There’s a certain breed of American, bless their star-spangled hearts, convinced they hold the exclusive lease on the Almighty’s ear canal. Like a toddler throwing a tantrum in a supermarket checkout, they believe their brand of piety is the only gateway to a decent life or the ticket to a glorious afterlife. To them, faith is less a comfort and more a cudgel to whack everyone else into submission.

Now, listen up, Bible thumpers and incense-waving gurus of every persuasion. If blind faith brings you existential relief, knock yourselves out. But the second you try shoving your dogma down our throats louder than a carnival barker with a megaphone, well, there’s gonna be trouble. This isn’t some backwater church social, loopers. This is the United States of freaking Everything, a kaleidoscope of cultures clashing in a glorious, messy mosh pit of individuality.

We built this nation with the blood, sweat, and tears of those fleeing religious persecution, remember? We’re a nation conceived in liberty, not some divinely ordained daycare center. This whole “one size fits all” piety might fly in some homogenous, beige part of the multiverse, but here in this cosmic bubble, in this vibrant, cacophonous land of the free and the home of the brave, it sticks out like a polka-dotted clown suit at a funeral.

Think about it. You got loopers praying to eight-armed deities in India, chanting to ancestors in China, and down here in the good ol’ US of A, we have a smorgasbord of salvation schemes, from the hallelujah hollering Baptists to the crystal-clutching New Agers. It’s beautiful, in a completely batty way, like a fireworks display gone rogue, illuminating the sky with a thousand different colors.

Sure, some might say this multiplicity makes for a messy democracy. Like herding cats on roller skates, right? But here’s the thing, loopers: forcing everyone into the same drab uniform of belief is a recipe for disaster. Look at history, it’s littered with the wreckage of holy wars and inquisitions, all fueled by the delusion that one brand of faith is the One True Path. Bunk! It’s a celestial cul-de-sac, leading nowhere but to resentment and bloodshed.

The beauty of America is the glorious, chaotic cacophony, remember? We tolerate, we debate, we argue like drunken sailors on shore leave, but somehow, someway, this messy gumbo keeps bubblin’ along. It’s not perfect, hell no, but it’s a damn sight better than some theocratic theme park where everyone wears the same itchy robes and sings the same hymns.

So, to those monoculture missionaries, those who dream of a beige, homogenous America where everyone worships at the same altar, i say this: be careful what you wish for. Because the line for religious dominance is a lot longer than you think, and it winds all the way back to the days of inquisitions and witch trials. In the meantime, the rest of us will be here, celebrating the glorious mess that is the USofA, a multicolored mosh pit with a divine soundtrack blaring from a thousand different speakers. Now, who wants to crowd surf?

Onward through the fog… R.H.