It’s a Postal Holiday

Hello,

  I know many of you think we atheist postmen don’t take vacations, (unless you count roasting little baby kittens on a spit), but that’s where you make your blunder.  In fact, we sometimes fly down to Texas, where they really love us, and go to waterparks.  So this is exactly what this particular postman is going to do.  Expect regular mail service to resume on July 2.

TTFN,

~Postman

Dear House Oversight Committee…

2157 Rayburn House Office Building, Washington, DC 20515

Dear Rep. Waxman,

  When I first heard about it, I was against global warming and more greenhouse gasses and all that stuff.  Not enough to interrupt My vacation, of course, but against it in the same way people with yellow ribbon magnets on their cars are for the troops.  However, I’ve been watching Fox News lately and they’ve really turned Me around about the whole thing.  I’ve gotten the distinct impression from them that if anyone even thinks very hard about doing something about greenhouse gasses, the entire world will soon be living in caves.  As I’m sure I don’t have to point out, that would mean no more flights to the French Riviera for Me.

  So I’d like to ask a favor.  Nothing too difficult.  Nothing the majority party in Congress isn’t already doing, actually.  It’s this:  Just give George what he wants.  I know you fellows in Congress can understand Me when I say that My vacation is simply more important than anything the plebs might want.

  Of course, I know how you do things down there in Washington, so here’s a little added incentive.  Remember when you asked Santa for a model of a B-25 bomber when you were six and he shafted you?  I can make that right.  All you’ve got to do is what you want to do anyway.

Thanks in Advance & Wish You Were Here,

~Gawd

Dear In God We Trust…

Zion, IL

Dear In God,

  I’ve got to say that until I started getting your postcards, I thought that phrase was just a witty album name my old buddy Jello came up with one night while we were blitzed out of our minds at this little hole-in-the-wall bar in Frisco.  See, the joke is that I told the band I knew where this great party was and I’d get us in, but I was so drunk I couldn’t remember how to get there.

  Anyway, that’s neither here nor there.  The reason I’m writing is that I could have sworn I told you not to change your name.  At least, I think I recall explaining that I had My name copyrighted and trademarked years ago.  Therefore, I’m pretty much obligated to sic My lawyers on your ass.  Even though you’re obviously trying to make money off of it by signing your paintings with the new name, I would normally just let it go.  I mean, if I sued every time some yahoo used My name in vain, I’d never do anything else.  However, unluckily for all of us, (and you especially in this case), I found out about you just after I heard My old friend George Carlin had died.  You see, he was great at keeping people off My back and getting it through people’s thick heads that I’m on vacation.  So I was already upset before I heard about you.  Now you’re going to find out that we deities aren’t above the occasional petulant tantrum.  Prepare to be sued as you have never been sued before.  If you think Sodom and Gomorrah was bad; if you think what I did to Job and to Miriam sucked; wait until Fire, Brimstone & Wrath, LLC get through with you.  I’d say ask Lot’s wife or Sampson about it, but you can’t, can you?

Yrs Sincerely, &tc.,

~Gawd

Dear Brice McMillan…

1110 Felton Farm Rd., Macclesfield, NC

Dear Brice,

  I read about your troubles and I just wanted to be the first to tell you – Don’t try to drag Me into it or I’ll sue your ass seven ways to Sunday.  I see from the news reports that you’re one of those churchy types who send their kids to “Church Schools” where observable fact is less important than that ridiculous unauthorized biography I’ve been fighting for so long.  I’m not saying that tying someone to a tree doesn’t work; look at My boy.  It taught him a valuable lesson, didn’t it?  He hasn’t back-sassed Authority for 2,000 years.  What I am saying is not to tell anyone I told you to nail tie your boy to a tree.  Don’t even hint that I had anything to do with this or My lawyers will sue you faster than a rocket-propelled cheetah with loose morals.  The bottom line here is:  Don’t screw up My vacation.

Wish You Were Here,

~Gawd

Dear Satirical Political Report…

The Intertubes

Dear Mr. Davis,

  When you called for an interview request, I assumed that the usual rules applied and that our conversation was off the record.  Imagine My shock when I opened up the intertubespaper to see that you had quoted Me verbatim.  You’ve taken Me out of context.  The fact is, I was a little squiffy when you called and, assuming we were on deep background, I decided to have a little fun with you.

  Look, the truth is, I don’t run anything.  I’m on vacation.  Have been for years.  As for all the destruction, you don’t need Me for that.  You fellows are doing a pretty good job of it on your own.  In fact, I’d venture a guess that My lawyers, Fire, Brimstone & Wrath, LLC, would consider that bit libelous.  I generally don’t smite on vacation, but I’ll sue your ass in a New York minute.

  I’m going to keep this short, since I’m writing from a motor coach on my way to Budapest, so let Me just sum up:  Off the Record.  On Vacation.  Sue Your Ass.  Got it?  Leave Me out of your politics, for My sake.

