Dear Covenant School of Dallas…

The Dallas Academy Massacre

7300 Valley View Lane, Dallas, TX  75240

Dear Coach Grimes,

  Congratulations, champ!  That was some win!  Every game must have a winner and a loser, and this one, like all others, was decided by the merits.  That’s why you won with a 100 to nothing blowout.

  Excellent coaching, Micah.  Excellent.  I thought it was especially good of you to point out what a great learning experience this was for both teams.  All the girls, (and most of the country, for that matter), learned that I am always on the side of the big battalions.  Little Dallas Academy learned not to go in against Gawd when He’s got money riding on the other team.  Your girls learned the valuable lesson of how to stomp an opponent long after the spark of hope has died.  You, personally, learned never to apologize for crushing little girls dreams.

  Almost perfect, I’d say.  Except for one, tiny thing.

  I’ve read every single news story about your resounding win and I couldn’t help but notice that you didn’t once thank Me.  Not.  Once.

  Coach, when I say, “decided by the merits”, we both know what that means.  It means I liked your pre-game prayer better than the other team’s.  Like all sports, the winner is solely down to Me.  All I ever ask the winner in return is that they stand in front of the cameras and say “I just want to thank Gawd for this win,” or “This wouldn’t have been possible without my Lord & Saviour.”

  By not thanking Me, you are, in effect, saying that your team could have beat Dallas Academy, and their school-wide pool of 20 girls with learning disorders, without Me.  That, Micah, is a no-no.  That is some load of hubris you’re carrying around My friend.  That’s why I’ve had you fired.  Not because you’re a dick.  Not because you don’t understand the concept of sportsmanship or self-control.  Not because you didn’t apologize for being an unsportsmanlike dick with no self-control.

  Because you didn’t thank Me for all the hard work I put into winning this game for you.

Wish You Were here,

~Gawd

Dear (New) Chosen People…

Is This A Coffin I See Before Me?

Everywhere But Indonesia

Dear Atheists,

  Almost everyone dies.  I don’t, of course; and the other deities; and Dick Clark.  But almost everyone else does.  Sadly, you fall into the “Everyone Else” category.  This can be painful for those left behind, like Me.  For instance, I expected several more books out of Douglas Adams, and now it’s too late to make him a zombie.

  Even more painful, though, is when you die and don’t mention Me in the will.  This hurts My feelings and makes the baby Jesii cry.  I know that you don’t want Me to be sad after you’re gone, and you know that the only thing that gets Me through is a nice recuperative vacation in the Alps or on a little Mediterranean island.  So I want to bring to your attention a truly thoughtful member of My Chosen People, John Mortimer.

  Not only did John create the delightful Rumpole of the Bailey, but he was kind enough to have a church funeral after he kicked the bucket.  With church rental, vicar fees, organ rental, pew space advertising and the 16.5% kickback I get from all funeral homes, he ended up leaving Me a tidy sum.  As the vicar said, he was an “atheist for Christ”.

  That, dear Chosen Ones, is the sort of example you should all be paying attention to.  After all, you can’t take it with you and I’m going to be on vacation anyway, so your hard-earned might as well go toward My bar tab or to tip the bellboys.

  It’s a good way to show the world the special relationship you have with Me.  As an added bonus, I will be making a toast to John – and any of you who leave Me a little something to remember you by – with the finest scotch that his money can buy.

  I’ve got to run, as the bartender needs his pen back, but here’s to John.  And I raise a hopeful glass to any others of you who are feeling a bit peaky as you read this.  Salud!

Wish You Were Here,

~Gawd

Dear Heaven Can Wait Insurance Company…

Act of Gawd

127 Ave. of the Weasels, Pottersville, Hell  71000

Dear Claims Adjuster Machiavelli,

  I am in receipt of your letter dated Tuesday last, re the Reborn in Christ Church in Sao Paulo, in which you state that you “regret [you] are not in a position to proceed with [My] claim” and “request” that I refer to My policy document.  You specifically draw My attention to section 2.1 which confirms in section 5, subclause iii, that the policy does not provide cover for “Acts of Gawd(s)“.

  I am writing in hopes that you will reconsider your decision, as this was not an Act of Me aimed at the church building, but at a couple of thieves who walked off with $56,000 of My vacation fund.  Unfortunately, I was mistaken as to their whereabouts.  I was not informed that they were in jail in Florida at the time.  Therefore, this was not so much an Act of Me, as an accidental discharge of wrath, as defined in clause 1.25; “Misadventure or Misappropriation of Excess Wrath“.

