Monthly Archives: February 2009

Dear Volcano Fodder…

Someone's looking for a swim in the lava.

Someone's looking for a swim in the lava.


Dear Smart-Aleck, (you know who you are),

  I was coming out of Apsley House earlier today, slightly miffed that I didn’t get to see Napoleon’s death mask, and guess what I saw on the side of a passing bus?  Do you think it was “ALLAH IS A HACK.  A plagiarist with a false beard,”?  Perhaps I saw, “ODIN DOESN”T EXIST.  At least, He might as well not.”  Or maybe you’d guess that I saw, “PELE IS REAL, but it doesn’t really matter.  She’s just a girl.”  If so, then you’d be wrong.  I got a picture with the cell phone My boys gave Me for Father’s Day.  Go ahead and flip this postcard over to see.

  Not nearly so amusing.  Not designed to make Me chuckle, I’d say.  Did you think I wouldn’t find out?  Did you think I wouldn’t know who wrote it?  Without even turning the omniscience on, I can see that you’re not one of the New New Chosen People.  They’ve got more guts than to stick in “please don’t tell Him I said so”.  So, right away I can tell that you’re just one of My New Chosen People.  Maybe Shermer or Kurtz or somebody like that.

  Then I turned on My omniscience for a minute, which put Me, (if possible), in a crappier mood.  Do you have any idea of all the poverty and death and reality television I become aware of when I have to do that?  It gives Me a splitting headache and often puts Me off My Fillet Mignon with Sauce Bearnaise.  So then I knew who you were and I had one more reason to smite the bejesii out of you.

  I was going to smite you with a bolt of lightning, but My aim has never been that great.  Something that requires less in the way of pinpoint accuracy seemed more appropriate.  A tornado or the plague or maybe a huge down of flesh-eating bunnies.  And then one of My more vocal brand-loyalists gave Me an idea.  A volcano.  Better yet; many volcanoes.  A descending of volcanoes, let’s call it.

  I’ll have to write Bobby Jindal a “Thank You” note.  Some folks think he’s crazy for speaking against monitoring something that could kill hundreds of thousands of people.  Yeah… crazy like a fox.  A fox who knows that volcanoes only erupt when I tell them to, so what’s the point of keeping an eye on them?  Everyone will know when I set one off.  And anyway, I’m not going to touch off any of the ones you know about.  I’m going to make a bunch of new ones.  One right under your house, one under your office, another one in the park where you like to have lunch, a little bitty one right inside the crapper of the bar you stop at on the way home from your soul-crushing job.

  And you know what?  I’m not going to tell you when, either.  Ha!  Every time a subway train passes under the street; every time a big truck hits a pot-hole near you; every time your wife’s dinner disagrees with her in the night – you’ll jump out of your skin.  Yeah.  That’s the way We deities roll, baby.  You’ll be in a constant state of fear.  “Will Gawd smite me today?”  “Will I make it through this TV show?”  “Should I bother to make holiday plans?”


Wish You Were Here,



Dear Barack Obama…


1600 Pennsylvania Ave. NW, Washington, DC  20500

Dear Barry,

  I know you’re a good brand-loyalist.  I know it because I’ve heard you say so on numerous occasions.  I know it because, as far as I can make out, it’s illegal to be elected president of the US of A if you’re not.  When people said you were a secret brand-loyalist for that hack, Allah, I just tapped the side of My nose in a significant and knowing manner.

  Being such a good brand-loyalist, you must know what kind of Gawd I am.  The jealous kind.  The wrathful kind.  The kind who likes a nice bottle of scotch at the end of the day.  The loving kind?  Not so much… except when it comes to My boys.  I’ve got a real soft spot for the Jesii.

  They tell Me you’ve got kids of your own.  So maybe you can understand why I’m feeling a little smitey that you’re hogging Their limelight.  The folks over at the Harris Poll called to tell Me that I am now ranked number 11 in their “Hero Poll”… up from “Unranked:  less than 1%” in 2001.  Like every year, they were giving Me the list of respondents names and addresses so I could reward/smite appropriately, and they happened to mention your ranking – relative to My boys.