Wish You Were Here,

~Gawd

Dear George Bush (Sigh)…

1600 Pennsylvania Blvd.  Washington, DC 20006

Dear George,

  I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, George, but if it weren’t for your father, who got me out of an embarrassing scrape with the Shore Patrol in 1943, I wouldn’t answer any of the dozens of postcards you send me every week.  I’ve told you time and again that I’m on vacation.  And now you want Me to smite someone… again.  George, if I smote everyone you asked Me to, there wouldn’t be anyone left but you, Laura, Barney and Grima Wormtongue.  Anyway, this guy was only doing his job.  If you’d spend a little more time doing yours and less asking Me for things, we’d all be happier.  By the way, that other guy you want smitten?  Same answer.

  George, your Daddy has gotten Me to pull you out of a lot of messes over the years, but I think My New Year’s resolution for 2009 is going to be to try a little tough love and quit answering your postcards.

Wish You Were Here, (instead of the White House),

~Gawd

Dear Big Oil…

Willard InterContinental Washington Hotel, Washington, DC 20004

Dear Messrs. Oil,

   This is to inform you that I am in receipt of your postcards of the 14th of June, sent “overnight delivery” and marked “Urgent”.  If I am reading your somewhat hysterical requests correctly, you seem to feel that the universe is coming to an end.  I shall begin at the beginning and answer your requests in order, (although I am on vacation at the moment).

  First, the request that this process not work – denied.  Science is science, and I’m on vacation anyway.  Also, no one likes a big, fat, greedy SOB.

  Second, that it be worse for the environment than the oil you sell – ditto the above answer.

  Third, that these bacteria only turn diamonds and little baby kittens into oil – denied.  I understand it uses wheat straw and wood chips and such.  Plus… you’re sick.

  Fourth, that it take an expensive and, if possible, painful car modification to use – again; science, vacation, your greed is putting Me off dinner at the Bellagio Casino Buffet.

  Fifth, that it cost much more than even you are willing to charge – denied.  I understand it will cost less, especially in the long run.

  Finally, just so you’ll sleep better at night, that I “smite LS9 and all who have ever heard of it, (excepting us)” – denied.  I’m on vacation; I promised a group of South American, Amerindian and Pacific Island gods I’d go to anger management classes to quit that sort of thing; and of course, I have to pay to fill up My rental car, you putzs!

Wish You Were Here, (on this slippery-decked boat in the middle of the ocean),

~Gawd

Dear George Bush…

1600 Pennsylvania Ave.  Washington, DC

Dear George,

  You always did have a selective memory.

Wish You Were Here,

~Gawd

Dear John McCain…

P.O. Box 16118 Arlington, VA 22215

Dear John,

  I know I told you this when you were in that detox camp, or whatever it was, in Southeast Asia all those many years ago, but I guess I have to remind you:  I am not your father.  I will not make everyone forget about the things you used to stand for and embrace the things you now stand for.  I’m on vacation.  And even if I weren’t, you can’t make the rules and then break them.  However, I will give you some fatherly advice, in honor of the holiday.

  If you and your little friends are going to say that it’s against the rules for your little playmates to ever change their minds, well, you have to follow that rule, too.  On a personal note, I worry that you won’t be around by next Father’s Day, so let Me pass along this little anti-aging tip:  Virgin blood.  Works wonders.  My old pal Moloch used to say “I love the smell of virgin blood in the morning, it smells like victory.”  Of course, that’s not the sort of thing you can say in polite company these days, which reminds me… I’d stop the salty navy talk if I were you.  Only followers of my old college roommate can really get away with talking like pirates.  Oh, and one last thing.  As a pretty darn good writer once said, “To thine own self be true.”

  Or don’t… whatever.  What do I care?  I’m on vacation.

Wish You Were Here,

~Gawd

Dear Fathers…

Every Father’s Address, The Universe

Dear Pops Throughout the Universe,

  With Father’s Day coming up, and since I happen to be a father myself, I thought I’d send all of you a short postcard to clear something up that’s been bothering Me for some time.  As you may or may not know, I have more than a few kids.  In fact, to digress a little, it’s safe to say that I got around a bit in My younger days.  There are a good few backstairs sprogs running around who could technically call Yours Truly “Daddy”.

  That actually segues into what I wanted to address:  My younger days.  Not only was I a randy young Gawd who hung out with Zeus, (and I could tell you some stories about His sex life that would make your head spin), I had what I have to admit was a kind of sick sense of humor.  Some of My jokes kept ‘em in stitches over in Olympus and Asgard for years, and those guys are known for their crazy jokes.  Anyway, at one point I kind of told this guy, Abraham, that he didn’t do enough for me and who’s the gawd here, anyway?  Actually, I was just gonna take his watch or something, but it kind of got out of hand.  I barely stopped laughing long enough to keep the gullible freak from offing his son.  So that’s the point.  I just wanted to clear that up and let you know that it’s okay to bring them home from Iraq now.

  Hey, maybe some other time I’ll tell you about how I bet My bookie double-or-nothing what I owed him that I could bitch-slap Job and make him like it.

Wish You Were Here,

~Gawd