Monthly Archives: September 2008

Dear Alliance Defense Fund…

David Horsey

Copyright: David Horsey

15100 North 90th St., Scottsdale, AZ 85260

Dear Larcenous Purloiners,

  You may wonder why I call you larcenous.  Let Me explain Myself.  The reason I call you thieving pickpockets is because you are trying to thieve money right out of My pockets!  Ipso Me-Damned Facto!  Where in the name of Cruise do you get off?!  Purposefully endangering your tax-exempt status?!  I…  My…  My boys are on the phone with Our lawyers right now.

  And don’t, by My Holey Underpants, try to tell Me you didn’t know you were trying to steal from Me.  You said it yourself.

“Churches are exempt from taxation under the principle that there is no surer way to destroy religion than to begin taxing it.”

  You’re trying to ruin My vacation, aren’t you, you… you… PUTZES!  Gawddammit!

  Oh, great.  Now look what you made Me do.  I’ve taken My own name in vain.  Oh, that… that is it.  I am opening Hell back up.  Do you remember what I did to that weaselly little toad Uzzah when he just touched My stuff?  I killed his ass stone dead.  And not just his ass, but him, too.  That’s too good for, though.  You, I curse – Es zol dir dunern in boykh un blitsn in di hoyzn!  (You should thunder in your belly and lightning in your pants!)  Ruen zolstu nisht afile in keyver!  (May you find no rest even in the grave.)

  I should never have let My boy found the Republican Party!  They’re the ones who put you up to this, aren’t they?  Them, I curse, too.  John Mccain, may you always be confused and have no control over your temper!  May you lie every time you open your mouth and everyone notice it!  I strike you old!  Sarah Palin, may you be a ditzy embarrassment to all women!  May you be found guilty of abuse of power!  May your daughter marry a thuggish idiot!  May all Republicans turn fat, white, racist and doughy!  May your brains atrophy from lack of use!

  You are all dead to Me.


  Er… but don’t stop tithing.

Wish You Were Here,



Dear Wall Street…

Wall Street, New York, NY 10268

Dear Potential Pavement Patties,

  I spotted this 3-D postcard in a little shop in Montreal and thought of you.  It seemed like a perfect opportunity to answer the registered letter you sent asking Me to come to your rescue.  Believe Me, I know what it’s like to be on the brink of ruin… well, actually, I don’t.  But My boy, Hippie Jesus, does.  Why, just before His initiation into the Deity Club He came to Me and said “Dad, take this cup from Me.”  I can think of no better response to you than the one I gave to Him:  Get stuffed.

  Sure, it hurt, (or so He always claims), but afterwards he learned the secret handshake, so it’s all good.  Which is how you ought to look at Monetary Depression George.  This is your chance to become a part of the American Mythos.  What does the average person think of when they hear “Black Tuesday”?  Squatter’s camps?  Tent cities? Dust storms?  No.  They think of Wall Street Jumpers.  For your sake, I just wish you could have held out another month for the anniversary.  Maybe you can all do a mass jump on October 29th.  Hey, maybe My other boy, Republican Jesus, can go with you.  He still hasn’t had His initiation.

  As I’m sure you know, if there’s one thing Me & Mine never do it’s say “I told you so.”  However, I’m pretty sure I mentioned the safety of keeping your money in one rock-solid, tax-exempt place.  Nope, there’s nothing safer than investing in tithing.  I’ll be flying first class for many years to come.

  I probably won’t be seeing any of you on My upcoming vacations, as you’ll probably be poor and/or deceased, but just keep in mind what Maverick McStrongeconomy’s economic advisor said and don’t be a bunch of whiners.

Wish You Were Here,


Dear John McGrumpybritches…

John McCain; Official Senate Photo

John McCain; Official Senate Photo

McCain Campaign Office, P.O. Box 16118, Arlington, VA 22215

Dear Maverick,

  I got your message asking Me to watch your debate thingy and to tell you what I thought of it.  Truthfully, though, Mav, My old pal Baugi was in town and I was really only watching with one eye.  That’s a trick Odin taught Me, by the way.  Funny story; that’s who introduced Me to Baugi in the first place… but you don’t want to hear about that.  It’s really kind of a tedious story.

  Oh, speaking of tedious stories, there were a couple or three things I did notice about your little televised grumpy spat.  See, Baugi and I always go to see They Might Be Giants when He’s in town, so we were pretty involved in making plans for the show the next night.  But, eventually, you succeeded in interrupting our chat by constantly invoking the name “Ronald Reagan”.  I mean, you must have called on St. Ronny ten-dozen times.  You do know he’s dead, right?  You can wish for it all you want, I guess, but Zombie Reagan is simply not going to rise from the grave and eat your opponent’s brain.  Secondly, out of the corner of My ear, as it were, I could have sworn I heard you say that you have been Little George’s toughest adversary.  Now Mav, that’s… well, that’s not exactly “Straight Talk”, now is it?  In fact, I can’t count the number of postcards from Junior thanking Me for your votes.  I will give you points for balls, though.  When you compared the other guy to Junior I thought, “There’s a Maverick who’s going to go far in American politics.”  The sheer, unmitigated ballsyness of that was breath-taking.  So, as I say, points for that.

