Dear Rebecca Hancock…


C/O Grace Comm. Church, 10938 Hood Rd., S., Jacksonville, FL 32257

Dear Honey-Snuggles,

  Please come back, baby.  I can change.  Is it the beard?  I can cut it off.  Is it My toes?  I don’t have to wear sandals.  Wait… it’s not the sex is it?  No, it can’t be that.  I’m omnipotent.  Baby, what is it?  Why did you leave Me?

  I know I can come on a little strong sometimes.  I know you don’t agree with My views on the justice system.  I know you hate it when I compare you to My ex-wife; but that’s always in a good way.  Like when you spilled jam on My best PJ’s, I said “At least you’re not a filthy whore like Mary.”  You see?  I said you weren’t a filthy whore.  See if you can find anyone else who treats you as well as I do.

  Speaking of that, I wasn’t going to bring this up, but I know you’ve been seeing someone else.  I got a letter on My boys’ birthday from Reverend T. Scott Christmas – which at first I thought was another one of Santa’s sick jokes – telling Me in minute detail about your sex life.  Your un-Gawdly sex life.  Your, not to put too fine a point on it, sex-with-someone-other-than-Me sex life.  Baby, he’s no good for you.  Is he going to helpfully point out your faults to you?  Is he going to kindly keep you from forgetting that you’re a sinner extraordinaire?  Is he going to put up with your constant nagging?  I think not.  Be honest with yourself, for once.  I’m the only one who will have you.

  So, for your own good, I’ve instructed the good Rev. to share the minutiae of the unholy sexual congress between you and this Frank Young guy.  With your kids.  In public.  Of course, most of your church already knows many of the details, since they were hiding in the bushes on the side of your house.

  Like the good-hearted Rev. pointed out, your relationship with Me spans the distance between deep joys and intense trials.  While this may seem like an intense trial right now, think of the deep joy of being restored in your relationship to Me.  Just think of how comfortable and loved you’ll feel while you’re doing My laundry or when I point out that your mother is the fattest, most annoying bitch in My creation and how I hope you don’t get any more like her than you already are.

  So you see we were made for each other, right baby?  Come to Gawd.  Gawd loves you.

Wish You Were Here,



2 responses to “Dear Rebecca Hancock…

  1. Dear Gawd,

    As your Chosen Chaplain, I hope I’m not overstepping my bounds by pointing out that it may not be unusual for a deity of your advanced years to occasionally experience, some difficulties, if you know what I mean. I’m told that some men have found certain little blue pills to be a, pardon the pun, godsend in this area of their lives.

  2. Chaplain,
    Ix-nay on the isfunction-day alk-tay. Didn’t you ever wonder what the real reason Sodom & Gommorah were destroyed was? Think about it. One minute everybody’s getting laid and having a swell time; the next it’s fire & brimstone from above. Someone made an ill-considered “last turkey in the shop” comment.

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