! Duck!
So... Petunia Parker burned a library, complete with books? That makes her a Religious Righter then, doesn' it? Holy shit, it is Momma Grizzly!
TWO WEEKS LATER
"Get off my place?" Bad syntax or Ms. Petunia is a flower with a bad attitude and this guy is standing in the middle of her garden. I REPORT, YOU DECIDE.
Please don't shoot me! I'm like, a quarter of your size, but I come with good news - your old man croaked! He's dead, and you didn't even bother going to the funeral!
You don't see too many houses with a white picket fence on the edge of nowhere.
That's not a dress. That's a cloak of straws and she's covered in a half dozen flies.
He's gone for good? Well, not really Lady, see, sometimes people come back after they die, especially if you're Epic Level. Death is cheap, but hey, enjoy it while you can.
Damn. That woman's as big as the house. That or it's a really small shack inhabited by gremlins, who start out angrily at this stupid lady who dresses in cloaks of draws and rolls around in honey to draw flies.
Coneheads - the White trash version.
"Good heavens! What I have just unleashed upon the world? And it's almost lunch, and I'd like to go somewhere, but I can't, because it's nothing but an endless sea of white from the edge of this crazy bitch's yard to eternity. God was a lazy creator."
It's the Happyville Hillbillies, a cheap imitation of the Beverly Hillbillies.
"This is our town, now!" I thought she just got left the house, not the whole town. Who the hell was this Grandpa Parker guy, anyway? Some kind of millionaire? Is that why everyone knew him?
They hated me, and they'll hate you! No, seriously, I know because I hate you.
Mr. Wilson went on a diet. And is growing gills on his forehead. Mrs. Wilson is looking a little a little scraggly and dear God look at that tumor growing from her face. Welcome to Happyville; thirty years ago Happy Corp. ran this town and they dumped a bunch of shit in the local water. Now we're a town of degenerate mutants. And we're your new neighbors!
"I'm Petunia Parker and these are my boys. What do you want?"
They want to suck your brains out, being the mutant scum they are, through those straws you've so graciously provided them in the form of your dress.
*SLURP*
Hurr... haz cake. Wait, where the hell did that cake come from? Aha! I know what this place is; this is the home for the mutants who didn't make the cut in X-men! This lady's superpower is mass producing cakes from her ass. Sort of like how Jack's is mass producing these tracts from his.
Uh... given their faces, I'm rather glad that there's that speech bubble there. "And this is my wife, Abigail. You don't mind if we get it on right here, do you? Of course not."
"My husband is dead for killing someone, so you'd better stay away from us - but I'll take this delicious asscake anyway! We don't like people either! But it's a good thing you're mutants and not people, so we can be friends."
Look at the little monster down there in the corner. Let him have some of the asscake, Momma Grizzly. That or she's choking the spit out of him. He looks positively psychopathic - I'm gonna murder that asscake!
Maw Parker's gonna gaze daggers through you, you ugly mutants. You better run, or she'll sic her little runts after you!
He's got a banana on his lunchbox. I wonder if he likes bananas a lot. And it looks like he's got his dick caught in his zipper just under that speech bubble. "Shut up lady, so I can call 9-11 so they can help get it unstuck for the third time this week!"
What the hell is Generic Black Officer 001 doing back there, beating up a scarecrow? "Rar I haets me some scarecrow!" He looks positively rabid. Hope you have decent insurance, scarecrow. This'll teach you to pour that fear gas into the city water and create all those hideous mutants out there on the edge of town!
"This the sixth emergency this week John. She's driving me nuts! I'd say she's driving me bananas, but I'd rather not. Bob apparently has a thing for bananas, and well, the less said about that and zippers, the better."
"Save it for the town hall meeting, John. There, all of the mutants will get together and kill her and then eat her and her little devil spawn, and all of our problems will be solved."
Holy shit look at these specimens of humanity. Noses - holy cow I don't see a normal nose among them. All of their noses take up like, half of their faces. "Don't just sit there, Mayor - tell us what to do about these massive tumors growing from our faces!"
So let's see... We've got a talking coat asking the Mayor what to do, a talking elbow saying that the family from hell came into their town, and talking chest hair who knows what can help them. "I think I know who can help us... a razor blade and a full-body waxing, that's what'll help."
