When I saw an Awful Link submission titled "The Religious Affiliation of Comic Book Characters," I figured it would just be a spreadsheet or something, containing useless information about Batman and Superman and a few other big-deal fakedudes. I promise you, in all my years of looking at stupid shit on the Internet, I never suspected I would find such an absurd encyclopedia of made-up shit. (Editor's Note: I don't know if DFH found the equally long list of "Notable Minor Characters," but it exists, and it's even more ridiculous. Also, apparently God's religion is "God." - GD)
Look, I don't even understand cataloging the religious preferences of actual living people who aren't made up and don't have super powers, unless those particular people are trying to shove their beliefs down your throat (or preventing you from shoving whatever you want wherever you want). I truly cannot fathom why anyone would spend the amount of time necessary to type this information, let alone research it. It's impossible. I'm convinced a computer did it. No human being, no matter how religious, autistic, or a weird combination of both, would ever sit down and think to themselves "This is a fucking great idea. The world needs to see this!"
Oh, and in addition to including some extremely esoteric sects - J. Jonah Jameson's listed faith is "Hates Spider-Man," while Marvel's Ataros is "god of video arcades" - this guide tells you which comic book characters are Nazis. I assume this would be helpful if you were the nerdiest dude in the Aryan Brotherhood and you wanted to get a tattoo. For example, you might not get your ass kicked in public for having a tattoo of Sister Twyster, whereas you probably would if you got Sister Twyster's tattoo.
Simply put, if I had Johnny Manziel’s physical gifts, you better believe I would be there in the Weight Room, getting to bed early, doing whatever I had to do to be the best possible athlete I could be. I wouldn't be posting on social media about sucking titties. I wouldn't even look at a titty, buddy. I'd look at a titty and see two big footballs.
A real friend doesn't move until the middle of August, ensuring temperatures in the 90s and a humidity that turns boxers into moist balls of ruined cotton.
Expendable? You must be joking.
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