If it takes 40 seconds to recite the Lord’s Prayer and it takes 12 seconds for the plane to crash are you damned?

I remember standing in the wooden box thing in Courtroom #5 and looking out at the jail priest in her collar. The prosecutor person said “I understand you’re a spiritual person.” I didn’t answer him because I was being found Not Guilty by Reason of Insanity but the reverend was nodding her head so I copied her.

I’m not sure if it’s a contradiction to be a delinquent and a disciple but I heard there was a guy named Paul who killed people before he saved them. Maybe prisoners find God so they feel better about their sins but the same could be said for anyone. Maybe prisoners are in a place in their life where they can shut up and be still. I didn’t find God in jail, He entered my body when I was losing my mind in Solitary Confinement.

I was brought up in North America so I use Judeo-Christian imagery and language to communicate my spiritual experiences but I have read the Koran. I didn’t create my own religion like the Mormon’s I just beg and borrow from a few religions to make nonsense out of my own. It might seem sacrilegious to some but I also read the Charter of Rights and Freedoms and it seems legal. You can even follow no religion at all.

I sometimes fast. I don’t do it to please God, I do it so I think about people who don’t have the luxury of food and to appreciate that which finds my mouth. It’s also more economical to be an alcoholic on an empty stomach.

I guess I do pray but I don’t gather to do it out loud. My God has better hearing I guess. I would pray out loud but I’m basically always communicating with God so I’d probably get pulled over and put back in the padded room which is hard on my spirit.

I don’t write down the rules and regulations of my religion because that kind of thing leads to wars and I’m the only parishioner so that would worry me. Maybe my God cares about what I eat and what I wear. He’s probably just given up on me because I don’t eat much or wear anything.

I was on Facebook the other day because I give a fuck about followers. There was a beautiful story about faith. Some pious people built a church but they couldn’t open it because the building inspector said the parking lot was too small. The people who pray were wringing their hands and tearing off their clothes because the only land they had left was a mountain. The priest asked the parishioners who believed “faith can move mountains” to join him in prayer. They believed it could be solved by next Sunday for the grand opening. Miraculously a construction dude approached them to ask if he could remove the mountain to use it for fill that he needed for a nearby shopping mall being built. With goosebumps on my gonads I felt compelled to leave a comment.

“i’m sure God is pleased as punch that you bulldozed a mountain to make a church parking lot. I mean how can you pray if you don’t have a flat spot for your Lexis?”

I was flustered after I noticed the auto correct spelled Lexus wrong but then I looked up lexis and it dawned on me that some mistakes have meaning.

I guess my religion is like the auto correct on a computer except it’s more like auto-connect. I don’t have customs that connect me with Spirit it just happens automatically.

We’re not really looking for congregants but if you want to join my sinagogue just send $29.95 and make the cheque payable to Brett Batten.

Take care because I don’t.

Saturday morning after I told my wife what to wear I said “do the dishes and vacuum quietly then I’m taking you to Toronto for a romantic getaway.” She wasn’t very quiet with vacuum but I let her walk behind me for the day anyway.

We found our seats on the train next to a nice young couple with two children who had a volume problem. I felt bad for them because they couldn’t afford sedatives for their children. I asked the woman pushing the food cart if she had any cough syrup I could donate to them but the answer was no. The conductor told me I had to remain seated until the train came to a complete stop so I walked backwards while we glided into Union Station and exited from the last car.

We walked in the rain to the aquarium and I was thankful to have an umbrella. I was still annoyed by the young couple and their spawn mainly because they were 15 feet in front of me heading towards the aquarium. In a loud voice I turned back towards my wife who forgot her umbrella, “Hey, isn’t that the CN Tower?” “Isn’t that the Rogers Centre?” “Isn’t that a bus with bad brakes?” The family didn’t go for the bait so I stopped for a cigarette to give them a head start. Again, I was thankful to have an umbrella. My wife seemed pleased to be in the building because she was soaked but when I realized the screeching wasn’t whales but 387 children I was a little hesitant. I stuffed the umbrella into the backpack my wife was carrying and took a gulp from one of the water bottles I noticed there.