  I’ve never expected to top their poll, myself.  And that’s okay.  I mean, look at what Americans expect in their heroes:

  •   “Doing what’s right regardless of personal consequences.”  Well, there are no consequences for Me.  I’m Gawd.
  •   “Not giving up until the goal is accomplished.”  My only goal is vacation, and while it’s true that I won’t give up on vacationing until the last star in the sky winks out, people don’t usually understand the dedication that takes.
  •   “Doing more than what other people expect from them.”  I’m kind of between a rock and a hard place on that one.  The brand-loyalists expect everything they can possibly imagine and more; and My Chosen People don’t expect anything at all, so I can’t do enough for most and only meet expectations for a few.  It’s a lose/lose.
  •   “Overcoming adversity.”  Ditto criteria number one.  What adversity?  I’m Gawd.
  •   “Staying level-headed in a crisis.”  You flood one little planet… sheesh.

  Anyway, like I say, I don’t expect to top the list.  As long as I beat Oprah, I’m okay.  But My boys… well, I like to see Them at the pole position every year.  It shows that My Deadbeat Dad approach worked.

  So I’m going to make you an offer you can’t refuse.  Take a dive.  No one’s asking you not to make a good showing, just not #1.  Take an extra long time to cl0se Gitmo or turn a blind eye to Rove skipping out on Congressional subpoenas.  Knuckle under a few times when the Republicans tell you “no”.  You get the idea.  Now, this first term, you may feel a slight sting.  That’s pride fucking with you.  Fuck pride.  Pride only hurts, it never helps.

  Take My advice.  You’ll be a hero to Me.

Wish You Were Here,


Dear Pope Benedict XVI…


Lo Stato de la Citta del Vaticano

Dear Joey Ratz,

  I thought we had an understanding.  I thought we had an agreement.  Every other Pope before you has kept to the agreement.  Well, except for John VIII; I had to smite him with arsenic and a claw-hammer when he threatened to blab.  Oh, also Stephen VII and Leo V.  I had them strangled.  And John X, now that I think about it.  He passed away quietly in his sleep with a pillow over his face.  Hadrian III, too, actually.  Arsenic again, but he kicked off before I could get the hammer.  Then there was Stephen IX, but that was an accident.  I was just going to scare him a little, but the pansy couldn’t hack it without his eyes, nose, tongue and hands.

  The point is that most of your predecessors knew how to keep their mouths shut.

  Just to be clear, let Me outline our little arrangement.  You do two simple things; 1) raise cash for My vacation fund and 2) keep your Me-damned trap shut about My personal business.  In return, I a) won’t smite you and b) won’t leak to the Mossad what you really did during the war.  The bit that concerns us today is #2, above.  Joey… someone’s been talking.

  Now, I don’t really care if everyone knows My ex-wife, Mary, was a slut.  That cat’s been out of the bag for a long time, (although I wish someone had told Me before I married Her).  I don’t even care that the Jesii’s paternity has been called into question.  I had Them tested years ago and, for better or worse, They’re Mine.  I do, however, care that someone has gotten their hands on Hippie Jesus’ school picture, which debunks the whole “walking on water” thing.

  A truly stunning portion of My vacation fund comes from American brand-loyalists.  But do you know what Americans won’t give money for?  Besides starving foreigners and windmills, that is.  They won’t give money to a brand who’s mascot is a fat, wheezy nerd, too heavy to do a simple water-walking miracle!

  Am I getting through to you, Ratzy?  You are so lucky I don’t have a horse’s head handy right now.  I know you complained about this information getting broadcast.  I know you’re going to say that it wasn’t you who leaked.  I almost blame Myself for not burning the Vatican’s X-Files years ago.  But that’s immaterial right now.  It’s like My old pal John Wayne used to say, “Anything goes wrong, anything at all… your fault, my fault, nobody’s fault… it don’t matter.  I’m gonna blow your head off.  It’s as simple as that.”  He really had a way with words.

  That’s where we stand right now, Joey.  If you don’t make this problem go away; I don’t care if the information was stolen from the Vatican vaults or you whispered it to some cute alter boy you were trying to make or if you yelled it from the rooftop with a megaphone – I’m gonna smite your head off.