Pastor Sam Jones, the flowerwhisperer.
"What will you need?" Mayor Freud asks. "I can give a psychoanalysis, but trust me, given the branch of Christian theology you belong to, that's the last thing you want."
"I'll need lots of prayer. But first, you'll have to donate everything you have to me, otherwise God will take me home and then y'all will be really screwed."
Dig the deformed Sean Connery in the corner: "That's stupid!" Finally, someone with some sense in a Chick Tract. And with that revelation, I think I need to lie down.
"Who is it?" That's some weird emphasis on the words there, Jack.
"It's me, the flowerwhisperer. I'm here to whisperer to you and OH MY GOD WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU SHUT THE DOOR BACK I'M RUNNING!"
Stupid little Sammy? Really, that's the best she could come up with? Geez. Given some of the insults thrown around today, that's almost a term of endearment.
That's what you called me! But that was then, and this is now, and now I'm back, and it's personal, lady! I'm going to exorcise you and all your hellspawn at pointblank range with my shot gun!
I'm a preacher now, Petunia! And I'm going to go off an build a cult in the jungle, and I was wondering if you would be interesting and helping. There'll be free Kool-aid.
HAW HAW HAW
By my understanding, that's the Evil Chick Villain Laugh (tm). Note, now, this is THREE MONTHS LATER and she still hasn't changed her dress. I understand why there's flies there, now, and it's got nothing to do with honey.
Goodness sakes, lady, you could torpedo a U-boat with that head of yours. If you buried yourself up to your neck in the road, you'd flatten tires.
Look at that eyeshadow. God lady, go easy on it. It's like the Goth edition of... that bear on all those honey containers.
I'm not entirely sure she's aerodynamic. I mean, maybe - that pointed head would help clear a lot of friction, but she's not exactly Saturn Rocket material here.
"This is my baby, [generic name associated with Southern White trash here]. So what made you become a preacher, huh? And you'd better give me the right answer, otherwise I'll shoot you with a blast from my hand and feed your remains to my hellspawn. GURRR."
So Jesus is like God? No Petunia, he's nothing like God. He's just pretending, that's all.
Dig Pastor Jones, the Smug. That's more concentrated smug than one poor comic can handle, right there.
Panel two: John 3:15. I'm said it's not John 3:60. That'd be an awesome name for a television show: "TONIGHT, on John 3:60".
*Poke* *Poke* - is it done yet? *Poke* *Poke*
What the hell is that thing on the front walk. Some kind of mutant gate?
Jeeze. She looks more and more like a man every time we see her. And you could ski off of that head she has. Oh, I know - that must mean she's onna them (wait for it) - pointy-headed intellectuals!
"Well, I'm too wicked for God to scare me. What's he gonna do, huh?" Lady, trust me. You cannot match the Fundie God in wickedness. Believe you me, one look through the Bible will back that up 100%.
"Doomsday, Petunia! That's when we all sing the DOOM song! Oh, and, uh... yeah. Something about a lake of fire."
Sure, that's a hell of a way to win new converts. "You'd better fear God! Really, you'd better. He's got wiseguys everywhere, and if you're not careful and say the wrong thing, they won't find the body. God's miracles are made manifest through concrete shoes."
Oh, but his response is even better. "You evil bitch, I'll be praying that God punishes you, so that way you'll come to the fold of our religion! And you won't even get that Kool-aide now, so there!"
He's striking a pose. "Uh huh. Oh yeah. Uh huh." There's something wrong with his face... he looks like Richard Nixon, kinda. This is your president. This is your president on drugs. Meanwhile, Mamma Grizzly is waving her fist, and Pastor ZZ-top there is summoning a storm for awesomeness (okay, no; there is no awesome in a Chick Tract. But here's a fun fact: The only member of ZZ-top without a beard is their drummer, and his last name is Beard.)
Err... someone doesn't understand atheism. Just because there's no observable God doesn't mean that you can do whatever you want. Sorry Jack, I think you're confusing atheism with Randianism/Objectivism. And as an atheist, I take offense to that last one - I'm a lot of things, but Randroid is not one of them.
"Be not deceived; God is not mocked" - it just takes him a while to get around to doing anything about it.