  The next night, in the cab downtown to see The Giants, I got to thinking about your little TV scuffle, though.  I turned to Baugi and I said,

 “I’m really an amazing Gawd, you know that?  Here I am, getting ready to move to Canada, dumping My soon-to-be-worthless dollars and hooking up with you and your backstage passes to the concert – all without turning on My omniscience.  All it took were the subtle clues of a stock market crash, a visiting Norse Giant and Maverick’s bald-faced lies on national television.”

  I amaze Myself, I really do.

  But look, Mav, I want you to do Me a favor now, okay?  Once the suckers vote you in I want you to have a little golden plaque made up to attach to the presidential telephone.  Then, every time you reach out to call Me for a favor, you’ll see this:

  • Gawd is on fucking vacation!

Wish You Were Here,


P.S. – Sorry you missed They Might Be Giants.  Those guys really know how to make music unto the LORD.

Dear Turkey…

One Meeeelion Lira

One Meeeelion Lira

Just East of Thermopylae

Dear Turks,

  As you may have recently heard, I am diversifying My vacation fund.  I don’t know what your Lira or the Somali Shilling are backed with, but it’s got to better than bananas, right?  I also don’t know anything about economies or commerce.  All I know is that I like flying in first class.  As far as I can tell, there are two things that make that possible.  First, I need brand-loyalists who don’t think too hard.  Second, there needs to be a lot of buying and selling with My Chosen Currency.

  This is why I’m writing to you.  When the US scared Me into getting rid of My Ben Franklins I didn’t look too closely at your country.  All I saw was a currency that was bound to be stronger than the dollar.  But now My boys tell Me that only 1% of Turkey are Our brand-loyalists.  On top of that, a lot of the buying and selling in Turkey turns out to be centered around Richard Dawkins’ books.  This makes Me, from a financial standpoint, uneasy.

  I understand, however, that you’ve got someone there who is fighting as hard as he can against science and rationality and logical thinking.  This Harun Yahya fellow must be one of My brand loyalists.  I know this because I’ve been living in America and people like Harun are My biggest contributors here.  So you Turkeyites should listen closely to what he has to say and don’t be led astray by Allah’s brand-loyalists.  I’m sure Harun will tell you that Allah is nothing but a sneaky, thieving hack who’s grades in Deity School were as bad as George Bush’s at Yale.  Heck, if He hadn’t cheated off of Me, Allah would have been kicked out on his spoiled little rich boy ass.

  I hope you won’t take it personally that, once Harun converts you all, I won’t be living in Turkey.  The fact is, I’m thankful for the tithing and the ass-kissing that My brand-loyalists do, but for some reason they tend not to be good at much else.  That’s why I’ll be moving to Montreal this weekend where I can take advantage of good conversation, technology and medicine.  Not that I need medicine, of course, but watching one person stumble around with leprosy, another with Bubonic Plague and a third trying to exorcise demons out of the first two can really put a deity off of His lunch.

  So, you guys just do whatever it is that My brand-loyalists tell each other they have to do, (be sure not to skimp on the tithing), and you will have made Me a happy Gawd.

Wish You Were Here,


P.S. – I mentioned the tithing, right?

Dear John McCain…

Any One of the 7 Addresses Will Do

Dear Maverick,

  I got your emergency telegram.  But Mav, you, of all people, ought to know that I’m on vacation.  I mean, remember when you crashed your first plane and you asked Me to help?  Where was I then?  On vacation, that’s where.  Also crashes number two, three and five.  Number four wasn’t really a crash, but your plane did burn up on the flight deck and guess who didn’t help.  That’s right, Me.  It wasn’t your Heavenly Father who got you out of those jams, it was your Navy Father.  But guess what.  That well has dried up.  He won’t cancel your debate Friday and neither will I.

  I know that you and I are contemporaries, but that doesn’t pull any weight with Me.  Really, I’m just embarrassed to see you squirming and whining.  Is this the same guy who’s schoolmates called him “Fighty McNastypants”?  Huh, more like “Smeary McCrybritches” from where I’m standing.  On top of that, why would I want to help one of the guys who made it imperative that I change My vacation fund from US Dollars to Turkish Lira and Somali Shillings?  For My sake!  Get your campaign manager to stump up some of that cash Fannie & Freddie gave him and buy your way out.  Try bribing Jim Lehrer with bar-b-que.