  Furthermore, and speaking of wrath, I must say that I found the last paragraph of your letter to be somewhat condescending.  I quote:

  “Whilst we have great empathy for Your unfortunate position we regret we are unable to be of assistance in respect of this incident.  While this is obviously disappointing news we trust You will understand the reasons for this decision.“

  Well, I don’t.  Explain to Me, please, why I bother to take out insurance on My stores if you’re going to just deny the claims when they collapse.  If I can’t insure them, then the only fiscally responsible option is to shut them down; but if I shut them down, where are My brand-loyalists going to tithe?  It’s a nasty little Catch-22 that you’ve engineered.  I happen to know that your company also insures Wal-Mart.  What do you think they would do if you put them in this position?  They’d give you the legal smiting of your life, that’s what they’d do.

  And that, sir, is exactly what I propose to do if I do not receive satisfaction.

  I await your reply with great interest.

Wish You Were Here,

~Gawd

A Postcard From Odin

Somewhere In Angle Land

Dear Heather,

  Thank you, child, for the postcard.  I don’t get many these days.  It’s all down to the breakdown of good pagan morals, if you ask Me.  All the sacred groves are paved over with shopping malls now.  It’s been years since I’ve seen a good blót.  For that matter, do you know when I last had a sacrifice worthy of the name?  1943.  Smaland, Sweden.  Ingvar Kamprad sacrificed a reindeer and a homeless man named Soren.  Since then?  Not a biscuit.

  When I got your postcard asking Me to smite Dr. William Lane Craig I thought, “Ho,ho!  Odin Me boy, We are back in business!”  This should make up for that colossal cock-up when I showed up too late for My time slot to smite that smart-arse, Martin.  You can bet My ex assistant, Mandy, is paying much more careful attention to My schedule after a 6-month posting to Hel.

  Anyway, enough prattling.  Do you want this Craig chap smited for saying that it’s a good thing to kill children because they’ll go to Heaven or do you want him smited for tempting Me?  Either is good for Me, you understand.  I just want to make sure the right forms are filled out.  Phrew!  The paperwork these days!  Ragnarok can’t come soon enough, if you ask Me.

  Of course, that’s what this fellow is working toward, isn’t it?  Being one of Gawd’s brand-loyalists, he calls it “Armageddon” or “Rapture” or some such, but it’s the same thing.  Speaking of, since he’s one of Gawd’s, that means even more paperwork and red tape.  An interfaith smiting can be a real pain in the fundament.  You’ve got to submit everything in triplicate and it usually goes before the board of the Deity Club.  And, sister, they ain’t exactly lightning-quick.  My boy, Thor, waited years to get the all-clear to smite King Edmund.  He finally got so fed up that He sent a couple of His bully-boys round to make a pincushion of him.  Looked like a porcupine with feathers when they were through.  Turned out to be much simpler, in the end, and it still went down as a smiting in Thor’s stats.

  Come to think of it, you might want to explore that avenue.  I’m not saying you don’t have good, pagan values on your side.  You do.  And I’m not saying that I can’t do it.  Hel, I’m Odin, after all; the wisdom, war, battle, death, victory, hunting and poetry deity.  Well… mostly poetry, these days, but I do try to keep My hand in by smiting cats and geese and such.  Off the books, you understand?

  Yeah, the more I think about this, I see the problem as twofold.  First – mycket paperwork.  Second – I don’t really have the depth-of-bench I used to in the bully boy department.  In fact, you’re pretty much it.  So let Me throw a little of My divine wisdom at you.  As My only extant brand-loyalist, I hereby name you “Odin’s Chief Enforcer”.  This means that when I’m wroth with someone, (in this case, Dr. William Lane Craig), your job will be to thrash them soundly.  Afterwards, I count it as a righteous smiting on My record, thus gaining stature at the Deity Club.  As you seem to have done a pretty thorough job on the guy already, I think we can call this one a win.

  So, you asked for Me to smite someone.  They are officially smited per Deity Club Handbook section IV, Paragraph xi.  You’re welcome.  That will be two oxen, sacrificed on the next appropriate holy day at your nearest sacred grove, (which is now a Tesco).

The Mighty Odin Has Spoken!

