Dear Ray Comfort…

The Real Atheist's Nightmare Banana;  Phto compliments

The Real Atheist's Nightmare Banana; Photo compliments


C/O Living Waters Publications

P.O. Box 1172

Bellflower, CA  90706


Dear Ray,


  I recently saw your proof of My existence.  Afterwards, all I could think of was something My ex-wife, Mary, used to say: “Bless his heart.”  Every time We ran into a mentally deficient beggar in the street or a twelve-year-old child who couldn’t tie their own sandals or King Herod, (although that tune he used to sing about My boy was pretty good), she would shake her head and say “Bless his heart.”  I guess there’s a good reason you’re named Ray Comfort and not Ray Intellect or Ray Fact or Ray-Ray McThinksalot.


  I hardly know where to begin, Ray.  First of all, I don’t know where the banana came from.  I just looked around one day and it was there.  Oh, not like the one in your video.  The first ones I recall seeing, and this was quite a while back, you understand, were really pretty awful.  Shaped like an avocado and twice as hard to peel, it was full of indigestible seeds and smelled like a mastodon’s armpit.  If the South pacific islanders hadn’t been so hard up for food no one would have ever bothered to put the time and effort into making it edible.


  Second… “The Atheist’s Nightmare”.  Really, Ray?  Personally, I wouldn’t know, as it’s pretty easy for Me to believe in Me since I’m always around – making hotel reservations, ordering scotch from the air waitresses and sneaking smokes in the air lav.  So I asked My postman what his nightmare was and, well, I’m kind of sorry I did.  It started with lumps of Play-Doh® rolling across a desert landscape, moved on to being sent to a war zone with a BB gun and just degenerated from there.  An abject lesson in why I don’t keep the omniscience turned on.


  As for your sidekick, Kirk, tell him I’m sorry his career went belly-up, but quit taking it out on the rest of the world.  You don’t see his old pal Boner waving yellow phalluses from an intertubes soapbox, and he’s got the perfect name for it.


  The bottom line here, Ray, is that I want you to quit.  I like to keep a low profile these days, which doesn’t include being laughed at every time I check into a hotel in some place they know about bananas.  Also, the only way I can pay for all of this vacationing is for people to give Me “Protection Money”.  But you’re like a one-man wrecking crew, turning droves of those unthinking believers out there into thinking atheists.  Like any rational deity, I prefer atheists in art, science, conversation and food preparation – but they don’t pay extortion protection and that would put an end to My vacation.  So quit it, or so help Me Me, I’ll smite you so hard your brain will start working.


Wish You Were Here,



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