First of all, My postman assures Me that you are collectively known as IDiots, (Pron. Eye-dee-ots, right?). Just as a friendly gesture, I would suggest changing your name. You see, it almost sounds like you’re calling yourselves idiots and while that may very well be true, it’s probably bad PR. On the other hand, it’s no skin off My nose, either way. I’m on vacation.
The reason I’m writing to you is that I was reading the funny papers the other day and ran across the cartoon on the front of this postcard. I wondered what you IDiots were saying about it, and I almost turned on the old omniscience to see, but then I remembered how pissed off it makes Me when I know everything. So I did the second best thing and checked the intrawebs. There’s still plenty to make the Holy Blood Pressure rise or cause the Sacred Eyeballs to roll, but at least I can have a massage and commune with the Holy Spirit afterwards and forget about it.
You do seem to have had some things to say. Now, I’m no living-thingologist or chemicologist or a scientologist of any kind, but I’ll tell you this: give Me someone who searches for answers to fit the questions over someone who searches for questions to fit their answers anytime. As I’ve often told My boys, the Jesii, I prefer atheists in nearly every aspect of life from conversation to food preparation. This goes for sciencey types, too. There is nothing that annoys Almighty Gawd more than whiny little bitches who expect Me to answer all of their questions for them, fix all of their problems and take the rap for their stupid decisions, (I’m looking at you, George.).
The one thing that might annoy Me more are people who want all of that but want to pretend it’s not Me doing it. Es zol dir farshporn fun fornt un fun hintn! May your putz be messily severed in an industrial diamond accident! I would call you an ungrateful so-and-so, but the truth is, I’ve never done anything for you. So quit whining about how reality is biased against you, think for yourself and quit flooding My mailbox with postcards we both know I’m not going to answer. In short; piss off. I’m on vacation.
Wish You Were Here,