~O

Dear George Whatsyourname…

The Mall, Washington, DC

Dear George,

  The boys reminded Me that you were moving today and that I had perhaps been a little harsh when I told you I wouldn’t help.  I mean, after all the tragicles I’ve provided for you, you might have gotten the impression that I don’t like you.  Banish the thought, dear boy.  The truth is, I don’t care about you either way.  I’d have forgotten about you years ago if you hadn’t kept My mailbox choked with requests for ponies, etc.

  So, just to show that I don’t harbor any actual animosity for you, I’ve sent this singing Hallmark© card with a change of address form inside.  I do, of course, expect something in return.  Now that you’re moving, I’d appreciate it if you lost My address.  If I get anymore silly requests from you, I might decide that I do care about you… and not in the good way.

Hasta La Vista,

~Gawd

Dear First Bus…

226 Portswood Rd., Southampton, Hampshire  SO17 2BE

C/O Richard Soper, Managing Director:

Ricky,

  I was going through customs at Aeroporto Porto a couple of days ago and in the line, (or ‘queue’, if you will), ahead of Me was what I took to be a typical, loudmouthed American tourist.  She was blabbering away to her friend and slowing the whole operation down.  I was just about to tell her to shut up and get on with lying to the customs agent because some of us had limousines waiting, when, first, I realized that she was British and b) I heard what she was whingeing about.

  This is where your company comes in.  She was complaining that Ron Heather wasn’t knighted for being a good brand-loyalist.  I’m sure you’re familiar with the episode.  One of your bus drivers refused to get behind the wheel of a vehicle with adverts against his particular brand; ie, Me.  So this woman holding up about 80,000 people was upset that all you had done was to ensure that he wouldn’t have to drive buses with words that offend him on them.

  But I’m writing to tell you not to listen to her.  You did exactly the right thing.  First of all, I don’t see that Ron did anything to be knighted for.  He only did what I expect of all My brand-loyalists.  He was loyal to My brand.  (And anyway, “Sir Ron”?  Sounds a bit too much like “Sirhan Sirhan” to Me.)

  And you didn’t go all Australian and take the adverts off, either.  Excellent.  This way, both the “Me” brand and the “aMe” brand get a lot of publicity, and, as I’m sure you know, there is no such thing as bad publicity.  To tell you the truth, I win either way.  I’m the majority stockholder in Gawd, Inc. and I’ve got shares, in the form of My new Chosen People, the atheists, in the other brand.  Win/win.

  However, this is not to say that I won’t write a stern letter for publication in The Telegraphif I hear that Coca Cola-drinking employees refuse to drive buses with Pepsi adverts or that the bartender at My hotel is late for work because his bus driver prefers Kalmak to Boots.

  I’m sure you’re on the same page with Me, here, but it must be said.  Brands that I have an interest in not only can, but musthave preferential treatment.  Other brands that I didn’t think to invest in when they were small, like Apple or Tampax or ITV, can go whistle.

Wish You Were Here,

~Gawd

Dear Federal Reserve…

[REDACTED], [REDACTED], DC  2055[REDACTED]

Dear “Ken Kernanbe”,

  I’m using a pseudonym for you because I’m very concerned that the citizens of your country, [REDACTED], should know as little about our dealings as possible.  Your coded message came through loud and clear.  No blabbing.  I’ve taken it so to heart, as you can see, that I glued two postcards together, back to back, so no one could snoop on our communication.

  “Ken”, I’ll keep this short and to the point.  I don’t want anyone triangulating your position through this postcard.  I’m writing for two reasons.  First, and most importantly, to remind you to keep your trap shut about “lending” Me that $1.2 trillion.  That’s between you and your maker.  I  Don’t want this to sound like a threat, but if word leaks, I’ll make sure that those pictures of you in [REDACTED] with [REDACTED], [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED] 180 degrees [REDACTED] [REDACTED] sewing machine [REDACTED] inside [REDACTED] [REDACTED] grey mule.  Do we understand one another?

  Secondly, I want to congratulate your apparatchik, “Konald Dohn”.  That boy is going places.  If he has anything to say about it, no one will ever know where, but he’s going places.

  I’d better get this in the mail.  I don’t like the way the room service guy is looking at Me.  Remember:  Ix-nay on the abbing-blay.

