Monthly Archives: August 2008

Dear Richard Paley…

A Pterosaur doing 3xd4 damage.

A Pterosaur doing 3xd4 damage.

Somewhere on the front lines of the war against Big Science


Dear Dick,


  Project Pterosaur?  Sign Me up!  It is a sad fact that the worst part of being Almighty Gawd is that a deity can get mighty bored when he doesn’t keep His schedule filled with time-wasters like curing cancer, AIDS and anal discharge.  When One doesn’t clutter One’s To Do list with trivial nonsense like “Heal Amputees” or “Make it Rain in East Africa” or “Smite Inventor of Reality TV”, One struggles to fill the sucking void that is day-to-day life.


  Personally, I find that vacationing helps.  However, after all these years, I’m running out of interesting vacation ideas.  It doesn’t help that I can’t seem to find an airline that can give Me a decent price on traveling to Eroticon VI to see Eccentrica Galumbits, the eponymous triple-breasted whore.  “What”, I often ask Myself, “is a deity to do?”


  Then I found Project Pterosaur.  You, sir, are brilliant.  I would very much like to join your expedition to find a pterosaur, or fertile eggs of same, to display at the Fellowship Creation Science Museum and Research Institute.  I understand these sorts of, for lack of a better word, “museums” are quite popular right now.  Obviously, you and I know there’s no such thing as a living pterosaur and these Creation Museums reflect reality almost as well as Big Brother.  But that’s not the point, is it?  Bread & Circuses, my friend.  Bread & Circuses.  It keeps people from noticing how screwed they are.


  Normally, B & C’s don’t concern Me any more than what they divert attention from.  But this circus looks like the sort of thing that could keep Me from getting bored for quite a while.  Potentially… forever.  We can happily traipse the globe hunting this Snark for as long as we want to.  It’s like a church-approved version of D&D.  All we’ve got to do is pretend… and Cheetoh’s may come into it somewhere – not sure.


  In any case, I have enclosed a card for My usual safari outfitters.  I find that these games are much more fun if you enter into the spirit of the endeavor.  I also suggest that we charter a ship of some kind.  No serious adventurer would be caught dead without their own ship, believe Me.  Of course, we’ll need a healer of some kind, a thief, obviously and someone will have to be the clear leader of the party.  I suggest myself.  I am, after all, Gawd Almighty.  We can discuss preparations in more detail later, though.  I’m looking forward to meeting you at a suitable tavern to discuss all of this as well as how to divvy up treasure along the way.  I haven’t been this excited since 1521.


Wish You Were here,




Dear Scott Snyder…

New Beginnings Bible Fellowship

68 West Main St. Windsor, PA  17366


Dear Scotty,


  You may or may not know that I recently helped a former business acquaintance out of a jam.  He, like you, very much likes to “lay hands” on sweet, young girls.  I did this for personal reasons, which I need not bother you with at the moment.  However, before you get the idea that I do this sort of thing on a regular basis, let Me make a few points.


  First, I am currently on vacation and I don’t like to let other people’s problems interfere with sunning Myself on the Cote d’Azure.  Second, I had good reason to want to see this former associate out of the country – you; I don’t care where you are, as long as it’s not around Me.  Third, I understand you’re already getting help from one of My boys’ militia leaders.  And finally, I have plenty of PR problems with some of the freaky-deaky stuff I’ve condoned in the past.


  So, let Me make it perfectly clear that you’re on your own.  Don’t bother sending Me any more whiny, incoherent postcards about how the world hates My boys and that’s why there’s nothing at all wrong with sending 70 icky text messages a day to one 14 year-old girl and kissing an even younger one.  Between you and Ted Haggard and every priest who never met an alter boy he didn’t lick, I can barely show My face in public!  Do you know how annoying it is to be hassled by cops in every vacation spot on earth?  If you don’t, you’ll soon have an idea.


  From here on out, I would strongly suggest that you switch over to Zeus worship.  Even you couldn’t embarrass Him.


Wish You Were Here,



Dear Muhammad…

Jyllands-Postens News Service

Cartoons: Jyllands-Postens News Service

 C/O Allah

72 Virgin Ln., Paradise, Paradise 95969


Dear Mo,


  This is Gawd – the Jesii’s Dad.  I know You haven’t spoken to Them, and vice versa, for quite a while.  I’m not writing to open up old wounds or to point fingers.  I will, for the moment, forget that You started a vicious rumor that My boys were fathered by person or persons unknown.  I have always been a forgiving Gawd, unlike some former roommates of Mine I could mention.  Believe Me, the fact that said roommate shamelessly stole a great deal of His shtick from Me is water under the bridge.  Truly, none of that even crosses My mind on a daily basis.


