It seems every day brings real news that appears as satire.
I just read about the curious case where Children’s Health Defense (CHD)—the anti-vaccine group that Robert F. Kennedy Jr. chaired—is suing him, specifically over childhood vaccine safety policy. What?!
I asked ChatGPT to write a Sunday sermon to discuss this fascinating turnabout.
From the First Temple of the Spinning Headlines
Delivered July 27, 2025
By the Right Reverend Lana of the Holy Side-Eye
Beloved Siblings in Sanity,
Let us gather today not in pews but in WTFs. Let us lift our hands, roll our eyes, and whisper together in sacred unison:
Lord have mercy!
…because y’all, He’s the only one still taking calls.
For we are living in The Age of the Divine Plot Twist, when every headline reads like it was ghostwritten by a caffeine-fueled AI with a flair for the absurd. I open the news each morning the way I might open a portal to the underworld: slowly, with one eye closed, and a jar of peanut butter in the other hand (because protein calms the nerves).
This week’s Psalm of Surrealism reads:
“And lo, the anti-vaccine organization did sue its anti-vaccine founder,
for he was not anti-vaccine enough.
And the people did weep, and also bake banana bread,
for they knew not what else to do.”
We ask: Who is left to sue whom? Will gravity sue the earth for emotional damage? Will cats sue humans for naming them “Mittens”? The possibilities, like conspiracy theories, are now endless and freshly merchandised on Etsy.
But let us not despair. No, no. For the Lord, in His infinite cosmic jest, is clearly running some kind of “divine improv game show,” and we, dear friends, are the unwilling contestants. Whose timeline is it anyway?, where everything’s made up and the facts don’t matter!
Do not be afraid.
Just yesterday I saw two dogs bounding across a field as if they knew something we didn’t. Perhaps they do. Perhaps they’re in on it. Perhaps they are the Task Force on Safer Vaccines, and we’ve simply misunderstood everything.
So let us walk boldly into the Mystery.
Let us don our tinfoil hats—not to block the signals, but to receive the wisdom of the absurd. Let us speak to our houseplants, thank our coffee, and bow reverently to the sunset as it burns new prophecies into the horizon.
And let us remember the sacred motto of this holy era:
When in doubt, make soup.
When soup burns, blame Mercury retrograde.
When Mercury goes direct, dance anyway.
Go now in peace, mischief, and mild exasperation. And if the world ends tomorrow, bring snacks.
Amen.