  Whatever you do, leave Me alone.  I’m trying to juggle vacation and packing for My move to Montreal ahead of this Depression you’ve got coming.

  Speaking of; you ought to name it like they do with storms.  How about Monetary Depression George?  If you’re just going to keep having them, you’ll need to distinguish between them.  I mean, the guy who got you out of the last one isn’t around any more, and if he were, you’d just call him a socialist and run ads about how a dirty, communist cripple can’t take care of the country.  Instead of the WPA, you’ve got FEMA… and New Orleans knows how useful they are.

  No, Mav, this is your jam to get out of and, frankly, I don’t think you can.  However, I have done one thing for you.  For My boy, Republican Jesus’ sake, I carefully chose this postcard of My old friend, Miss Piggy because I thought it would cheer you up.

  Unlike your campaign, she’s one pig that will never need lipstick.

Wish You Were Here,


Dear Thinkers…

"One of Us" Single Cover

All Over This Newfangled Intertubes Thing

Dear Thinkies,

  My boys just set Me up with one of those mechanickal thinking machines that I can carry onto My flights.  I’ve been having a hoot with it.  let Me tell you, I wish I’d had one when I was still in business.  Imagine all the trouble I could have saved for everyone if I’d just been able to email that sweet, young naif, Eve, to remind her that apples were bad?

  Ha!  Had you going there for a second, didn’t I?  The tree thing was a trap and the ditzy bitch walked right into it.  But seriously, if I’d had Google Maps, Moses and the rest of those poor schmoes wouldn’t have spent 40 years wandering around a desert the size of New Jersey, and you can take that to the bank.  Not a US bank, of course.  Not with this Depression brewing.

  Which reminds Me; for those of you wondering, I’ve decided to move to Montreal instead of London.  I was pretty excited about the big, red busses and tea with The Queen until I heard about the infestation the Limeys are having.  Those Young Earthers are like cock-a-roaches, aren’t they?  I mean, I don’t mind the brand-loyalists contributing to the vacation fund, but I don’t want them right next door, bringing down the property values.  So, Montreal it is.  I’ve picked out a nice little bungalow I can store souvenirs in.

  But that’s not why I’m writing to you.  I got a letter from one of you, (now I know where you live), asking some impertinent questions.  Now, I’ve said a number of times that I prefer atheists and such for conversation, science, medicine and food preparation, but there’s such a thing as going too far.  However, just this once and since I’m feeling euphoric over changing all My dollars to Turkish Lira, I’ll answer your five questions.  So here goes, and listen close.

“1. Why the long silence? It’s been over 2000 years since Your kid came to Earth and pulled his Messiah schtick, and he pretty much promised he’d be back in a few weeks. A couple of millennia later, and we’re still waiting. Did he get held up in traffic or something? It’s not as though his dad has been particularly chatty either – where are the modern-day burning bushes and pillars of flame? You could at least write!”

  Well, doesn’t that take the biscuit?  I’m not silent, I’m on vacation.  If you’ve ever sat next to Me in first class, you’d know that I can be a very charming conversationalist and raconteur.  Even poolside at a five-star hotel, I’m willing to chat up anyone in a small bikini who wants to buy Me a drink.  I don’t want to be rude, but perhaps the reason you haven’t spoken to Me is because you might be poor, dirty riff-raff who can’t stump up the cash for first class.  How you can say that I don’t write is beyond Me.  Oh, and burning bushes… that is sooo negative second millenium.  As for the boys, Republican Jesus is always willing to talk to any profligate lobbyists that come His way.  Hippie Jesus is, admittedly, a little introverted still.  He never seemed to quite get over that crucifixion/initiation thing.  Nothing a good, long drive up to Montreal in a U-Haul can’t cure.

“2. Could You have perhaps been a little more specific? You tell the Christians one thing, the Muslims another, and don’t even get me started on that shit You pulled on the Hindus. What’s wrong with being a bit more precise in Your instructions? I mean, even within Christianity alone You’d be hard-pressed to find two people who can agree on what You want. And whilst You’re unifying the message, perhaps You could take the trouble to set it out nice and clearly, instead of in an ambiguous and self-contradictory holy book passed down from the Bronze Age.”

  This one… phrew!  First of all, I’m not Allah’s press agent, (that thieving hack).  You need to take that stuff up with Him and Vishnu and My other former school chums.  let Me tell you a little secret about “unifying the message”.  There never was one when I was in the Gawd Game.  I made that shit up as I went.  It was mostly down to “Who do I want to smite today?”  Of course, now there is a message and it’s this:  Make sure there’s a mint on My pillow, My whiskey glass is full and the limo from the airport doesn’t smell like cheese.  That’s all I ask.  Bringing up that Me-Damned unauthorized biography that never made Me a cent in royalties is just in poor taste.  I won’t even dignify it with an answer.

