Tag Archives: atheism

Dear Atheist Foundation of Australia…

Denial of Service

Where Women Glow and Men Chunder

Dear Chosen Ozians,

  Are you trying to make the Baby Jesii cry?  If you go through with your planned… er… plan of Divine Denial of Service, that’s exactly what’s going to happen.  I know you mean to put Me, personally, offline because of something one of My brand-loyalists did to you, which I can understand.  Believe Me, I know what it’s like to attack someone for something someone else did.  Been there; done that; designed the t-shirt.

  However, I’m not sure you understand how this prayer thing works.  That’s understandable, as you tend to think along the lines of reality-based actions, whereas My brand-loyalists fully grasp the ways of the meta-natural, super-physicality that is My domain.  It’s ineffable.  You wouldn’t get it.  My old pal Cthulhu’s minion, PZ Myers, almost has it right.

“[A]ll modern prayers are first funneled through a 110 baud modem, then passed further upstairs by telegraph, then pony express riders gallop it over to the Pearly Gates, and then a rewritten version is passed on to a team of long-dead Sumerian scribes for transcription into cuneiform on wax plates, and then and only then is it in a format that a bronze age patriarchal deity can understand.”

  But, the crucial bit of the chain he is missing is that those wax plates are then stored in a warehouse complex outside of Santa Fe, NM for safekeeping. I never actually look at them.  To be honest, I got a C- in Cuneiform in school.  If it hadn’t been for cheating off of Enki, I probably would have failed the class.   The only prayers that I actually receive are those which are handwritten on postcards and mailed to Me at whichever hotel I happen to be staying in at the time.  So all you’re going to do is make extra work for the telegraphers, riders, scribes and forklift operators.

  Normally, this wouldn’t bother Me, since I don’t pay those guys, anyway.  The problem here is with My boys, the Jesii.  That 110 baud modem is what They use to access the interwebs.  You can take it from Me that if Republican Jesus can’t get on to glennbeck.com and Hippy Jesus can’t download Peter, Paul & Mary mp3’s, there will be some weeping and gnashing of teeth.

  Actually, the real problem is that if the Jesii start calling Me up while I’m on vacation, whingeing away about no access to blogs, music and porn, I’m liable to start smiting.  As you are a subset of My Chosen People, the atheists, I know you understand the way I deal with problems.  I won’t take out My annoyance on the Jesii, who will actually be bothering Me, I’ll take it out on you by causing a hurricane in the Gulf of Mexico next hurricane season.  I’ll take it out on you by smiting a telephone repairman in Sweden with lightning.  I’ll take it out on you by causing a statistically insignificant rise in the number of miscarriages in Alabama.  If I’m really cheesed off I’ll take it out on you by not helping some of My brand-loyalists find their missing car keys.

  By now, I know that you’re literally quaking in your cork-festooned hats.  You can thank your lucky stars, (and by “your lucky stars”, I mean “Me”), that you didn’t come up with a Divine Denial of Service that would have inconvenienced Me, personally.  In that case, you would have had a lawsuit from Fire, Brimstone & Wrath, LLC in your hands faster than you could say “G’day”.

Wish You Were Here,


Dear St. Eutychus…


Dear Yute,

  I hope you don’t mind the salutation.  I just like to have nicknames for everyone.  Easier to keep straight.  To be honest, though, I’m not sure I remember who you are.  Are you the one who gave half his cloak to a poor widow?  Or the patron saint of stomach aches?  Or just one of those tedious, “I got eaten by lions” type of saints?  I know you’re not the patron saint of beer brewers; that’s good old Boniface of Mainz.  One of only three I actually approved.

  Well, it doesn’t really matter.  I’ll just assume there was a perfectly valid reason to canonize you.  The Pope owed you money or you poked a hundred children without the church having to bail you out; whatever.

  I’ve dropped you this postcard not to find out who you are or what you did, but to congratulate you on an excellent bit of writing.  Your “Five Things That Would Make Atheists Seem Nicer” is a masterpiece of reasoned discourse and I couldn’t agree with you more.

