Monthly Archives: January 2009

Dear Covenant School of Dallas…

The Dallas Academy Massacre

The Dallas Academy Massacre

7300 Valley View Lane, Dallas, TX  75240

Dear Coach Grimes,

  Congratulations, champ!  That was some win!  Every game must have a winner and a loser, and this one, like all others, was decided by the merits.  That’s why you won with a 100 to nothing blowout.

  Excellent coaching, Micah.  Excellent.  I thought it was especially good of you to point out what a great learning experience this was for both teams.  All the girls, (and most of the country, for that matter), learned that I am always on the side of the big battalions.  Little Dallas Academy learned not to go in against Gawd when He’s got money riding on the other team.  Your girls learned the valuable lesson of how to stomp an opponent long after the spark of hope has died.  You, personally, learned never to apologize for crushing little girls dreams.

  Almost perfect, I’d say.  Except for one, tiny thing.

  I’ve read every single news story about your resounding win and I couldn’t help but notice that you didn’t once thank Me.  Not.  Once.

  Coach, when I say, “decided by the merits”, we both know what that means.  It means I liked your pre-game prayer better than the other team’s.  Like all sports, the winner is solely down to Me.  All I ever ask the winner in return is that they stand in front of the cameras and say “I just want to thank Gawd for this win,” or “This wouldn’t have been possible without my Lord & Saviour.”

  By not thanking Me, you are, in effect, saying that your team could have beat Dallas Academy, and their school-wide pool of 20 girls with learning disorders, without Me.  That, Micah, is a no-no.  That is some load of hubris you’re carrying around My friend.  That’s why I’ve had you fired.  Not because you’re a dick.  Not because you don’t understand the concept of sportsmanship or self-control.  Not because you didn’t apologize for being an unsportsmanlike dick with no self-control.

  Because you didn’t thank Me for all the hard work I put into winning this game for you.

Wish You Were here,



Dear (New) Chosen People…

You Can't Take It With You, So...

Is This A Coffin I See Before Me?

Everywhere But Indonesia

Dear Atheists,

  Almost everyone dies.  I don’t, of course; and the other deities; and Dick Clark.  But almost everyone else does.  Sadly, you fall into the “Everyone Else” category.  This can be painful for those left behind, like Me.  For instance, I expected several more books out of Douglas Adams, and now it’s too late to make him a zombie.

  Even more painful, though, is when you die and don’t mention Me in the will.  This hurts My feelings and makes the baby Jesii cry.  I know that you don’t want Me to be sad after you’re gone, and you know that the only thing that gets Me through is a nice recuperative vacation in the Alps or on a little Mediterranean island.  So I want to bring to your attention a truly thoughtful member of My Chosen People, John Mortimer.

  Not only did John create the delightful Rumpole of the Bailey, but he was kind enough to have a church funeral after he kicked the bucket.  With church rental, vicar fees, organ rental, pew space advertising and the 16.5% kickback I get from all funeral homes, he ended up leaving Me a tidy sum.  As the vicar said, he was an “atheist for Christ”.

  That, dear Chosen Ones, is the sort of example you should all be paying attention to.  After all, you can’t take it with you and I’m going to be on vacation anyway, so your hard-earned might as well go toward My bar tab or to tip the bellboys.

  It’s a good way to show the world the special relationship you have with Me.  As an added bonus, I will be making a toast to John – and any of you who leave Me a little something to remember you by – with the finest scotch that his money can buy.

  I’ve got to run, as the bartender needs his pen back, but here’s to John.  And I raise a hopeful glass to any others of you who are feeling a bit peaky as you read this.  Salud!

Wish You Were Here,


Dear Heaven Can Wait Insurance Company…

Act of Gawd

Act of Gawd

127 Ave. of the Weasels, Pottersville, Hell  71000

Dear Claims Adjuster Machiavelli,

  I am in receipt of your letter dated Tuesday last, re the Reborn in Christ Church in Sao Paulo, in which you state that you “regret [you] are not in a position to proceed with [My] claim” and “request” that I refer to My policy document.  You specifically draw My attention to section 2.1 which confirms in section 5, subclause iii, that the policy does not provide cover for “Acts of Gawd(s)“.