I haven’t been anywhere in a couple of years so I was shocked at how the world has changed. I had no idea people are now using cameras for eyes. The last time I was out in public people experienced things in real time but I guess it’s more fulfilling to go home and look at what you missed while you were capturing it with a cell phone. It only happened 5 times but apparently if your face isn’t pressed to the aquarium glass it’s okay to step right in front of a person and hold out your phone so neither of you has a view. Even walking around was confusing for me. It seemed like every 15 seconds or 7.5 feet a Hollywood movie set appears out of nowhere and you have to freeze or take an alternate route while people pose for pictures. It’s like a natural disaster that nobody is noticing.

The aquarium itself was pretty cool if you like looking at shark anus gliding over your head in a glass tunnel but I was bored to tears by the Horseshoe Crabs. We should just make them extinct. It’s okay I just spent those moments doing math problems and thinking about scientific stuff like what makes the most noise:

A. 387 children who think seeing a fish is as exciting as hooking one in the mouth and dragging it through the water to watch it suffocate in the bottom of a boat    OR

B. 387 children temporarily floating in a million gallon fish tank with their shoes on  OR

C. 387 children kinda splashing in a million gallon fish tank with 18 sharks and no shoes

Whoever said watching fish in an aquarium is relaxing wasn’t being stepped on by screaming children and getting poked in the shoulder by some parental prick with a selfie stick.

None of the nose-pickers looked smart enough to trick but if I asked their parents 93% of them would be gifted, exceptional and ahead of their peers. I’m not sure how you discourage kids with their fake fascination of marine life but I know how you can keep most of the adults out of the place. Tell them no cell phones allowed. I mean, who the hell would show up to look at a sea urchin with just their eyes?

We narrowly missed the protestors telling people looking at fish who eat smaller fish not to eat fish and headed to the Royal Ontario Museum.

I thought the museum was going to be a peaceful perusal of the past but the idiots who thought it was a good idea for their offspring to see what that deep fried white flaky stuff looks like when it’s alive thought the little loudmouths should see paintings and pottery. What kind of a moron takes a child to a museum? I was somewhat buoyed by the fact that their eager “aren’t children wonderful” look had shifted to a “someone shoot me” grimace but they were all still wagging their tongues instead of choking on them so it wasn’t a truly fulfilling moment.

I pretended to be interested in the Chinese clay pots and crap because I like to pretend I love my Chinese wife because it leads to sex once in a while. Eventually I ran out of patience. “Honey, we have the exact same dish at home and that one is 29 bucks at Pier One. Even in these paintings and statues you all look the same.” The uptight Korean woman standing next to me seemed offended but at least I wasn’t wandering around with my hands clasped behind my back pretending to give a shit about culture. It’s not my problem she was too stupid to realize there were dinosaur bones in the building.

Coming out of the Chinese Culture Corner I held the door for 3 middle eastern adults because I like to pretend I care about people once in a while. They didn’t even look at me or say thanks. Not even a nod of the head. It only took about 20 seconds off my life but I was afraid to tell them to “fuck off” in case they were Muslim because I heard that kind of thing is basically illegal in Canada now. I certainly don’t want to be called Islamophobic because I’m not even racist. I hate everybody. I don’t understand hating someone for their skin colour or religion when you can hate them for no reason at all.

I went out a side door for a cigarette and they wouldn’t let me back in the museum so I missed out on seeing all the stuffed birds and mammals but most of them won’t be extinct for a few months so I’ll just put some diesel in my truck and hopefully I can run over a few so I don’t have to see them behind glass.

While we were waiting for the train back to London I had to use the queer, non binary trans person room. I went into the stall and the first thing I noticed was someone had carefully laid toilet paper all over the seat because like the internet says you can get an ass cheek infection if you don’t. I was disappointed that I had just missed meeting the Prime Minister but I was pleased he was travelling like the rest of us. I’m not saying he stinks but I’m not sure he’s as healthy as he looks. Despite what people say he is a visionary, I mean how did he know I was going to piss all over the seat? Why was I peeing in a stall? Because some liberal turds decided I can’t smoke in the main areas any more.

It was a nice trip back on the train until I smelled vomit coming from the woman having a coughing fit two seats back. It was awful. I didn’t turn to look at her as I sprinted off the train because I figured she was embarrassed and I don’t like seeing vagina on other peoples chins.

If you’re not offended by this blog please forward it to someone who might be.

Take care because I don’t.

Twitter is becoming a Wailing Wall. We post our pain which in the scheme of things is simply pathetic.

