Screw (on) the National Day of Prayer
Happy Beltane, the Pagan fertility fest, whose celebration, I believe, in days of yore, included orgies.  How cool is that?  So much better than modern day religions, which, by and large, frown on the bump-n-grind for anything other than grim-faced baby makin'.

It's also May Day, the big ole, Commie celebration of workers.

And today is the National Day of Prayer, alternately titled, "Spend some time doing nothing while deluding yourself you are doing something."

The Commies and the Pagans should organize an effort requiring the God bothers to get their own damn day.
 
Ultimately, even people of faith, provided they aren't mentally ill, know that prayer doesn't work.  Yeah, they do.  When an activity nets success with the same random probability of a coin toss (actually, I think the odds are much lower), anybody in their right mind knows it's futile.  You might as well call up your childhood imaginary friend and ask him for a favor.

But it gives people the illusion of doing something, when there is nothing else they can do.  It gives the illusion of control.  More often than not, it's a fuzzy-wuzzy, feel good kind of way to avoid actually getting your ass up and doing something useful.

All this kowtowing to imaginary forces likely started as a means of trying to control stuff like the weather.  Imagine you're farmer in some ancient time when people still thought the sun was a flaming chariot being driven across the sky. 

Rainfall, you realize, is like Goldylocks's little break-and-enter adventure at the Three Bears' house.  Some years, it rains just enough and your crops grow like gangbusters.  Some years it doesn't rain at all, and you've got dust.  Some years, too much rain, and you've got the makin's of adobe, but, alas, no groceries.

One particularly bad year, you look over at your neighbor's field and see that his crop is doing well despite the drought.  (This is due to variations in soil conditions, drainage, etc., but again, we're talking pre-science era here.)   Your neighbor tells you it is because he sacrificed three kittens to the rain god.

So you set out to find some kittens.

In years when your crops are good, you credit the kitten slaughter for your success.  Not so good?  Need more kittens.  Or perhaps you didn't perform the kitty-cide correctly; practice makes perfect.   Sadly, for the kittens, the practice spreads throughout the neighborhood.

Eventually, one enterprising individual (having run out of kittens), uses his brain for something other than gooey, white packing material and invents irrigation.  Voila, the kittens are saved!

Unfortunately, knowing humankind, and our need for rituals, the "tradition" of slaughtering kittens probably continued for centuries hence. ;P



Anyhoo, Happy Beltane.  Go get laid; save a kitten.

P.K.