Wish You Were Here,

~[REDACTED]

Dear Inquisition…

Vatican Hill, 3rd Dungeon on the Left

Dear Prefect Cardinal Willie,

  I got Ratzi’s family newsletter he sends out every year on My boys’ birthday.  I was glad to hear everyone seems to be doing fine there.  That there was enough turkey & dressing to go around; that the kids are alright and that Arturo’s rash is clearing up.

  The reason I’m writing, though, is to thank you, personally, for helping to keep My family’s dirty laundry from being aired.  I know that My ex-wife has been making a public spectacle of Herself, (Like always – women, eh?), and you’ve been trying to keep the lid on.  I know Ratzi ordered you to do it, but I also know who’s really in charge over there.  ‘Nuff said.

  I was going to give you a few helpful pointers on suppressing the eyewitnesses and such, but then I realized that would be like teaching My Gramma to suck eggs… if I had a Gramma.  There’s pretty much nothing you don’t know about suppression.  Hell, Spain’s just now getting back on their feet.

  I would suggest, though, a little maskarovka.  Word of My ex-wife’s exploits is liable to get out at some point.  I mean, even you can’t be everywhere.  Eventually, Mary is going to schtupp some bellboy in the lobby of a five-star hotel and someone will blab.  You don’t want that.  More importantly, I don’t want that.  I’ve got a reputation to uphold.

  So here’s My suggestion.  First of all, the ridiculous idea that anyone who was ever married to Me, (and, to be honest, anyone with a sex drive like Mary’s), could possibly be mistaken for a virgin might just play into our hands.  When you bring in the psychologists, theologians, priests and exorcists for damage control disingenuously suggest to the shell-shocked witnesses that it couldn’t possibly have been The Jesii’s mother they saw flashing that pre-school class or in that pile with two crack-whores, a pizza delivery guy, a registered quarter horse and a meter maid.  They must have been mistaken.  Perhaps it was some other virgin.  I’m sure you can find a patsy somewhere.

  Next, make it clear to them that the Vatican has a policy where these sightings are concerned.

…anyone who claims to have seen an apparition will only be believed as long as they remain silent and do not court publicity over their claims. If they refuse to obey, this will be taken as a sign that their claims are false.

  Then maybe give them a glimpse of the old Tongue Tearer™.  As I recall, that usually leads to a quickly shut mouth.  I imagine you’ll be glad to take some of the old toys out of mothballs.  It must have been pretty difficult for you to sit back and watch President Cheney and his minions stumbling around like a bunch of amateurs the last few years.  Now you can get your hand back in.  Not before time, too, eh?  If you don’t use it, you lose it, I always say.  That’s why I try to smite a few people a month, just so I don’t get rusty.

  Oh, and one last bit of advice.  If you or any of your people stumble across My ex while you’re out doing your duty, don’t approach Her!  I can’t stress that enough.  I know what suckers you priests are for “virgins”, but Mary will chew you up and spit you out.  Take My word for that.  However, if you’re within yelling distance, tell her the check is in the mail.

Wish You Were Here,

~Gawd

Dear Mordechai Eliyahu…

November 9-10, 1938

C/O Yad Vashem Holocaust Museum, Har Hzikaron, Jerusalem

Dear Morty,

  How right you are, My friend.  How right you are.  When I read that you declared that there is no moral prohibition whatsoever against indiscriminately killing civilians for something one of them, or just someone they might know, did I said to Myself, “This.  Guy.  Gets it.  He gets it.”  You have obviously been reading My Curriculum Vitae.  The Philistines, the Jebusites, the Sodomites?  Exactly My position.

  Yeah, I worked up a Number 6 on ‘em.  My former Chosen People went a ridin’ into town a whoopin’ and a whompin’ everything that moved within an inch of its’ life.  ‘Cept the womenfolks, of course.  They raped the shit outta them at the Number 6 Dance later on.

  When you were perusing My CV, did you notice what I like to call “The Liberation of Elisha’s Head for Democracy”?  A small battle, but pivotal.  I think it’s relevant to your situation in Gaza right now.  There was a malicious and dangerous group of 42 children based in Jericho at the time and when the forces of Freedom passed through the area, in the person of Elisha, one of them perpetrated a heinous raid on him.  From out of this group of malcontents a rocket was fired.  Well, not a rocket, per se, but just as bad.  One of the little boys yelled out, “Go up, thou bald head!”