Emmett Macfarlane an Ass. University Professor in Waterloo was quite incensed that journalists called his home at “fucking 7:15 a.m.” for an interview. I too would probably angrily Tweet to the world if someone woke me up at 7:15 a.m. when my alarm was set for 7:30 a.m. but I like to think I would find some perspective between relieving my morning pee boner and filling the coffee pot.

I don’t need as much sleep as an Ass. University professor but isn’t that why they have doors on their offices? I guess I’m unedimigated enough to imagine a dairy farmer who gets up at 4:00 a.m. even during Reading Week and Summer Break. I’m so stupid I can even imagine someone with a medical condition that prevents them from the 6.5 hours of sleep a tenured professor is entitled to.

Is it a wonder our youth fabricate catastrophe when their Ass. Professor shows them how?

When I saw the cruel and unusual treatment Emmett Macfarlane was receiving from the media I reached out with sympathy and support and Tweeted my condolences.

“Put your thumb back in your mouth and go back to bed. Some people have real problems.” @brett_batten

I must have used incorrect punctuation, spelling or I cited my sources wrong because he blocked me from seeing his Tweets and from Tweeting to him which seems odd considering his interview and Tweets were about academic freedom which in my unedimigated world seems like freedom of speech. I guess I will have to sign up for one of his courses so he can impart his logic on me. Jesus wept…because He was laughing His Ass off.

Another lady Tweeted for a week about her luggage being lost on an Air France flight. I didn’t Tweet to her because I wasn’t sure if she was actually upset here in Ontario or if she simply wanted to keep reminding me that she had been to Paris recently. I’m not jealous, I’ve seen pictures and I don’t drink whine.

I have lost a few things in my life a few times so I can empathize. I lost my home, job, money, health, family, freedom and foreskin twice. Well, not the foreskin but I haven’t exactly given it a chance to grow back. Sorry God.

I guess it’s okay to broadcast that you lost your shirt somewhere over the Atlantic but it is my belief that it is more helpful to keep in mind that you didn’t exactly “lose your shirt”, you’re more precisely losing your shit. Losing your luggage or a phone call at the unGodly hour of 7:15 a.m. is a problem. It’s a problem of perspective which apparently isn’t always part of a university syllabus.

What would Twitter be like for people in an African village?

“Four hyenas ate our last two chickens and pissed on my brand new lawn gnome.”

“Not sure what my children will do for food today but hopefully they find something edible on the 3 mile walk for water”

“Does anyone know how that poor professor is doing with his sleep deprivation? All I heard was machine gun fire last night but I slept like a log. No wait, I have a log for a pillow. My bad.”

“Does anyone know where I can make a donation for that lady from the Air France flight so she can replace her blouse? We need a plane full of Red Cross supplies but I can’t sleep thinking about her.”

Twitter isn’t all bad. I do get a kick out of knowing someone I don’t know is at a meeting I don’t give a shit about with a politician nobody likes, but then again I don’t. Why don’t I just stay off Twitter? Because watching people twisting in agony while they are having a near orgasmic experience fascinates me.

If you think this has nothing to do with you read this Tweet from Topless in Tanzania.

“Can someone message me about what works best to remove hyena urine from a gnome’s beard? I tried Lysol, CLR, mouthwash, vinegar, sea salt, car polish, dandruff shampoo, turpentine, lavender scented dish soap, furniture wax, PAM, WD-40, SOS pads, 3M pads, Bounce, lemon infused organic olive oil, hand sanitizer, hairspray, shoe polish and I wrestled with a starving stray dog that had an extra absorbent paper towel stuck to it’s half missing tail. Seriously. I’m getting desperate. I’ve tried everything I can find in the cupboards of the kitchen area in my hut with the hole in the roof we call a skylight and everything in the granite topped cupboard in the ensuite. I even waded through all the crap in the two car garage. I shouldn’t whine. I tidied up during this difficult time. You could almost park a car in the garage once I buy one of those contraptions I can suspend the kids 24 speed bikes from. There’s enough room in the hut for that massage chair I ordered. If only I could get the kids to put away their Lego, Star Wars action figures and gather up the Sony Playstation games.”

If you’re not offended by my blog please forward it to someone who might be, like maybe Emmett Macfarlane @EmmMacfarlane. He hasn’t been sleeping well so don’t pass it on to him at like 7:15 a.m.. He might lose his shit again.

Take care because I don’t!