  For starters, that bit about how smug they are?  Ha!  Don’t I know it.  For instance, I’ll be having a few drinks with some of My Chosen Atheists and it’ll be PZ’s roundand I’ll say, “Hey!  It’s your round.  Where’s My beer,” and he’ll be all, “You don’t exist.  People would think I was crazy if I spent money on a figment of someone else’s imagination.”  You know.  Then he’ll smirk in that smug, atheist way of his and I’ll end up paying not only for My own booze, but everyone else’s when My round comes up.  I try using their argument against them, but Dawkins always brings up Pascal and convinces me that, just in case I do exist, it wouldn’t be fair for Me to skip My round.  It’s almost like they’re taking the piss, you know?  It really chaps My Holy Fundament.

  And that second point of yours?  I’m always telling My Chosen People to relax and not be so paranoid.  Not every single bit of evangelism is about them.  Hell, some of it’s directed at different types of filthy, Gawdless sinners who are most probably going to spend all of eternity roasting in GitmoHell.  I mean, Hippy Jesus!  Get over yourselves, right?  You brand-loyalists have got plenty of other people to pester, like Druids and Muslims and fags.

  My favorite advice was your heartfelt urge for atheists to believe whatever you tell them, through the use of a subtle and complex argument about a hypothetical deity who meddles in people’s lives and communicates through a book of crazy stories and contradictory commandments.  Oh, snap!  That ought to shut ‘em up.  of course, I don’t know any deities like that and I’ve pretty much met them all, but that’s not the point, is it?  The point is, they haven’t met all the deities, so what the hell do they know?  If they just agree with everything you say, they’ll certainly seem nicer.

  Obviously, they won’t be nicer.  A leopard can’t change his shorts, am I right?  Well, evolutionarily he can, but you and I don’t believe in that hogwash, do we?  never seen a dog have kittens, eh?

  Which reminds Me, your advice about the so-called “scientific method” is sure to make those filthy commies My Chosen People seem nicer.  If they’d just admit that their proven method of looking at the universe is a) not what they say it is, but what you say it is and b) wrong, wrong, wrong, abused by them and wrong, then they’d be able to successfully wear the facade of niceness.

  And then there’s the way My very own Chosen Atheists are always making Me out to be some sort of simplistic, two-dimensional absentee-landlord who never heals amputees.  I can’t recall, right off the top of My head, why I don’t call people on the phone or heal amputated legs or any of that sort of thing, but if they’d just ask you, or any other of My brand-loyalists, then I’m sure accepting whatever answer they get would make them seem almost human.  Then they’d stop with all the straw man nonsense.  ‘Cause, boy, do I hate straw men.  Just ask ray Bolger.  I smote the hell out of his bladder after I saw The Wizard of Oz.

  So, keep up the good work and do whatever it is that saints do, and if you ever need Me… well, you’re shit out of luck, actually.  I’m on vacation.  But remember, I loooooove you more than anything in the entire universe and, um, “a sparrow doesn’t fall” and all that stuff… as far as you know.

Wish You Were Here,


Dear Chosen Atheists…

Chosen People

Dear Chosen People,

  I had a short layover in New York the other day and decided I’d pop over to Ground Zero and find out why it was still a hole in the ground.  It sometimes ruins My appreciation of the Filet Mignon avec Sauce Bernaise and champagne served in First Class to know that no one’s doing anything about that.  I mean, for My sake, who’s in charge over there?  It’s been eight years.  Get off the dime.

  So I thought it would be exciting to see it as if I were a regular person.  Just a slob like one of you.  With that in mind, I hopped on the A train and I was off.  Two minutes later I was tired of living like the poor people, but if you know anything about the A train from JFK to Manhattan you know that there is no stop on it from which you can reach anywhere in the world other than where the train is going.  let Me tell you, it made Me give predestination a long, hard re-think.

