Putrid Modern Hell #9

by HST UK on May 21, 2011

On Sunday I watched Louis Theroux’s documentary America’s Most Hated Family in Crisis which was about his return visit to the Westboro Baptist Church. Y’all know enough about the church already without me to offer my ten penny’s worth. They hate most things, and love shit stirring, picketing funerals and getting embroiled in convoluted law suits. They thrive on animosity, to the point that they have become the most subversive comedy troupe on planet earth. I mean, how could you take anything that they say seriously?

I’ve always been a fan of Theroux’s documentaries, his disarming interview technique takes a lot of his subjects off guard, yet he always maintains a necessary detachment from everything, by adopting a pacified humanist stance. For some reason, the Westboro documentary got me thinking about my own apathetic stance towards religion, and how my life is completely absent of spirituality. I’m an uncaring shell, devoid of soul.

An argument could be made that I’m a sinner, on a highway to hell. I can tick off each one of the seven deadly sins. I lust after women, mostly in a pub environment where I sometimes get knocked back by drunken harlots after suggesting that the Harvey Wallbanger I had just brought should lead to something squelchy and salacious. I’m a Glutton, I heartily devour whole pizzas, and haunt all you can eat buffets like the ghost of Chris Farley. I’m greedy; I want not just a slice, but the whole damn cake. I believe in happiness through materialism.

Sloth? I could sleep for days. I’m languid, laid back and nonchalant which opposes my neurotic tendencies. Wrath, I rage. Behind the wheel of my Vauxhall Corsa I curse the cyclists; I curse those bastards that tailgate me when I’m sensibly driving at the correct speed. Anger, though my anger is usually self-destructive, the amount of coffee mugs I have thrown against the wall is heading towards triple figures.

Envy, now that is a tricky one, because I can openly admit that I envy a great deal of my friends and acquaintances who seem to have their lives figured out, they have families and rock solid relationships, but as much as I’d like those things I am so happy for them, that they have found something in this great let-down we call life. Pride is not difficult for a self-obsessed man. I obviously have an over inflated sense of importance.

But aren’t we all sinners? I’m sure everyone has tendencies that match those of the seven deadly sins.

God, does he exist? I’ve lost a lot of faith in the old dude who lives up above in the clouds. Dealing with heroin addicts on a weekly basis, means you lose your belief in salvation. An omnibenevolent God would never have invented opium. There appears to be two types of addict, subdued addicts who wander around like harmless zombies, oblivious to their own state of disrepair. Opposing that generalisation is the nasty bastard type of Junkie, snarling, dangerous and desperate for the next fix.

The latter make me angrier than Gordon Ramsey gets when he barks at contestants on Hell’s Kitchen. It’s been known in my neck of the woods for these junkies to pull out needles, and at times use them. Getting stabbed by a needle means you lose six months’ pay whilst you wait for the results of an HIV test. This happened to a guard I worked with at the courts.

Ever been in a confined room with a junkie? Watched them sweat and swear, the frustration dripping in beads. Unsurprisingly things get tense. You wait for the Police to arrive, but in the meantime you try and avoid eye contact, but at the same time you’ve got to try and keep some kind of dialogue going distracting them from the whispering dragon that is saying chase me, chase me.

I fear for my city, I fear for the country when people’s lives are left mercilessly in the hands of an addiction to a drug that just won’t go away. One observation I’ve made seems to me to mess with the recovery process. I find it amazing that addicts can collect prescriptions for methadone in high street pharmacists such as Boots and Superdrug. So, addicts end up walking straight into places that stock the kind of products that they’ve been stealing in order to fund their habits; fragrances and electrical goods such as hair straighteners and electric shavers. On occasion they might pick up their prescriptions and then on the way out they put a bottle of perfume down their trousers.

What do I know? I certainly don’t have the solutions. Once you get caught in bad habits, it takes a lot to change. I’m just disappointed that these people are left to roam around caught in a vicious cycle that consumes their every waking moment. If only someone could shine a light into their dark hearts. If only they could walk into a church and discover God.


Maybe that’s it. Use religion as the first step for recovery. Replace the addiction to smack, with an addiction to scripture. The path that heads to damnation can get diverted into something more meaningful. It doesn’t matter what religion, Islam, Buddhism, Catholicism, whatever. Just get the junkies minds switched on to a higher power than heroin. It doesn’t matter if God exists or not. The distraction would be enough to save a few lives.


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