  I am writing in hopes that you will reconsider your decision, as this was not an Act of Me aimed at the church building, but at a couple of thieves who walked off with $56,000 of My vacation fund.  Unfortunately, I was mistaken as to their whereabouts.  I was not informed that they were in jail in Florida at the time.  Therefore, this was not so much an Act of Me, as an accidental discharge of wrath, as defined in clause 1.25; “Misadventure or Misappropriation of Excess Wrath“.

  Furthermore, and speaking of wrath, I must say that I found the last paragraph of your letter to be somewhat condescending.  I quote:

  “Whilst we have great empathy for Your unfortunate position we regret we are unable to be of assistance in respect of this incident.  While this is obviously disappointing news we trust You will understand the reasons for this decision.

  Well, I don’t.  Explain to Me, please, why I bother to take out insurance on My stores if you’re going to just deny the claims when they collapse.  If I can’t insure them, then the only fiscally responsible option is to shut them down; but if I shut them down, where are My brand-loyalists going to tithe?  It’s a nasty little Catch-22 that you’ve engineered.  I happen to know that your company also insures Wal-Mart.  What do you think they would do if you put them in this position?  They’d give you the legal smiting of your life, that’s what they’d do.

  And that, sir, is exactly what I propose to do if I do not receive satisfaction.

  I await your reply with great interest.

Wish You Were Here,


A Postcard From Odin


Somewhere In Angle Land

Dear Heather,

  Thank you, child, for the postcard.  I don’t get many these days.  It’s all down to the breakdown of good pagan morals, if you ask Me.  All the sacred groves are paved over with shopping malls now.  It’s been years since I’ve seen a good blót.  For that matter, do you know when I last had a sacrifice worthy of the name?  1943.  Smaland, Sweden.  Ingvar Kamprad sacrificed a reindeer and a homeless man named Soren.  Since then?  Not a biscuit.

  When I got your postcard asking Me to smite Dr. William Lane Craig I thought, “Ho,ho!  Odin Me boy, We are back in business!”  This should make up for that colossal cock-up when I showed up too late for My time slot to smite that smart-arse, Martin.  You can bet My ex assistant, Mandy, is paying much more careful attention to My schedule after a 6-month posting to Hel.

  Anyway, enough prattling.  Do you want this Craig chap smited for saying that it’s a good thing to kill children because they’ll go to Heaven or do you want him smited for tempting Me?  Either is good for Me, you understand.  I just want to make sure the right forms are filled out.  Phrew!  The paperwork these days!  Ragnarok can’t come soon enough, if you ask Me.

  Of course, that’s what this fellow is working toward, isn’t it?  Being one of Gawd’s brand-loyalists, he calls it “Armageddon” or “Rapture” or some such, but it’s the same thing.  Speaking of, since he’s one of Gawd’s, that means even more paperwork and red tape.  An interfaith smiting can be a real pain in the fundament.  You’ve got to submit everything in triplicate and it usually goes before the board of the Deity Club.  And, sister, they ain’t exactly lightning-quick.  My boy, Thor, waited years to get the all-clear to smite King Edmund.  He finally got so fed up that He sent a couple of His bully-boys round to make a pincushion of him.  Looked like a porcupine with feathers when they were through.  Turned out to be much simpler, in the end, and it still went down as a smiting in Thor’s stats.

  Come to think of it, you might want to explore that avenue.  I’m not saying you don’t have good, pagan values on your side.  You do.  And I’m not saying that I can’t do it.  Hel, I’m Odin, after all; the wisdom, war, battle, death, victory, hunting and poetry deity.  Well… mostly poetry, these days, but I do try to keep My hand in by smiting cats and geese and such.  Off the books, you understand?

  Yeah, the more I think about this, I see the problem as twofold.  First – mycket paperwork.  Second – I don’t really have the depth-of-bench I used to in the bully boy department.  In fact, you’re pretty much it.  So let Me throw a little of My divine wisdom at you.  As My only extant brand-loyalist, I hereby name you “Odin’s Chief Enforcer”.  This means that when I’m wroth with someone, (in this case, Dr. William Lane Craig), your job will be to thrash them soundly.  Afterwards, I count it as a righteous smiting on My record, thus gaining stature at the Deity Club.  As you seem to have done a pretty thorough job on the guy already, I think we can call this one a win.

  So, you asked for Me to smite someone.  They are officially smited per Deity Club Handbook section IV, Paragraph xi.  You’re welcome.  That will be two oxen, sacrificed on the next appropriate holy day at your nearest sacred grove, (which is now a Tesco).