TWO YEARS LATER
"I clocked that truck at 93! It's a good thing, too, because if I'd clocked him at 94 or 95, we'd all be in serious trouble." 93 what? I assume miles per hour, but it could also be kilometers per hour (silly me, the metric system is OF THE DEVIL) or feet per second or yards per minute or whatever.
"It's stolen, and there's a kid driving! He's going to get himself killed! Someone call for back up!"
DUN DUN DUN
"Oh no! Officer Piglet, turn the wheel! TURN THE WHEEL!"
KABOO... er, Crash?
That car is made of explodium. That or the telephone pole is, not sure which. "Damn it, Piglet, I told you we should've been using nitroglycerin for fuel!"
Oh no, wait - that's explosive teleportation. That explains why the telephone pole is impaling the middle of the car.
UH OH. Charlie's her favorite. Sorry Austin, you know what this means, don't you? Yeah, you might as well just...
Oh. Heh. I guess there's no sense making a joke here, but it's no good for me to just leave you hanging, right?
That dog isn't sad. It's sniffing of his corpse, waiting for it to rot so he can start eating it.
THREE YEARS LATER
God's revenge is long lasting. It's like a bad burrito - you earn it's wrath in one setting but it sticks with you for a long time.
Blast it? Her son is home, by himself, sick in bed with a tornado barreling down upon him and the best she can manage is a blast it? This woman doesn't seem very wicked here. Jackass, maybe.
That's one hell of a massive turd falling from the sky. Nah, wait, that's a tree. A twisted, wicked tree. And it's got little... fingers or branches sticking from the canopy.
If that's a turd, does this make the tract one giant shitstorm?
There's just so much wrong here I don't even know where to start. Really. Her son is dead, killed by a giant falling turd form the sky, and her first concern is "OMG JEZUS GONNA JUDGE ME!"
If you take this panel out of context, it looked like she finally got sick of those mutants and hulked out, beating the shit out of their little town and is now standing in the remains.
"The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge..." Like any good parent, you should fear them. Love is second, but since Jesus wrote The Prince under the pen name Machiavelli, it's better to be feared than loved.
"I'm terrified for my own life, Sam! Never mind that my children are dead, I'm scared for myself! I want to be saved, will God sill save me?"
"No Petunia, you just have rot in hell with your demonspawn children, because they never got the chance to be saved before they died, and because they were listening to you and didn't believe in God, they went to hell, anyway! But I'll tell you what - since we're offering Salvation two-for-one deals and God pays in commission fees, I'll pull some strings and see what I can do; maybe Purgatory, huh? But you have to do something for me."
"Oh... show me what I can do then!"
*In Mickey Mouse voice* "Okay!"
"Ima waving my hands in the air, like I just don't care..." GIANT FACELESS GOD ALERT!
He's exploding because he's sat on the holy hand grenade. You gotta clear those giant piles of shit out of there somehow.
"You've got mail:"
From: JESUS2U@HOLYMAIL.COM
SUBJECT: SAVE NOW!
MESSAGE: DO YOU LOVE ME CHECK ONE: YES ___ NO___
Click HERE to mark as spam: __
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Someone, and I won't name names, didn't understand Job very well.
Well folks, I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. Stick around; I plan to do a whole lot more in the future.
All images and pictures copyright Jack T. Chick, 2011.
Pretend for a moment, that Jack Chick is right. What this comic fails to show you is how Charlie, Austin, and Billy Bob are all in Hell (except maybe Billy Bob who might still be under the "Age of Accountability" but given that it's been 5 years or so... I doubt it) and it's Petunia's fault. Now, if it ever occurs to her, she might feel guilty about it, but it won't and she won't. And then, when she dies and gets to Heaven, she will be incapable of feeling guilt for damning her children to hell.
ReplyDeleteThe proper, Christian thing to do, would be to beg God to let her take their place. She should be pleading with God "Take me, Lord and bring my children back." Or at the very least, "Send me to Hell in their place!" But again, that wouldn't happen. God has damned her children to Hell and it's her fault. That's a hidden moral, boys and girls... You can damn other people to hell if you're not careful, it's not just a personal choice.
If anything, it's Jack Chick whose moral compass is on a par with Ayn Rand's.
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