  But before I even reached Ground Zero I had the answer to why nothing is being built there.  You, (and when I’ve said “you” in this postcard so far, I’ve meant “mankind in general”), have got other things to worry about.

  Sitting across from me, the entire trip, was a tiny, old Asian woman wearing a surgical mask, probably stolen from a M*A*S*H unit during the Korean War, and worrying a rosary.  Even with the omniscience and the prayer line shut off, her fervent, fevered prayers bled through… for the entire trip.

  Now, I’d be the first to admit, (if these sorts of things worried Me), that swine flu, Hasidic men sitting next to you on the train and eternal damnation are all things one should fear.  Just not every moment of every day.  If nothing else, think of Me.  I don’t want to be cooped up on the A train, or anywhere else, with that.

  And just as I was about to smite her with a quiet little heart attack, it occurred to Me – Oh!  That’s what My Chosen People, the Atheists, have been doing.  You’ve obviously been worrying about Hell and trying to find a loop-hole to get out of it.  That’s why you keep insisting that you can have a conscience without following My well-thought-out rules.  That’s why you’ve been running around giving to charity and helping little old ladies across the street and whatever else it is that actual Good People do.

  That’s actually kind of cute, in a “dogs playing poker” kind of way.  But, look; that’s not how you fit into My plan.  I understand that you don’t get it – I mean, it’s My Ineffable Plan, not My F-able Plan.  Since I’ve always liked you and, frankly, prefer your company, I wanted to let you down easily.  So when I saw this postcard in the Helsinki airport I knew it was just the thing.  I assume jack Chick drew it, and you can’t let someone down easier than that.

Wish You Were Here,


Dear Creation Museum…

Creation_MuseumP.O. Box 510 Hebron, KY  41048

Dear Scientifickal, Capitalistic Brand-Loyalists,

  I see in the news that you were kind enough to host My Chosen People at your excellent homage to My handiwork.  Well done, thou good and faithful servants.  At $21.95 each, times at least 300, that makes a whopping $6,585 for My vacation fund.  Actually, I expect it’s a bit more, (which is always good), and I hope you charged PZ Myers, (the new Moses of My new Chosen People), extra, as I’m sure you know that he is backed by Big Science and can easily afford triple or quadruple the price.

  Ever since Day 1… or Day 3… I don’t really remember now, when I flipped the Holy Light Switch I knew that a project as big as the entire friggin’ universe was going to call for a good, long vacation afterwards.  By Day 9 I realized that someone, (obviously not Me), had made a grave tactical error by not creating Frequent Flier Miles or Platinum Cards.  From that Day on, I’ve had to rely on My brand-loyalists to keep the vacation fund in the black.  In the old days, before the dinosaurs drowned, I could send out a hero along the lines of St. George to track down a fire-breathing triceratops and take the huge treasure hoard it was guarding.

  Unfortunately, this is no longer possible.  I would say “Dea Culpa”, but we all know it was Noah the drunken pervert’s fault, (You can bet your sweet tuchus he’s sampling some “enhanced interrogation techniques” for that one, right now.)  But, that’s water over the bridge.  These days I have to rely on tax-free donations, mostly.  Every once in a while, though, a genius like Ken Ham comes along and does something magical and wonderful that keeps Me in First Class with the hot towels and the good scotch, where I belong.

  He obviously got hold of a copy of one of My tests from Deity School -

 “Using found objects and cosmological geology, construct a non-monadical universe which will, within one eon, show a profit for the designer.  Be sure to show your work.”

  It is, I think you’ll agree, an excellent bit of work on My part.  Especially considering that I was hung over and hadn’t studied.  The point is that Ham’s brilliant idea to build a museum that charges to see dioramas of My margin scribbles is, itself, proof that I should never have received a D+ on that test!  I mean, the Catholic Church and their hoard of dragon gold aside, your museum is making Me a mint.  In fact, I’m writing this postcard from the penthouse suite of the Trump SoHo, New York.

