Dear Moses…

Two Great Tastes That Taste Great Together

Two Great Tastes That Taste Great Together

A Shallow Grave Out Back of the Moab CoinOp Laundry

Mo,

  You crafty putz.  If I hadn’t beat you to death with My favorite gopher-wood walking stick, I’ll bet you’d be laughing up your sleeve right now.  I should have known the reason you left out the other 13 commandments was because you were high… again.  I mean, I knew you were a major-league stoner, but I always believed you when you said you could maintain.  Just like I told My ex-wife, Mary, you could push My buttons and push peyote buttons at the same time.

  Ahh, you and I took some epic trips together, eh?  Remember that time we were tripping balls on acid and I made you tell Aaron not to let any cripples or retards near My sacrifices?  Oh, Me, the look on his face when We beat him up for taking their side!  Or what about when you cooked up that batch of PCP and I made you wipe out the Midianites and you were all like, “Wait!  Let’s keep the virgins!”  Aaron was a serious schmuck about that, too, until We beat the crap out of him.  Speaking of, remember when he came up to Mt. Hor and started whining like a little bitch about how you were always high?

  Good old Aaron.  Easy to beat up, hard to kill.  Even with both of Us choking him, he must have kept kicking and scratching for ten minutes.  What a death-grip!  He almost broke My wrist.

  Mo, it’s too bad you’re dead as a doornail.  I miss you sometimes, even though I killed you myself for… Hell, I don’t even remember why, now.  I probably had a good reason, though.

  Mo, I’m not writing a letter to a dead man just for auld lang syne.  Nope, My whore of an ex-wife talked Me into doing one of those 12-step programs and this is step four:  I’m making a searching and fearless moral inventory of Myself.  So far, though, I haven’t found anything I regret – with the possible exception of the ex-wife and a couple of bad investments.  I don’t even know why Mary made such a big deal out of this.  I haven’t even done any recreational drugs since your little accident with the business end of that stick.  It wasn’t really any fun by Myself.  The ex yaps a lot about booze and the example I’m setting for the boys, but I keep telling Her I’m on vacation.  If a deity can’t relax with a fifth of scotch at the end of a hard morning’s lie-in, then what’s the point of being Gawd in the first place?  Am I right?

  Anyway, this letter is step four because I didn’t see the point of the first three.  Admit I’m powerless?  Ha!  I’m omni-Me-damned-potent, for Cruise’s sake!  Ditto “power greater than Me”.  Step three I couldn’t quite get My head around.  Turn Me over to Me?  What the Sam Hill does that mean?

  Okay, I’m gonna call this one “done”.  I’m meeting Kate Moss and Amy Winehouse for strip poker later.  I made the boys smuggle in a couple of gallons of their special “water” earlier, just so nobody gets parched during the game.

Wish You Were Here, Tuchus-Face,

~Gawd

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