I’m really taken by this card that was slipped under my door yesterday. Somehow, the sweetness of those doves offsets the fury of the message. It makes you feel like repenting won’t be all that painful or embarrassing. I’d like the card even more if they’d eliminate the “Jesus Is Coming Back Soon!” and the “Jesus Loves You: Matt 3:2”—it just gets in the way. Keep it simple, folks!

It’s kind of like that Pixies song, “Caribou.” Sure, Frank Black is screaming for me to repent, but he’s also sweetly crooning “caribooooouuu…”

What on earth would I repent about? I honestly think I’ve led a fairly moral life. I’ve met a lot of huge dicks in my life, and I’m not one of them.

Of course, I don’t accept Jesus as my personal savior or anything but you’d have to be a nut or Southern to do anything like that. If you were born in the Northeast and went to college and aren’t agnostic, you’re kind of weird in my book.

Still, if I ever get a tattoo, I’m definitely going to consider an image of a flying dove with the word Repent! written across its belly.

It was a relief to see that this week’s New Yorker contained no cartoon by Lee Lorenz…

Which leads me to my next post—the New Yorker should fire Lee Lornez; he’s terrible.

If you’re having a hard time picturing his cartoons, a usual Lee Lorenz panel consists of a schlubby middle-aged man ogling an impossibly buxom doe-eyed blond while his equally schlubby wife angrily looks on. His women look like fantasies your grandfather might fixate on while masturbating (sorry, Gramps…). His drawings have that slightly brushy style that seems lifted from an “I can teach you to draw cartoons” book. It’s a style that screams, “1970s.” In fact, every one of his characters are inexplicably dressed in 70’s attire. And his humor is the recycled borscht belt dreck that would have been shameful even 30 years ago. I’m sorry, New Yorker, but I didn’t pay my $50 subscription to be stuck inside that head of a sexually fixated 70-year-old.

So Lee, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry but it’s time to hang up the hat. If your cartoons had any relevance, that time has passed. They are now only embarrassing. Besides, anyone whose credits included illustrating the moronic, Reagan-era joke book, Real Men Don’t Eat Quiche, deserves a fate far worse than this scornful post.