208 Columbia St., Seattle, WA 98104
I understand you’ve got your feathers ruffled over some bird. believe Me, I understand. I, too, know little and care less about science. Like you, know-it-alls piss Me off to no end. It’s like when I was at Deity School. In Cosmological Pottery 203 We were told to design and create a world for the mid-term, so I made this really cool one where all the continents were shaped like penises and vaginas. So I was all, “Look how sweet My world is, Pele. South America looks just like what’s under your grass skirt.” And She was all, “Grow up, Gawd. Continental drift isn’t going to do what you think it’s going to do, and besides, you forgot the magnetic field again.” Oy, she used to make Me so fahklumpt!
It turned out that She was right. The naughty continents didn’t connect like I wanted and the atmosphere got stripped away before I was half through with the one-celled organisms. It’s bad enough getting a D- on a mid-term, but to get shown up by a girl… that’s worse than when My original Chosen People ditched Me for a golden cow.
Not that I didn’t do well in some aspects of school. I got a Double Blue in Smiting. Oh, you’ll appreciate this one. I got really good at bullshitting. For instance, I memorized a bunch of words and phrases about physics and philosophy and just kind of strung them together to make them mean whatever I wanted, which became My dissertation, String Theory of Platonic Monadology: Does Shrodinger in a Box Exist If I Don’t Discover Him? That raised a few eyebrows, I can tell you.
But I don’t have to tell you about that, do I? You’ve got that “Your evidence of A proves Z, just like I always said… la la la la la I can’t hear you,” thing down pat. You guys are great at keeping My vacation fund in the black. Just keep on doing what you’re doing. In fact, you ought to hire that Palin chick. I hear she’s looking for a job. There’s nothing I like more than a dumb broad who makes Me money. Get her an honorary doctorate of Creation Science from Oral Roberts University or something. She’d make an excellent fellow at your little club.
Anyway, I’ve got to go. Room service is here with My Plum Duff and Chateau Laffitte ’69. Just remember, if all else fails a total pig-headed unwillingness to look facts in the face will see you through.
Wish You Were Here,