Dear Kentucky…

Somewhere Down South… or Something

Dear Coonskin Cappers,

  Have you ever heard that old yarn My boys like to tell about the prodigal son?  It’s a heart-warming tale of a child who sows his wild oats by joining a rock band and doing a lot of drugs and just generally having a good time.  Well, They usually leave out the interesting bits, but that’s the subtext.  Anyway, once his albums quit selling and he can’t pay for his smack habit anymore, he comes crying home to daddy.  Daddy welcomes him home with open arms and throws a big party with chicks and guns and fire trucks, hookers and drugs and booze.  It sounds wonderful, doesn’t it?  Just like every day of My vacation.

  However, there is a sinister ending to the story.  You see, Daddy has two sons and the other one stayed home and worked his fingers to the bone in the family shit-eating business and never so much as started a garage band, much less poked groupies and mainlined win directly into his aorta.  So, although the boys seldom get around to mentioning the final act of the story, it’s a good one and I think you should hear it.

²⁵“Meanwhile, the older son was in the poop field. When he came near the house, he heard rock music and dancing. ²⁶So he called one of the servants and asked him what was going on. ²⁷‘Your brother has come,’ he replied, ‘and your father has killed the fattened calf because he has him back safe and sound.’ ²⁸“The older brother became angry and refused to go in. So his father went out and pleaded with him. ²⁹But he answered his father, ‘Look! All these years I’ve been eating shit for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me a hooker or even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. ³⁰But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes and crack comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!’

 ³¹” ‘My son,’ the father said, ‘you are always with me, and don’t have the balls or imagination to even try making it on your own. ³²But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours had a life and now he’s crawling back; he was lost and is found.’

  ³³But the older son was exceedingly wroth and said unto himself, ‘Right, that tears it.’  And he took up his shit-spoon and attacked his brother saying, ‘How do you like me now,’ and ‘eat shit and die, motherfucker,’ and other such things while gouging out his brother’s spleen, kidneys and eyeballs.”

  It’s a good story, isn’t it?  I bothered to tell it to you because it reminds me of you.  You and Florida.  You see, you are the prodigal son.  You’ve made it illegal for me to take credit for smiting all of those terrorists that have been just itching to wipe you out since 9/11… or something like that.  Florida is the older brother.  They know on which side their bread is buttered.  They stayed faithful and ate My shit.

  Now, since I’m very, very busy relaxing in a bungalow on a Malaysian beach and drinking rum punch after rum punch after rum punch, I probably can’t be bothered to stop Florida from pouring over the border with murder in their eyes and grapefruit spoons clutched in their Me-fearing hands.

  Do you understand where I’m coming from, Kentucky?  it’s time for Me to help those who help themselves.  And by that I mean, get with the program or wake up with a dirty piece of cutlery shoved up your left nostril.

  Gotta run.  It’s Happy Hour again.

Wish You Were Here,

~Gawd

Dear Police Chaplains…

7700 Midlothian Turnpike, Richmond, VA  23235

Dear Brand Loyalist Fuzz,

  First, let Me say that I have the utmost respect for you Coppers.  Where would we be without Johnny Law?  Am I right?  protecting and serving and… whatever it is the Five-Oh does.  Of course, you’re not really the “catching bad guys” sort of Bluebottles, are you?  You’re more the “proselytizing in a uniform” type of Barneys, eh?

  Whatever your job is, it’s beside the point.  I’m much more alarmed by your lawbreaking activity.  Yeah, thought I wouldn’t notice, huh?  I was discussing the duties of My Chosen Chaplain recently, (viz. Don’t deconvert anymore of the Base, as it adversely affects the vacation fund), and she mentioned what you’ve been up to.

  Holy Porkers; as I’m sure you’re aware, I recently had to remind all brand-loyalists of My will as it pertains to the worshipping of idols.  That’s a no-no, Po-Po.  Now here I am, only days later, having to interrupt My vacation to remind a sub-set of you that magic is strictly verboten… well, mostly verboten… but strictly as far as you’re concerned.  Magical incantations like “A La Peanut Butter sandwich” or “Bullshit” or “In Jesus’ Name” will get you a sackful of Hell Points©.

  I think we can all agree that I am a pretty easy-going Gawd, except where a few things are concerned.  Don’t touch My stuff, don’t covet your neighbor’s ox, don’t skimp on the tithing, don’t look at a city while I’m smiting it, don’t eat apples, don’t make fun of bald guys, don’t worship idols, don’t lap water like a dog, don’t masturbate, don’t do quite a few things in bed, don’t live in Sodom or Gomorrah, don’t be an Amalekite, don’t offer strange fire before Me, don’t complain about the food or murmur about a plague, don’t pick up sticks on the Sabbath, don’t do magic, don’t offer Me incense, (makes Me sneeze), don’t be an Aradite or Bashanite or Midianite or Heshbonite or Ashbonite or Amonite, don’t commit whoredom with the daughters of Moab, (they overcharge), don’t even be a Moabite, don’t take the accursed thing, don’t get in Samson’s way, don’t look inside My stuff, don’t have a stupid name like Agag or Nabal, don’t conduct a census, don’t change money in the temple, don’t be unlucky enough to visit Jeroboam on the day I send Baasha to kill everyone in the house, don’t visit Baasha when I send Zimri to do the same right back, don’t disbelieve Elijah, don’t tug on Superman’s cape and one or two others.

  I’m sure you noticed the stricture against magic.  It’s right there in black and white.  Historically, magic has caused a good deal of trouble.  believe Me, I know history.  Not only did things like witch trials and inquisitions kill off innocent people who were perfectly good tithe-payers, but Noah once did that “pick a card” trick and wouldn’t tell Me how he did it.  I was stumped for so long I forgot to shut off the bath water.  We all know what a mess that caused.

  Look – No more incantations, no more whining and no screwing with that church/state thing.  In fact, My Judgement in this case is that you all chill the frick out.  If you throw a fit and get pulled off the public teat, the other brand-loyalists will have to pay your salaries somewhere.  That’s money that should be going to My vacation fund.  So do what your employers tell you or I’ll show you why it’s such a bad thing to be a Moabite.

Wish You Were Here,

~Gawd

P.S. – Don’t forget to vote for that guy.  And since you’re nominally cops, look out for voter fraud while you’re at it.

Dear Rev. Kenneth Copeland…

Kenneth Copeland Ministries  Fort Worth, TX 76192

Dear Kenny,

  I was flipping through the intertubes this morning, wondering, frankly, how I was going to keep paying for all of this vacationing I do.  The fact is, being “as rich as Gawd” is not such an impressive feat as it once was.  Being as rich as an oil executive; now that would be something.  Anyway, I ran across a story about you telling Congress that they couldn’t see your financial records, as they belong to Me.

  I was never much good at logic, but it seems self-evident that if the financial records are Mine, then the money they represent must be Mine, too.  Gracias, amigo.  It couldn’t have come at a better time.  What with the airlines charging extra to sit next to the escape hatch and the fuel surcharge, I’ve been feeling the pinch.  Your kind-hearted gesture is like manna from home.  You’re a shining example to the other hucksters preachers being investigated who still have some lingering regard for the Rule of Law.  I almost wish I could take you with Me when I start spending this new cash flow, but you know what they say; two’s a crowd.

  Oh, and if you run into “Shorty”, tell him to bite his tongue.  I’d put a private jet to good use, so long as someone else paid for the gas.  As for the offer of the 1998 Ford; I’ll pass.

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 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