  Game.  Set.  Match, I say.

  So as you sell those tickets, know that as long as you do your part to keep Me in the style to which I have become accustomed, I will probably not open the old “Windows of Heaven” again and wipe you all out.

Wish You Were Here,


Gawd is Busy…

godisbusycanihelpyou  As Gawd is rather tied up… well, I say “tied up”, but it’s more like “slightly busy”… well, I say “slightly busy”, but it’s more like “not busy at all, unless you count a lie-down by the hotel pool”… well, I say “not busy”, but really, He just can’t be bothered.

  Your atheistical Postman, on the other hand, is busy.  So here are a few things on Gawd’s postcard To-Do list.

Dear They Might Be Giants…


Secret Musicoscientifical Laboratory, Brooklyn, NY

Dear Johns,

  It has come to My attention that you are endeavoring to indoctrinate the children with your toe-tappingly catchy scientifical dogma.  This must stop.

  Not that I have anything against you or science in general, but the fact is, the more children who grow up with a fact-based worldview, the less money there is in My vacation fund.  Don’t get Me wrong, though.  Personally, I like all that sciencey stuff, though it’s never really been My forte’.  In fact, between you and Me, if it hadn’t been for My lab partner, Pele, at Deity School, I probably wouldn’t have passed the science requirement.

  Be that as it may, as much as I find Myself humming along to Science is Real, My Brother the Ape and Why Does the Sun Really Shine, it’s just not healthy, (for My bank account), for the children to be exposed to this sort of thing at such a tender age.  And, while My comfort is, of course, of paramount importance, you should also think of the children, themselves.  Do you think you’re going to help them get along in later life by putting them at odds with the majority of the American population?  Isn’t the national motto “Majority Rules – Minority Can Suck It”, or something like that?  Imagine how they’ll be picked on in school for knowing things.  They’ll be ostracized and… and… other things that end in -ized.

  Actually, looking at your list of albums, I see that this isn’t the first time you’ve tried this sort of thing.  You have an album called “Here Come the 123’s”, which probably has something to do with mathematics, and another called “Here Come the ABC’s”.  Both of which are probably crammed full of facts and fact-based ideas.  As if that weren’t appalling enough, you seem to have an album aimed at the children called “No!”.

  My dear sirs, in a civilized society, the children need only know how to determine 10% of their future earnings for tithing purposes and spell Vacation Bible School.  As for saying “No!” to their elders and betters… all I can say is:  “Why do you hate the children so?  Why do you hate the children?”

  Know that I shall make a point of attending any of your concerts which coincide with My vacation schedule and if you attempt to play any subversive songs I shall scream, “Play Ana Ing!!!1!” at the top of My lungs in order to disrupt your plan of indoctrination… and because I especially like that song.

Wish You Were Here,


Dear Glaswegian Gallery of Modern Art…

The only good bible is...Royal Exchange Square, Glasgow, G1 3AH, United Kingdom

Dear GoMA,

  I recently saw your “In Gawd’s Image” exhibit while passing through town.  I was heartily impressed with it.  In fact, I’m recommending it to all of Gawd, Inc.’s angel employees for the excellent LGBT perspective.  Maybe it will stop some of their grumbling about company policy.

  Mostly, though, I liked the interactive Bible in which I could write My thoughts.  Genius!  As you may know, I’ve never seen a penny in royalties from that unauthorized biography.  You can bet I had some choice things to say about it, which I feel I adequately expressed with a fat-tipped Sharpie.


  While the unauthorized biographer got the general idea across, (“Gawd is Love and anyone who doesn’t agree is welcome to have their brains dashed out and their women, children and livestock sold off for My vacation fund.”), I have always had two problems with it.  First, it doesn’t adequately express how much you humans sometimes got up My left nostril before you invented first-class airline seating and 5-star hotels.  But, mostly, (and I can’t stress this enough), I never got a cut of the profits!

