About Grumps VS The Bible

This isn’t a testimony. It’s a goddamn declaration of war.

Grumps VS The Bible exists because one man got tired of kneeling to a lie for thirty-five years and decided to drag the holy book to the mat with teeth bared and claws out. This is where scripture gets stripped of its “divine” gloss and ripped apart with venom, wit, and zero apologies.

Grumps isn’t here to “debate respectfully” or “find common ground.” He’s here to rip open the gilded carcass of Christianity and show you the gears of control and fear grinding inside. Every verse, every doctrine, every sanctimonious sermon gets dragged into the arena. No sacred cows, no safe spaces.

Who is Grumps?

Grumps is a Satanist, writer, and relentless loudmouth in his 50s who spent the first half of his life as a “good little sheep.” Sabbath school smile. Bible verses memorized like they were passwords to Heaven’s gated community. Thirty-five years of dragging a rusted chain of faith behind him, clinking like a dog waiting for pats from an invisible master.

And then? He read too much. Dug too deep. Asked too many questions. The whole thing collapsed under the weight of its own bullshit.

What came out of that fire wasn’t despair. It was clarity.

No gods. No leash. No divine excuse for failure. Just a man—naked, bloodied, and finally free.

When he stumbled into Satanism, it didn’t hand him comfort. It slapped him awake. No commandments. No salvation. Just a mirror and a match.

What You’ll Find Here:

• Dissection with teeth. Context, translation flaws, historical lies—every verse is fair game.

• Venom with purpose. Not cheap insults—surgical strikes where faith rots.

• No sacred ground. If it’s in the book, it’s on the table.

What You Won’t Find Here:

• Respect for ideas that crumble under scrutiny.

• Kid gloves.

• The tired accusation that he’s “just mad at God.” (He’s no more mad at Yahweh than he is at Zeus or Poseidon. You can’t be angry at something that doesn’t exist. What he is mad at is centuries of blood, guilt, and control built on a book of myths.)

This isn’t a deconversion sob story. This is a war cry. A blog carved out of bone and fire for anyone who wants to see the Bible stripped bare and forced to answer for the damage it’s done.

Grumps VS The Bible.

No gods. No masters. No bullshit.

AI Transparency Nod

I use "AI" the way a mechanic uses a socket wrench. I write the piece. Then I run my draft through a carefully built ChatGPT Project tuned to my voice—my cadence, my bite, my refusal to genuflect. It doesn’t “think” for me, and it sure as hell doesn’t decide what I believe. It tightens the screws, shaves the fat, and makes the prose punch like it’s supposed to. "AI" isn’t the writer; it’s the tool. Its job is simple: take hammered shit and help me polish it into glass.

On timing: I try to keep a month’s worth of articles “in the can” for anything that isn’t a recurring set piece. Most of what you read here didn’t happen in a single sitting—it sits, cures, and gets sharpened until it holds an edge. You’ll also see the occasional same-day post built in a few hours—usually to pair with fresh video content. Those tie-ins are deliberately more fluid and alive than something that’s been resting on my drive for a month or two. This is exactly why I use "AI"" for editorial cleanup: it helps me hit publish without lowering the bar.

On rigor: every word gets read and re-read for clarity and accuracy. Citations are checked and double-checked by me. Sometimes the “AI” suggests possible sources; I still go out and put eyes on them, toss the weak ones, and keep only what stands up. If it’s in here, I’ve taken responsibility for it.

Same story with the art. I don’t have a staff of illustrators, and I draw like an ambitious eighth-grader on a sugar crash. So I use image generators guided by a strict house style—our Grumpoir look—so the visuals match the mood: cyberpunk grit, noir shadows, neon scars. Every image comes from prompts crafted to that standard and then iterated until it fits the piece. If an image sings, good. If it squeaks, that’s on me, not “the AI.”

Bottom line: the ideas, the claims, the jabs, the jokes—that’s me. The machine is a ruthless, ego-free editor and a paintbrush I can afford. When I can hire human artists, I will. Until then, I’ll keep using the tools that let me ship on time without watering it down. Accountability—every word, every image, every hit or miss—stays right here.