Vitnira
Feral Housewife
(Repost from my website)
There is only one God. It is not Yahweh. It is not Yeshua, Odin, Ra, or any other that you'd imagine.This is His story.
In the beginning, there was Corn.
The Aztecs called him Centeotl. They watered His body with blood, fed Him with human hearts.
Upon the harvest, it was not enough that they ate His flesh. They had to return it to him. Not with burial.
With fire.
Years passed, and eventually the Spanish arrived. They burned His temples. They killed His people.
But Corn has a plan. He is patient. He is wise.
Corn does not truly die. He rebrands.
His body is too easy to grow, too nutritious, too tempting for Man to ignore. So Corn slips into the North to feed the growing empire, planting his roots into every corner, ears peeled to the highest authorities of the land.
America over-tilled, over-planted and never prayed. When He had infused the land enough, Corn exacted His revenge. The rains stopped. The wind tore through the land. Corn summoned his wrath as a swirling vortex of grit and punishment. America faced His Divine Judgement.
Eventually Corn whispered to Ameirca what it needed to do. He demanded a new priesthood, clad in suits and ties. To the public it was called the Agricultural Adjustment Act, but it was a treaty:
Forgive us, Mighty Corn. We will subsidize your every whim.
America has honored the pact - expanded it. Our taxes give billions in tithes to Corn. And His priests have used those tithings for His ends.
Every American is now a silent, sleeping worshipper of Corn.
We eat His flesh - not only on Sunday, but every day. We drink His blood, the almighty Coca-Cola. We are Corn. Our bodies are his bodies.
Corn has become the Body of Christ™ for a secular republic.
But even this was not enough for Him. Oh no.
"What of the burnt offerings?" Corn demanded.
And so to keep Him satisfied, we build entire industrial temples: refineries, grain silos, gas pumps. All for Corn.
We have turned our cars into rolling censers. Every rev of the engine a hymn, every tank an oblation. The Internstate is the lifeblood of America - and it is the highest temple to Corn.
But beware.
The soil is tired.
The waters run red with algae.
The bees are disappearing.
And Corn, once satisfied with our tribute, is growing fat and twitchy.
We have modified His Flesh beyond recognition: eight feet tall, resistant to reason, high on nitrogen...
...And demanding, "Feed me more."
Corn has told His Priests of a coming Twilight. They fear the Reckoning. When the subsidies fail. When the rain stops falling.
And Corn, bloated with power, will rise to reclaim his dominion.
He will smite with rust fungus.
He will strangle with husk and vine.
Will you give up your Doritos to avoid His wrath?
There is only one God. It is not Yahweh. It is not Yeshua, Odin, Ra, or any other that you'd imagine.This is His story.
In the beginning, there was Corn.
The Aztecs called him Centeotl. They watered His body with blood, fed Him with human hearts.
Upon the harvest, it was not enough that they ate His flesh. They had to return it to him. Not with burial.
With fire.
Years passed, and eventually the Spanish arrived. They burned His temples. They killed His people.
But Corn has a plan. He is patient. He is wise.
Corn does not truly die. He rebrands.
His body is too easy to grow, too nutritious, too tempting for Man to ignore. So Corn slips into the North to feed the growing empire, planting his roots into every corner, ears peeled to the highest authorities of the land.
America over-tilled, over-planted and never prayed. When He had infused the land enough, Corn exacted His revenge. The rains stopped. The wind tore through the land. Corn summoned his wrath as a swirling vortex of grit and punishment. America faced His Divine Judgement.
Eventually Corn whispered to Ameirca what it needed to do. He demanded a new priesthood, clad in suits and ties. To the public it was called the Agricultural Adjustment Act, but it was a treaty:
Forgive us, Mighty Corn. We will subsidize your every whim.
America has honored the pact - expanded it. Our taxes give billions in tithes to Corn. And His priests have used those tithings for His ends.
Every American is now a silent, sleeping worshipper of Corn.
We eat His flesh - not only on Sunday, but every day. We drink His blood, the almighty Coca-Cola. We are Corn. Our bodies are his bodies.
Corn has become the Body of Christ™ for a secular republic.
But even this was not enough for Him. Oh no.
"What of the burnt offerings?" Corn demanded.
And so to keep Him satisfied, we build entire industrial temples: refineries, grain silos, gas pumps. All for Corn.
We have turned our cars into rolling censers. Every rev of the engine a hymn, every tank an oblation. The Internstate is the lifeblood of America - and it is the highest temple to Corn.
But beware.
The soil is tired.
The waters run red with algae.
The bees are disappearing.
And Corn, once satisfied with our tribute, is growing fat and twitchy.
We have modified His Flesh beyond recognition: eight feet tall, resistant to reason, high on nitrogen...
...And demanding, "Feed me more."
Corn has told His Priests of a coming Twilight. They fear the Reckoning. When the subsidies fail. When the rain stops falling.
And Corn, bloated with power, will rise to reclaim his dominion.
He will smite with rust fungus.
He will strangle with husk and vine.
Will you give up your Doritos to avoid His wrath?
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