Dear Primordial Blog…

Somewhere In the Great White North

Dear Brian,

  (If, in fact, that is your name.)  I “logged on” to the intratubes between flights earlier today and “googled” Myself, like always.  It usually helps Me relax in preparation for the gruelling ordeal of flying first class and drinking booze on the brand-loyalists’ dime.  In most cases, I find a lot of people writing about how great I am, how loving, kind and merciful I am.  Today, though… not so much.  You as much as called Me a psychopath!

  My first response was that a few eons in Hell would show you the error of your ways.  I mean, calling Me hurtful names is, like, a hundred extra Hell Points© on your final tally, at least.  But then I thought, “No, I should be the mature and rational One here.”  So I shall destroy you with Holy Argument.

  First, you proposed a ridiculous question about someone who tortures people in their basement and suggested that this is what I do.  Nothing could be farther from the truth.  For one, My basement, while spacious, is much too small to hold all you heinous, repugnant sinners.  For another, I don’t do that sort of thing.  Not personally.  I sub-contract it out to an old business friend of mine, Satan.

  On top of that, I give everyone a choice.  Okay, I don’t personally give them a choice.  It’s more like “Chinese Whispers”.  A few thousand years ago some crazy old coot in the desert overheard Me and My pub-crawl buddy, Moses, discussing the possibility of a few esoteric ways people might avoid Hell.  So then he went and told a friend, who told a friend who wrote an unauthorized biography and showed a few of his friends.  Eventually, the thieving SOB got about 4 billion printed, (for which Yours Truly has never seen a dime in royalties).  I’m no math whiz, but that means that if each of those unauthorized biographies is sold, and no one hogs more than one, nearly 4% of the people who have ever lived have had the chance to read a fourth or fifth-hand account of a hypothetical conversation I had over mai tais at the Moab Bar & Grill sometime around 3,000 BC.  So don’t act like people don’t have a choice re: eternal red-hot buggery and lakes of fire.

  And another thing.  It’s not like I enjoy sending people to Hell through an arbitrary point system of My own devising.  I mean, it’s not My fault if you can’t win a game I made up and never personally told you about, is it?  The way I see it, the losers send themselves to Hell.  Yes, I guess I could break the rules and not send the 96.2% of people that never knew they were playing, but that wouldn’t be very fair to the other 4ish%, would it?  And, okay, I could appear simultaneously to everyone on earth, once a year, and tell them the rules – but then, the brand-loyalists wouldn’t feel special, would they?  Besides, I’ve got a very busy vacation schedule.  Who’s got the time for personal appearances?

  And anyway, I’m assured by some very big brains from within the ranks of My brand-loyalists that if I appeared to everyone at once I’d cause an ion flux in the gauge-gravity duality of the superstring time/space continuum… or something.  So you don’t want that, do you?

  There.  I believe I have handily shot down your specious conjecture that I am a psychopath.

Wish You Were Here,


P.S. – You’re going to Hell.


7 responses to “Dear Primordial Blog…

  1. “Eternal red-rot buggery”? Was that supposed to be a threat or an advertisement?

  2. Sorry that should have read:

    “Eternal red-hot buggery”? Was that supposed to be a threat or an advertisement?

    BTW, the “Wish You Were Here” at the end was a nice touch. I’m sure the sentiment will make me feel better when I’m writhing in excruciating pain for all eternity.

  3. I don’t think He meant the good kind of red-hot buggery, more’s the pity. As for “red-rot buggery”… don’t give Him any ideas, for Cruise’s sake.
    “Wish You Were Here” is just part of Gawd’s personal touch. It’s proof-positive that He’s kind, merciful, etc. How could one not believe in a loving Gawd who signs His postcards like that?

  4. Does Gawd provide marshmallows and weiners, or do we have to bring our own? If it’s the latter, how many would you suggest I pack for eternity?

  5. There’s the sort of thoughtful, serious question that not enough of us ask.
    I can check with Him, but my gut feeling is that He isn’t going to pay for our snacks, so I’d say at least a family pack of weiners plus as many marshmallows as you can fit in a flame-retardent bag.

  6. If you’re going to steal my photo the least you can do is link to Poor Impulse Control.

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