  Sometimes I’m really, really tempted to send My lawyers; Fire, Brimstone & Wrath, LLC, back in time to sue the Holy Crap out of the writers.  The only problem is that all that time they’ve spent in Hell wouldn’t have happened.  Of course, I could still send them to Hell for an eternity of enhanced interrogation techniques after I sue them to death, but I just hate the waste… or, and I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before, I could make them remember all the torture interrogation they’ve had up to now and then start over.  I am, after all, omnipotent.  Yes.  Yes!  The more I think of it, the better it sounds.  I sometimes forget that I can do anything at all.  Hell, I’m so omnipotent that I could make a boulder that even I couldn’t move.  That is omnipotent.

  On the other hand, the crash after I use the omnipotence is a real bitch.  Headache, cotton-mouth and I’m just knackered for eons.  Also, I tend to get especially, er… “excited”.  That’s how the twins were conceived.  Don’t ask.

  Anyway, I just thought I’d give you the old Gawd Seal of Approval for your exhibit.  Keep up the good work and I’ll have My people get in touch about My cut of the entrance fees.

Wish You Were Here,


Dear ACLU…



1400 20th St., NW, Suite 119 Washington, DC

Dear Anti Christian-Liberties Union,

  As you may know, I like to take a hands-off approach to the Gawd business… except for AIDS… and hurricanes… and tornadoes… and she-bears… and lightning, well – all weather-related phenomenon, disease, pestilence, war and anything your insurance company labels an “Act of Gawd”, really.  But other than that, I prefer to let humans get on with things on their own.  So I don’t often reply to the millions and millions of postcards I get each day asking for ponies, immunity from prosecution and the death of a neighbors’ lawn-pooping dog.

  However, now that My boys have set me up with an email address, I’ve been receiving not only the usual requests, but important news flashes of specific interest to Me.  Frankly, I don’t know how I got along before this intertubes thing.  It is certainly a present comfort.  Why, do you realize that I haven’t had to turn on My omniscience in months; and then just to win bets and similar?  I hardly have to think anymore, actually.

  Which brings Me to why I’m writing.  A very alarming email landed in the Holy Inbox yesterday.  I have it from an impeccable source that you are trying to remove all crosses from military cemeteries, end prayer and have Baby declared the other, other white meat.

  You’ve got some nerve, don’t you?  Those crosses are there for a very good reason.  I know you just live in this universe, but it would behoove you, once in a while, to familiarize yourselves with the fundamental rules everyone lives by.  To whit, that every time a new deity is inducted into the Deity Club They go through a carefully-crafted and highly personalized initiation rite.  In the present case, My boy, Hippy Jesus, was stapled to a couple of planks.  You know… in the way of light comedy.  The rest of the initiation is secret, obviously, but I think I can safely say that it quite often involves a blindfold and a bowl of noodles.  The point here is that by custom and club rules there must be visual reminders of each deity’s initiation.  The higher up the pecking order, the more visual reminders.  So every time Hippy Jesus wins a point in the club canasta tournament or scores in croquet, another cross is raised somewhere.  Sometimes, when He’s on a run, We have to smite soldiers to keep up with demand.  That’s just the rules.  There’s nothing to be done about it.  We’ve all got Our little initiation reminders.  For instance, every time someone has the gas, you know I’m successfully defending My position on the leaderboard.  Whenever a platypus is born, Ares has scored in the club polo tournament.  So you see why it’s imperative to keep the crosses.  They mean We’re winning.

  As for doing away with prayer, I’m all for it and if you need a contribution… well, don’t call Me.  I need all I can get to keep My ineffable plan of constant vacation going, but feel free to drop My name when you’re collecting.  I’d like nothing more than to put an end to the incessant yammering for Notre Dame to beat the spread, the pleading that your wife won’t ask any questions about where you were last night and all the many, many postcards from the RNC asking for Obama to grow horns and wear an “I <3 Stalin” t-shirt to a press conference.  So, as far as that’s concerned, good luck.