  The reason I am writing is simply, (Your atrocious behavior notwithstanding), that We figures of myth and legend must stick together on some level.  Sure, You and My boys have had Your differences.  Your youthful hijinks; Your Jihads and Crusades.  But I like to think that when the chips are down, We’re really the same… even if Your boss, Allah, is the most hacktacular, hacktistic hack in hackdom, who rode My coattails into The Deity Club.  Which is all in the past, so don’t give it another thought.  As I say, the reason I am writing is to warn You that You may need to get out of town.  Like so many deities and companions of deities these days, I know that you spend a lot of time in the United States.


  Therein lies Your problem.  They have this thing in the States called “Megan’s Law”.  Some of them get kind of bent out of shape when You poke little girls.  Now, the Old Boy network went into action and got this “Jewel of Medina” book cancelled with the old “Be Afraid” tactic.  (By the way, You should write a Thank You note to Phobos and Deimos, gods of fear and terror, respectively.)  However, as is so often the case when someone writes one of these tell-all books, word has leaked.  It is possible that You may be brought up on charges, especially with a national election looming.  Even Missouri or South Carolina, where the age of consent is 16, may not be safe for You.  I would suggest getting out of the country altogether.  I hear the age of consent in Tonga is 12, but it never came up in conversation when I vacationed there, so I can’t be sure.


  In any case, as Shakespeare might have said, let not Your going wait upon Your getting the hell out while the getting is good.  Whatever You do, please don’t think that My boys have in any way won some kind of contest between You.  Believe Me, that thought has not even crossed Their minds.  No contest even exists for Them to win.  So I beg You, don’t let It gnaw at you on the long flight to Tonga, or wherever You may decide to retreat to.


  Remember, We’re all just one big, happy family… even if some of Us shtupp little girls.


Wish You Were Here,



Dear Attorney General Mukasey…

For you, we'll just count the first 10.

For you, we can ignore a couple of tablets.


950 Pennsylvania Ave., NW

Washington, DC  20530


Dear Mikey,


  I was browsing the intertubespaper while waiting for a flight today and saw that you have declared violations of the law to be legal.  Mike, you are My kind of lawyer.  Ever since I semi-retired from the deity business I’ve noticed that fewer and fewer people truly understand the nuances of lawgiving.


  You are just the sort of pussy-footing, hard-charging back-peddler that I could have used back in My younger days.  A man like you could have gotten behind My policy of making laws and excepting certain people in certain cases.  Just like Me, you understand that there are people, our kind of people – Chosen People, who just shouldn’t have to answer for what they do.


  I saw that you also said, There is a principle of equity that we all learned in the schoolyard, and that remains as true today as when we first heard it: two wrongs do not make a right,”.  Hear, hear, Mikey.  You know, it’s just like when I told those kids to stay out of My yard and to keep their filthy mitts off of my apples.  I warned them.  So when they did it anyway I cursed everyone in the world for the rest of time… oh, wait.  Hang on.  That’s two rights.  I can’t think of any wrongs I’ve done, actually.  Okay; it’s like if you fool Me once… I won’t be fooled again…  Oh, you know what I mean, Mikey.  Am I right?


  You understand that sometimes you’ve got to kill Job’s wife and kids to win a bet or send a couple of she-bears to eat 42 kids when they laugh at your buddy’s bald head.  A guy like you would have been useful back when Baal and a few others were trying to replace Me as Leader of the Free World.  It almost makes Me want to get back in The Game.


  Of course, some of the people you hang out with give Me the creeps.  And if I came out of retirement and hired you, Little George might expect Me to answer his postcards.  Me knows I’ve carried his useless ass long enough already, just because his Dad got Me out of a jam with the shore patrol in 1943.  Then there’s all the Gawd-Botherers always wanting Me to smite people… primarily PZ Myers and Richard Dawkins, for some reason.


  No, on second thought, I think I’ll stick with vacation.  I mean, you do a nice job of making the law sit up and beg while telling morality to piss off, but I think I’ll leave all the ruling-the-world stuff to you youngsters.


Wish You Were Here,



Dear Little Children of the World…

Precious in My sight?  Sure.  Precious enough to help?  Naw.

Precious in My sight? Sure. Precious enough to help? Naw.


The World

(But primarily on My lawn and presently kicking the back of My seat)


Dear Kids,


  As I’m sure your parents have told you, My boys, the Jesii, love the little children of the world.  Therefore, by extension, I do too.  However, sitting here on Air China flight 2702 to Paris, with you – yes, you, Pierre Grandin – kicking the back of My seat, I am reminded that I may love the little children, but that has never stopped Me from smiting them.  At the absolute bare minimum, I promise you that there will be one more name on Santa’s Naughty List this year.  Eh, Pierre, how’d you like to find a couple of she-bears in your stocking come 25 Decembre?


