Jack Chick and his Weirdness

1 05 2008

These things were a somewhat regular fixture in my young life. Trust Me - Jack Chick

Anyone else? Are these things actually effective? Do people believe them and think they portray any kind of reality? Or are they brilliantly auto-ironic, intended instead to skewer those who believe the world really is so simple? Ah, nevermind. 😉

3 responses to “Jack Chick and his Weirdness”
1 05 2008
Josh (03:52:57) :

So the message is — do drugs, get into heaven. Sounds like a plan…

22 05 2008
PG (12:08:35) :

Several years ago I visiting my parents and went with my grandmother to the Super Walmart. We were getting into the checkout line and I realized I’d forgotten something my mother had requested, and dashed off to grab it. I was back in two minutes, and my grandmother, who speaks a little English but reads none, handed me a Chick tract describing Hinduism as human-sacrificing devil worship and asked what it was. I was so furious that I couldn’t marshal enough of her language to explain it to her — and given her happy outlook on life and where she lives, her conviction that everyone is friendly and kind, I didn’t want to explain it.

After I calmed down, I had to wonder at what kind of person would keep that particular tract on him in a town where less than 1% of the population could possibly be Hindu. I imagined him as having a jacket like the guys who sell fake watches on Canal Street in New York, with a dozen internal pockets in which to keep his dubious wares, except instead of muttering “Rolex, I got Omega, Cartier,” he mumbles, “Witchcraft, abortion, I got your Dungeons & Dragons…”

22 05 2008
PG (12:08:35) :

Several years ago I visiting my parents and went with my grandmother to the Super Walmart. We were getting into the checkout line and I realized I’d forgotten something my mother had requested, and dashed off to grab it. I was back in two minutes, and my grandmother, who speaks a little English but reads none, handed me a Chick tract describing Hinduism as human-sacrificing devil worship and asked what it was. I was so furious that I couldn’t marshal enough of her language to explain it to her — and given her happy outlook on life and where she lives, her conviction that everyone is friendly and kind, I didn’t want to explain it.

After I calmed down, I had to wonder at what kind of person would keep that particular tract on him in a town where less than 1% of the population could possibly be Hindu. I imagined him as having a jacket like the guys who sell fake watches on Canal Street in New York, with a dozen internal pockets in which to keep his dubious wares, except instead of muttering “Rolex, I got Omega, Cartier,” he mumbles, “Witchcraft, abortion, I got your Dungeons & Dragons…”

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