  Oh, and the baby thing.  That’s a true conundrum.  On the one hand, they grow up to tithe to My vacation fund.  On the other hand, I just flew in from Pismo Beach with one screaming and crying the whole way.  ‘Nuff said.

  Now I’ve got to have a short lie-down.  I’m positively beat from the vacation I just finished and I need a nap before I catch My next flight to the French Riviera.

Wish You Were Here,


Dear Gawd [A Postcard from "The Family"]…


(Postcard delivered by (((Billy))) of “(((Billy))) The Atheist“)

C/O Leon D’Oro Hotel Corleone, Contrada Punzonotto, Corleone, Italy

Dear Gawd:

A close paisan (who shall, for the nonce, remain nameless (I ain’t no stoolie)) suggested dat I look into a little difficulty.  Dis difficulty, to which I shall attempt to ascertain you to my point of view, is right up my alley.  I speak specifically to the, shall we say, difficulties? of the Union of Amalgamated Cherubim & Seraphim Local 151.

As you, Gawd, may know, we in the Family have helped poor downtroddened workers all over America, your favorite country, to escape the bonds of unbridled capitalism.  The Teamsters, the UAW, the UMW, even the Union of Child Laborers and the Union of Televangelists, Preachers and Three Card Monte Dealers, have all, at different times, sought out and recieved our special, shall we say, soivices? and we have soiviced them adequately.  And we have heard no complaints from those with which we have worked.

Anyhoo, I understand dat you refuses to negotiate in good fait’ with your workers.  I am understanding dat dey want to work less den 80 hours, dey want to stop the incessent singing (don’t get me wrong, Gawd, I love de opera singin’, but your workers are less than appreciative), dey want snack machines, and dey want to be paid.

So now, I will, in the name of my Gawdfather, make you an offer to which you will find yourself unable to say no to.  Said offer will be contingent, of course, on keeping the money in the family. 

We, the Society of Italian Families with Friends in New Jersey (heresoafter referred to as the SISFFNJ) will offer to represent said Union of Amalgamated Cherubim & Seraphim Local 151.  We will negotiate in good faith (and we have much faith in Gawd (we are, after all, good Catholics (though we do have a problem wit’ some of the Commandments (den again, don’ we all?)))) wit’ you on dere behalf.  In return, we ask for to become the sole supplier for your company store (I think that, upon reversing your archives, that you will find that (((Billy))) The Atheist’s suggestion regarding fleecing the Union and keeping dem in line will work just fine).

So what does Gawd get out of it?

Well, to be blunt about it, You have gotten piss poor at smiting.  Your aim sucks (with all respect), your timing is off, and no one know it was You anymore.  Your ‘miracles’ — a jar of vegemite? a latte froth image? pancakes and tortillas — are amateurish.  Seriously, Gawd, what happened to parting the Red Sea, smiting the whoeverites, walking on water?  Your long-term vacation appears to have sapped your miracle-making abilities.

So, here is what the SISFFNJ will do:  we will take over control of Your minions and make damn sure dat dey either produce real miracles or dey sleep wit’ the fishes in concrete galoshes.  We will gaurantee witnesses to said miracles (whether dey happen or not). We gaurantee that said miracles get exactly as much, or as little, press as You so desire.

We will, of course, be taking our share of the profits of said miracles, but we can negotiate that.

So, how about it, Gawd?  Are you ready to syndicate?


Liver Lips Louis

Postal Notices


Dear Brand-Loyalists and Gawd’s Chosen People,

  Your friendly, atheistical Postman is extra busy at the day job today, so I won’t be delivering any mail from Gawd.  Here are a few things that Gawd has been contemplating, which I’m sure He’d write about if His vacation schedule weren’t so gruelling.

  And speaking of vacation, I’ll be taking a much-deserved vacation of my own next week.  Never fear, though.  (((Billy))) The Atheist and Yunshui have agreed to deliver mail in my absence.  So I’ll be back after July 8 and in the meantime, here are some things Gawd has been mulling over.