The Mighty Odin Has Spoken!


Dear George Whatsyourname…

The Mall, Washington, DC

Dear George,

  The boys reminded Me that you were moving today and that I had perhaps been a little harsh when I told you I wouldn’t help.  I mean, after all the tragicles I’ve provided for you, you might have gotten the impression that I don’t like you.  Banish the thought, dear boy.  The truth is, I don’t care about you either way.  I’d have forgotten about you years ago if you hadn’t kept My mailbox choked with requests for ponies, etc.

  So, just to show that I don’t harbor any actual animosity for you, I’ve sent this singing Hallmark© card with a change of address form inside.  I do, of course, expect something in return.  Now that you’re moving, I’d appreciate it if you lost My address.  If I get anymore silly requests from you, I might decide that I do care about you… and not in the good way.

Hasta La Vista,


Dear First Bus…


226 Portswood Rd., Southampton, Hampshire  SO17 2BE

C/O Richard Soper, Managing Director:


  I was going through customs at Aeroporto Porto a couple of days ago and in the line, (or ‘queue’, if you will), ahead of Me was what I took to be a typical, loudmouthed American tourist.  She was blabbering away to her friend and slowing the whole operation down.  I was just about to tell her to shut up and get on with lying to the customs agent because some of us had limousines waiting, when, first, I realized that she was British and b) I heard what she was whingeing about.

  This is where your company comes in.  She was complaining that Ron Heather wasn’t knighted for being a good brand-loyalist.  I’m sure you’re familiar with the episode.  One of your bus drivers refused to get behind the wheel of a vehicle with adverts against his particular brand; ie, Me.  So this woman holding up about 80,000 people was upset that all you had done was to ensure that he wouldn’t have to drive buses with words that offend him on them.

  But I’m writing to tell you not to listen to her.  You did exactly the right thing.  First of all, I don’t see that Ron did anything to be knighted for.  He only did what I expect of all My brand-loyalists.  He was loyal to My brand.  (And anyway, “Sir Ron”?  Sounds a bit too much like “Sirhan Sirhan” to Me.)

  And you didn’t go all Australian and take the adverts off, either.  Excellent.  This way, both the “Me” brand and the “aMe” brand get a lot of publicity, and, as I’m sure you know, there is no such thing as bad publicity.  To tell you the truth, I win either way.  I’m the majority stockholder in Gawd, Inc. and I’ve got shares, in the form of My new Chosen People, the atheists, in the other brand.  Win/win.

  However, this is not to say that I won’t write a stern letter for publication in The Telegraphif I hear that Coca Cola-drinking employees refuse to drive buses with Pepsi adverts or that the bartender at My hotel is late for work because his bus driver prefers Kalmak to Boots.

  I’m sure you’re on the same page with Me, here, but it must be said.  Brands that I have an interest in not only can, but musthave preferential treatment.  Other brands that I didn’t think to invest in when they were small, like Apple or Tampax or ITV, can go whistle.

Wish You Were Here,


Dear Federal Reserve…




Dear “Ken Kernanbe”,

  I’m using a pseudonym for you because I’m very concerned that the citizens of your country, [REDACTED], should know as little about our dealings as possible.  Your coded message came through loud and clear.  No blabbing.  I’ve taken it so to heart, as you can see, that I glued two postcards together, back to back, so no one could snoop on our communication.

  “Ken”, I’ll keep this short and to the point.  I don’t want anyone triangulating your position through this postcard.  I’m writing for two reasons.  First, and most importantly, to remind you to keep your trap shut about “lending” Me that $1.2 trillion.  That’s between you and your maker.  I  Don’t want this to sound like a threat, but if word leaks, I’ll make sure that those pictures of you in [REDACTED] with [REDACTED], [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED] 180 degrees [REDACTED] [REDACTED] sewing machine [REDACTED] inside [REDACTED] [REDACTED] grey mule.  Do we understand one another?

  Secondly, I want to congratulate your apparatchik, “Konald Dohn”.  That boy is going places.  If he has anything to say about it, no one will ever know where, but he’s going places.

  I’d better get this in the mail.  I don’t like the way the room service guy is looking at Me.  Remember:  Ix-nay on the abbing-blay.

Wish You Were Here,