WE know why you visit your Curmudgeon’s blog. It’s because we search out and present to you the worst that the world of creationism offers. Today, dear reader, is truly your lucky day because what we found … well, you’ll have to see for yourself.
Here are some excerpts from Teen Talk: Teenhood Today: What’s love got to do with it? Everything, which appears in the The Daily Star of Oneonta, NY (population 13,292).
This isn’t a letter-to-the-editor. We’re not really sure what it is. The author’s name is Jessie Matus, “a 2009 graduate of Oneonta High School,” and the bold font was added by us. Here it comes:
Love is the final frontier.
What else is so improbable, so inexplicable, so stubbornly intangible as love? What else flies in the face of those who would keep tabs on it behind cold iron bars, if only they knew how? What else flits between the fingers of those who would cage it with classification, ferret out the secrets of its grandeur with a scalpel and bone saw, lay open its innards with a dichotomous key to study its diet? What else, if the atoms of love could be split, would send the human race scurrying into bunkers as a great, terrible fleet of joy and beauty bombs rained down?
Seriously now, we understand that the author is a kid, but still — have you ever read anything that was more filled with awkward metaphors, or more empty of meaning? If you have, then we must be shopping in different bookstores. Let’s read on:
The defining characteristic of the human being is to be unable to accept things as they are. With this and time, humans have risen to dominate a world that once chained them to their fire pits with luminescent eyes in the darkness that spun the harvest moonlight into beacons of salivating death.
The “defining characteristic” of this article is deep nothingness. But fear not, your Curmudgeon is merciful. We’re skipping over several paragraphs of dripping drivel about love, until we arrive at this:
Love is terribly un-Darwinian. The persistent desire to develop an unreasonable attachment to another unrelated being and to devote all of your resources to its continued well-being hardly meshes well with survival of the fittest. An evolutionary biologist would go into psychological trauma shock if all of the Earth’s creatures suddenly began falling in love at first sight without so much as an elaborate mating dance or clash of horns to prove their genetic fortitude.
See there? Darwin is proved wrong again! It’s so easy, even a child can do it.
We have to skip some more before we get to the next paragraph of interest, but not without excerpting a brief example of what you’re missing because of our selectivity:
What is love? Where does it come from, and why it is necessary? What is the source of tenderness and devotion? What is the purpose of wanting to be whatever someone has need of, and never asking if they love you in return?
I believe that love is what lends credibility to the idea of a higher power. …
Now that you’re all cozy and cuddly, here it comes:
The theory of intelligent design looks to the wonderful genius within the universe to advocate the presence of a higher being. Perhaps in the search for the elusive greater presence, we should look not to the masterpieces found in the natural world, but to the flops. Maybe such marvelous biological fallacies as love are the cracks left in the otherwise seamless cover that separates us from whatever lies beyond us. Maybe to fall in love is to throw back the Wizard’s curtain.
There’s not much more until the article ends, but we’re going to stop here.
Now, class — let us speculate about what kind of career the author of today’s article might pursue. Blogging for the Discovery Institute? No, that requires some degree of malice, and we don’t detect that here.
Well, if Seattle is out — and we know that’s the very bottom — is there no hope for today’s author?
At first we thought that the only solution would be a brain bypass operation, but we’ve come up with another option. We think there’s a future for today’s author in a new literary genre that’s just waiting to be born — creationist romance fiction.
Harlequin, are you paying attention?
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