  Speaking of airlines and surprises for kids, I was browsing through the duty-free shop and came across some interesting toys that you may be lucky or unlucky enough to see under the Birthday Tree this year.


  In keeping with the airport motif, there was the Playmobil Security Checkpoint.  Now that’s My kind of toy.  It will teach you valuable lessons about life.  It gets you ready for the harsh reality that is… well, reality.  This toy just cries out “Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Enter Here”.  A couple of hours with this educational plaything could save Me years of annoyance by teaching you the threefold lesson of “You are a faceless cog in the machine”, “Do what you’re told, or else” and “It only gets worse”.  Excellent!  Hopeful children annoy Almighty Gawd to no end.


  Then I saw something that did not bring joy into the heart of Gawd.  Do you know what that was, boys and girls?  That’s right – Armor of God PJ’s.  This is the sort of irresponsible thing that causes you to die painful, lingering deaths.  Would you like that, kids?  Well, pajamas like these will give you the crazy idea that I will protect you, when, believe Me, nothing could be further from the truth.  In fact, I’m quite liable to smite a chair-kicker while I’m on vacation, which is… anyone?  Anyone?  That’s right Suzy Hanners of Bowling Green, KY – “always”.  (If you study your physics, kids, you’ll know how I knew Suzy would think that in the future when she reads this postcard.)


  But then, I saw a toy just for the girls that, as the Good Book says, made My Gawdy heart grow three sizes that day.  Gods Girlz Fashion Dolls.  I prefer Sarah, of course, as she teaches young girls the way Gawd wants them to dress when they get a little older.  Abigail and Hannah are dressed more like hippies and I’m sure your parents have told you how Gawd hates hippies.


  But then, like a rollercoaster, Gawd’s heart sank into His stomach, children.  For, verily, I saw proof of the second-most heinous sin that you can commit… wait, third-most heinous.  I just moved “kicking airline seats” to number two and number one is the one your parents forbid without telling you what it is.  You know, the one that will make you go blind.  The third-most heinous sin that you can commit, children, is to not cut Me or Mine in on the royalties when you sell Jesus Dolls.


  I hope you’ve learned something here, children.  If nothing else, know this:  If you don’t stay off My lawn or if you bother Me while I’m on vacation – these are the toys you can expect on My boys’ birthday.


Wish You Were here (instead of Pierre),




P.S. – Tell your parents never to fly without a Knee Defender.

Dear Olympians…

"Boxer Vase" from Hagia Triada in Crete

"Boxer Vase" from Hagia Triada in Crete


Somewhere Foreign – The Name of Which I Forget at the Moment


Dear Olympians,


  Not, I’m sure you realize, to be confused with My old drinking buddies Zeus, Hera, Poseidon, Ares, etc.  I am, of course, referring to all of you excellent young athletes who come together every four years to bring the disparate countries closer together, foster peace & understanding and to do your utmost to crush your opponents’ bodies and will.


  It always makes Me nostalgic for Ye Olde Dayes.  Back when I took a more active hand in things, (floods, pillars of salt, that sort of thing), I encouraged sports.  Primarily because good, healthy games kept My slaves chosen people too tired and busy for the most heinous sin in My sight – Onanism.  That one used to really freeze My piss.  No matter how many times I told them that every sperm was sacred, they just wouldn’t stop wanking.  At first, I tried appearing to them every time they did it, (You should have seen the look on their punims!), but it was taking up so much of My time I wasn’t getting anything else done.  Then, of course, when I appeared to the eponymous Onan he yelled “Oy vey ismir!” and dropped dead of a heart attack.  So I gave it up as a bad job and invented running, shot put, cheating and curling.


  As always, I’m flattered that the winners are giving Me the credit.  In the sense that I invented all of the summer games and one of the winter games, I certainly deserve heaps of praise and perhaps a bit more tithing.  As for causing your wins, to be fair, I didn’t really do that.  In a couple of cases I made sure a specific athlete lost – once to win a bet that covered My airfare to China and once for personal reasons.  You know who you are.


  Alright; I’m going to cut this short.  I’m sharing a VIP box with some of the old Greek gang and things are getting kind of rowdy.  Artemis just bet Hades He couldn’t eat 2-dozen hot wings in 5 minutes and Hephaestus is bitching like a 12 year-old girl about the smog.


  Good luck to you all and remember to thank Me when you win – it really chaps Zeus’s ass.


Wish You Were Here,



Dear Creationists…

Garry Trudeau

Cartoon: Garry Trudeau

 4429 Trumperos Ct. NW

Albuquerque, NM 87120


Dear IDiots,


  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,