Books

“Holy Crap! Book 1: Torah-ble” takes you on a front-row tour of the Bible’s opening act — where God moonlights as a cosmic control freak, families marry their cousins (a lot), and morality depends on how many goats you can cough up. From Noah getting blackout drunk after saving the world, to commandments that care more about tabernacle interior design than basic human decency, this snark-soaked retelling lays bare the holy mess behind the “holiest” book. Brace yourself for divine temper tantrums, sibling rivalries with a body count, and a deity who really needs a PR team. Forget solemn scripture — this is history’s weirdest soap opera, roasted to perfection.

“Holy Crap! Book 2: Mythstory” rips the holy gloss off the so-called “Good Book” and throws you headfirst into the ancient soap opera nobody asked for. Watch as David stumbles, schemes, and psalms his way to the throne while God alternates between micromanaging, ghosting, and throwing divine tantrums. From the smoldering ashes of Ziklag (thanks, God!) to royal decrees so ridiculous they’d make modern politics look sane, this irreverent roast of the Old Testament pulls no punches. It’s a world where ambition wears a halo, divine will doubles as bad life advice, and every chapter is another episode of Ancient Idiots Behaving Badly. Strap in — it only gets weirder, bloodier, and funnier from here.

“Holy Crap! Book 3: Foolosophy throws you straight into the biblical brain-melt where suffering, poetry, fortune-cookie advice, existential crises, and steamy love songs all collide in one holy grab-bag. First up, poor Job gets wrecked in God and Satan’s little bar bet — because why not test loyalty with boils and dead kids? Then we slog through Psalms, a 150-chapter mixtape of whining, groveling, and occasional humblebrags. Proverbs dishes out wisdom so obvious it could be printed on a motivational coffee mug, while Ecclesiastes goes full “emo philosopher,” insisting everything is meaningless — repeatedly. Finally, Song of Solomon pops up like a divine Fifty Shades, featuring way too much fruit-based flirting and body-part metaphors. Together, these books prove the Bible isn’t just inconsistent — it’s a genre mash-up of misery, monotony, and accidental comedy gold.

“Holy Crap! Book 4: Guessperts” drags you into the Biblical circus where self-proclaimed prophets scream doom, destruction, and “God told me so” with the enthusiasm of street preachers on energy drinks. Isaiah waxes poetic about smiting nations, Ezekiel hallucinates his way through apocalyptic fan fiction, and the rest of the prophetic lineup keeps repeating the same tired threats like a divine robocall: Repent or else! Expect ecological meltdowns, cosmic temper tantrums, and endless divine ultimatums delivered with all the subtlety of a thunderclap. Whether it’s bizarre banquets, fire-breathing visions, or yet another promise that “this time God really means it,” these books prove that prophecy is less about insight and more about creative doomsday storytelling. Strap in — it’s less spiritual enlightenment, more celestial drama binge.

“Holy Crap! Book 5: God-spells” takes you backstage at the New Testament’s biggest production — four Gospels, all claiming to be eyewitness accounts, but reading like they couldn’t agree on what Jesus had for breakfast. Watch the Messiah of contradictions strut across the stage, performing magic tricks (sorry, miracles), dropping cryptic one-liners, and somehow being born in two different towns at once. The disciples stumble around like divine groupies who never quite get the memo, while Acts picks up the mess with the world’s first chaotic startup: the Early Church™. Expect ghostly cameos, spontaneous jailbreaks, tongue-speaking chaos, and enough theological infighting to fuel centuries of denominational drama. Historical accuracy? Optional. Divine tantrums? Mandatory. Welcome to Christianity’s messy origin story, told with all the snark it deserves.

“Holy Crap! Book 6: Revelocalypse” drags you through the awkward group chat of the early church, where Paul can’t stop doomposting, Peter overexplains everything, and the rest of the apostles fire off letters that read like passive-aggressive emails from middle management. Then, just when you think it couldn’t get messier, Revelation barges in like a fever dream on acid — complete with mutant beasts, cosmic meltdowns, and a Jesus makeover straight out of a metal album cover. Equal parts bizarre pep talk and divine threat letter, this final act of the New Testament proves that early Christianity wasn’t so much “guided by the Spirit” as it was winging it with apocalyptic fan fiction. Faith, contradictions, and end-times cosplay — buckle up, it’s going to be a wild ride.

They said “Do your own research.” You did. And now you need a shower.

From the fever swamps of Facebook comment sections to the glitter‑lit lairs of Instagram wellness influencers, Shots Fired: How to Immunize Yourself Against Stupid is your fully vaccinated passport through the anti‑vax Twilight Zone.

Armed with sarcasm sharp enough to pierce a hazmat suit and science solid enough to survive a YouTube conspiracy binge, this book dismantles every greatest hit of vaccine misinformation:

– “Big Pharma wants your money” (unlike Big Funeral, who just wants your corpse)

– “Natural immunity” (because cavemen had it so good)

– “Toxins!” (also known as things you eat for breakfast)

– “Freedom!” (from logic and public health)

– And, of course, the immortal “My friend’s cousin’s hairdresser said…”

It’s part roast, part reality check, and part survival manual for anyone who’s ever had to smile politely while someone explains how magnets prove microchips are in vaccines.

Whether you’re a science nerd, a sarcasm enthusiast, or just tired of watching preventable diseases make a comeback tour, this is your shot — no appointment necessary.

Side effects may include:

– Uncontrollable laughter in public

– Eye‑rolling so intense you see your own brain

– A sudden urge to fact‑check your relatives