  As I know you understand, Elisha could not let that stand.  So, since finding out which little boy was actually responsible would have been difficult and time-consuming, he called in fire support from Me.  I quickly mobilized the 153rd and 2037th she-bear brigades, both of which advanced in a pincer movement for a surgical strike against the tiny terrorist.  Once the mist of blood had settled, the evil little brat was neutralized, with only 41 collateral casualties.  The civilian casualties were unfortunate, sure, but A) I couldn’t risk the lives of the brave she-bears out of fear of killing noncombatants and B) It got the job done.  After that, there weren’t any children left to make fun of Elisha.  I hung up a “Mission Accomplished” banner that day, I can tell you.

  Oh, good times.  Good times.  It almost makes Me want to come out there and take control, Myself.  Unfortunately, I have reservations for two weeks at a resort in Portugal and they’ll charge My credit card if I don’t show up on time.  Still, I can give you a little advice anyway.

  If you do enough damage, and win, no one is going to say you’re not a peaceful people.  Just ask the Jebusites.  Oh, right; you can’t.

Wish You Were Here,

~Gawd

Dear Stephen Green…

Truth In Advertising

C/O Christian Voice, PO Box 739A, Surbiton, UK, KT6 5YA

Dear Steve,

  Stephen – or should I call you by your nickname?  I understand you prefer “Birdshit“.  It doesn’t seem like the sort of name a well-adjusted guy would go by.  For some folks the attention is more important than what type of attention.  It takes all kinds, I guess.

  Anywho, Birdshit, I’m writing because you have come to My Divine Attention.  However, before you start singing that catchy tune by Handel, you should know that this is not the good kind of Gawdly attention.  I am taking a bit of a well-deserved holiday in your neck of the globe right now, rock-climbing, heavy drinking, mountain-biking and the like.  It’s all been very nice – until I found one of your press releasesbunging up a mouse-hole in My hotel room.  You fellows do say “bunging”, right?  You English and your words.

  Birdshit, taking a quick glance at My planner just now I see that, on average, I take 365 days of vacation, yearly.  Except Leap Years, of course.  My vacation time is very important to Me.  Very important.  You know how they say that I’m a Jealous Gawd?  Well, now you know what it is that I’m so jealous of.

  So when you start insisting on proof of My non-existence I see vacation fund problems on the horizon.  Stephen, by bitching about those atheist bus ads you’re straying ever so close to lightning bolt territory here.  Did you take even a moment to imagine how this thing might play out?

  Let’s pause a moment while I use the old omniscience… No.  You didn’t think this ill-advised complaint through at all.  I can’t say that I’m surprised.  But, because I’m a loving Gawd, (who will torture you for eternity in Hell if you endanger My holidays), I’ll spell it out for you.

  First, while it’s true that most people don’t think where I’m concerned, (for which, by the way, you could be the poster boy), some do.  And that’s alright.  It’s not optimal, but it’s okay.  From that pool of people who give some thought to Me and My ineffable ways, I draw My Chosen People.  They don’t tithe, but they’re a lot of fun.  The rest of you, the “followers”, if you will, mostly don’t think about Me except to contemplate our close, personal relationship and how I just love you to pieces.  Which is odd, come to think of it, since I generally only meet those of you who work in the hotel and airline industries.  However, you do tithe toward My vacation fund.  So, in a way, you could say that we do have a sort of relationship and I do love you… in the sense that you pay for something that I do love.

  Now, imagine the result of you urging people to think about Me.  Urging people to come up with reasons and proof why I don’t exist.  Do you see where this is going, Birdshit?

  Hey!  Is that why people call you that?  Is it because you have avian fecal matter where your brain ought to be?  Or maybe it’s because you’re like a bird and My vacation plans are like a newly-washed car.

  In any case, you are threatening the delicate balance of the universe, buddy.  As things stand there are enough atheists to make the world a livable place.  You know, inventing airplanes and medicines and TV and math and such.  The rest of you are there to support Me in the lifestyle to which I’ve become accustomed.  That’s it.  Hell, I had to send an angel to show you how to make whiskey.

  You got it now?  Now do you see the glory of My Gawd-Damned Ineffable Plan™?  You and all the other brand-loyalists are My Divine Cash Cow.  If your little advertising complaint screws up the balance by creating more atheist Chosen People I promise that you will be hand-washing the Holy Undies for all of eternity and a day.

Wish You Were here,

~Gawd