Ft. Harrison Hotel, Clearwater, FL
Welcome to The Club! I hope I’m the first to write and congratulate You. Once You’ve got Your feet on the ground, (or “in the clouds”, to coin a phrase), I’ll stand you a drink in The Bar, and you won’t even have to cross it – that’s a little joke We tell all the new members. Just don’t repeat it to My boys; one of Them had to get stapled to a plank for His initiation, so “crossing the bar” jokes are right out.
To be honest, I didn’t even know You’d come up before the Board, but I take the John McCain approach to showing up for votes. The only reason I know You made it into The Deity Club is that I happened to be on a long layover in New York yesterday and went to the “Cheeburger Cheeburger” for a bite, (by the way, as long as You’re in The Club, I might as well tell You to steer clear of terminal 6 at JFK when You’re hungry). So I was standing in line and I clearly heard the unmistakable sound of a soda hitting the linoleum and someone exclaimed “Thomas H. Cruise!” I’m used to hearing “Goddammit” and “Jesus” and sometimes even “Judas H. Keerist”, (illegitimate backstairs sprog of Mine; always tattling on His half-brothers), but Your name was a first. That’s the surest sign You’ve hit the Bigs, You know. Once they start taking Your name in vain You can count on a reserved spot in the schvitz bath.
I know that some people will say some unpleasant things about Your deification. I know when I joined I was as near as a toucher to being black-balled by that son-of-a-bitch Baal. He and His bunch of sycophantic toadies were always giving Me and My posse a hard time, but I laid down the law. Which is exactly what You’re going to have to do. These days, I’m comfortably ensconced and only those communislamoatheists give Me any lip, so I can spend My time vacationing. You, on the other hand, are going to have to do some smiting. I’ll give You My lawyers’ card over that drink I owe You.
They’re calling My flight. Gotta run. Once again, Welcome!
Wish You Were Here,