3. What’s with the destruction and death in the world? Merciful God, my arse – You seem to take pleasure in dropping one disaster after another on Your creation. So either You don’t care, or You can’t do anything about it – and what sort of god does that make You?

  While I was still in the biz, (as if it’s any of your beeswax), the death and destruction was the only thing that got me through the interminable Sunday afternoons.  As My old pal – and one of your lot, if I recall – used to put it, “The long, dark teatime of the soul.”  Care?  That’s not My job.  Never was.  That’s your job.  Of course I don’t care, and I’ll tell you what sort of gawd that makes Me.  The usual kind.  Huh.  I’d like to see you ask Thor a cheeky question like that.

“4. What exactly do You do all day? The more we discover about the world (using the powerful brains that You supposedly gave us), the less we find for You to do. We now have better, more coherent explanations for the Creation, for the diversification of species, for supernatural experiences, for supposed miracles… what exactly are You for?”

  I’ll tell you what I do all day.  Generally, I get up around the crack of noon, have a drink, go shopping, have a bit of a lie-down poolside, a spot of dinner and then drink until I get tired.  Then bed and do it all again with flights to different and more interesting holiday destinations interspersed.  What the H-E-double-toothpick did you expect?  I’m on vacation.  That’s what I’m for.  As for all that other stuff… I dunno.  Ask a scientist.

“5. What’s the deal with Hell? You’re proposing that we get tortured for an infinite period of time, simply because we failed to believe in You, in spite of the fact that You provide no evidence for Your existence and even offered up a whole batch of contradictory options (see question 2), only one of which (at most) can possibly be correct. In my book, that makes You a complete and utter bastard – and why the hell would I want to worship that?”

  If this handwritten postcard you have received via the US Postal Service isn’t evidence of My existence, I don’t know what is.  It may well be that I am a complete and utter bastard.  Certainly Mary, My ex-wife, would agree, but here’s another little secret for you.  I made that stuff up.  Yeah.  I was hung over the morning of My oral exams and when They asked Me how I would deal with the competition’s brand-loyalists it just popped out.  Brimstone and red-hot buggery for eternity!  Pretty good, eh?

  I hope that clears everything up for you thinkers.  See ya around.

Wish You Were Here,


Dear Friends & Family…

Forwarding Address TBA

Forwarding Address TBA

Dear Friends & Family,

  I’m writing to all of you to let you know that I am leaving America.  For many years I have maintained an address in the US for tax purposes; i.e. I am non-taxable there.  Heretofore, it has worked out nicely for all concerned, I think.  My vacation fund isn’t taxed and Americans can say that theirs is a Christian Nation.

  Now, though, My dollar-based vacation fund doesn’t buy the same level of first-class accomodations it used to.  I have been considering changing to the Zimbabwe Dollar or perhaps the Turkish Lira – something with a little more oomph.  This recent bank bailout has solidified My decision.  If I were the CEO of a bank, of course, I would stay.  But I’m not, so I’m out.  I’m not the only one, either.  I understand one of the presidential candidates is getting while the getting’s good, also.

  I didn’t write to explain My decision, though.  I wrote to do what all good friends do in this situation.  I’m going to need some help boxing and loading things this weekend.  Obviously, I expect My boys to show up, but a few extra hands wouldn’t hurt, (Shiva, I’m looking at You).  Atlas, if You could just prop the earth somewhere safe for a few hours, You’d be awfully helpful.  Hermes, We could get done much faster if You’d lend a hand.  In fact, You’re all welcome.  The more, the merrier.  I’ll even dip into the vacation fund for pizza and beer.

  Some of You, (Shani, You lazy bastage), are going to try the old “Oh, I’d love to, but I have plans,” excuse.  Please do not mistake Me for a forgiving Gawd.  Beside the fact that I will not hesitate to smite Your followers – those who can still muster any up – with lost car keys and bad hair days, I am missing out on valuable vacation time, myself.  Well, actually, the boys and I were going to spend the next two weeks at more Gawd Themeparks, but after the Denver Bible Park misunderstanding, I decided this would be a good time to make the move.  So, no begging off.

  Did I mention free beer and pizza?

  Even though I haven’t decided between Montreal and London, I do need to get things packed up and into the shipping container.  So, unless You want to deal with the Wrath of Gawd, show up on saturday next.

See You On Saturday,


P.S. – I was just kidding about that “Wrath of Gawd” thing, ha ha.

P.P.S. – No I wasn’t.