  I expect you to deal with this.  I want to see headlines soon to the effect of “Ha, Ha, Fat Useless Jesus Just A Joke, Says Everyone”.  ‘Cause if My vacation fund suffers… so will you.

Boy Do I Wish You Were Here,


Dear Rush Limbaugh…


1495 North Ocean Blvd., Palm Beach, FL  33480

Dear Romeo,

  I got your postcard… but I had some trouble making heads or tails of it.  As near as I could tell, you seem to want to make some sort of deal with My boys.  If you’re trying to get Them to invest in something, They learned Their lesson when you were pushing Enron.  We listened to your advice on that and really took a bath, so thanks, but no thanks.  If it’s that ostrich farm thing again, give it a rest, will ya?  Not even Hippie Jesus is going to go for that.

  Or did you say the Jesii should make a deal with Satan?  What’s that about?  Sure, Their Uncle Beelzebub has given Them advice all Their lives, but They’ve never gone into business together.  More’s the pity, really.  I’d have liked for the boys to get in on some of that Rock & Roll money.  The three of us really missed the boat on that one.  We never thought it would be bigger than Pat Boone.

  You know what?  On reading your postcard again, it almost seems like you’re saying that you are the fruit of My omnipotent loins.  If that’s what you’re trying to get across, I’m going to have to insist on a paternity test.  Are you hepped up on goofballs again, Rush?  Where would you get an idea like that?  I mean, yeah, you and Republican Jesus have got some of the same ideas and you’ve both carried water for the same people, but damn… you’d have to be nuts to think you’re related to Me in any way and doubly cuckoo to think I’d acknowledge you if you were.  Hell, don’t you remember what I did to that Koresh guy for saying stuff like that?

  Or, wait… was that some kind of analogy?  I’ll be honest with you, Big-Boy, it’s always been hard to make any sense out of what you say.  Every time you send Me a postcard asking Me to give Obama leprosy, (12 in the last month), or for him to fall down and break his neck on national TV, (47 since November), or that his bones will transmogrify into c-4 during a “feminazi rally”, (enough that I could paper My hotel room with them), I really despair for you.  If you had friends I’d urge them to do an intervention.  Honestly, I say this as a… well, a deity who’s getting tired of hearing from you.  Lay off the oxycodone.  There’s only so many times you can mainline that stuff before it starts messing up your head.

Wish You Were Mute,


Dear Frenchies…


Tour Eiffel Champ de Mars, 75007 Paris, France

Dear Gawdless Foreigners,

  I was recently having drinks with The Invisible Pink Unicorn, (at least I think I was), in the Atlantis Bar downstairs at My hotel and I mentioned that I’ve been seeing fewer and fewer Euros in My vacation fund.  According to My records My cut from church rentals for marriage ceremonies has really been falling off.

  She looked at Me sympathetically, (I assume), signalled for another watermelon margarita, (presumably), and told Me a terrible story about you.  You’ve been getting PACked instead of married!  Your name has long been a byword for wine drinking, runny-cheese eating and exceptionally naughty kissing, but I never expected that you were into Gawd-stiffing!  This from the people who sell souvenirs at Notre Dame?  Even after remembering this postcard I picked up at Charles de Gaulle Airport last month, I thought I could count on you.

  Now a third of you are refusing to get married, thus making the worldwide depression worse.  How selfish can you get?  Don’t you know that there are deities who depend on this cash flow?  Do you realize how many St. Christophe key-chains the Notre Dame giftshop will have to sell to make up for this shortfall?

  “Thank Me for American televangelists“, is all I can say.  As usual, America is doing it’s part to make up for your screw-ups.  As you may have heard, Americans have been flocking to the voting booths to make sure that church rentals are an integral part of the law of the land.

  I shudder to think of what the world would be like if everyone followed your example.  It’s people like you who make the Jesii cry.

Wish You Were Here,


P.S. – While I’m at it, I’d like to confirm My reservations for next week at Hotel du Louvre.  Please reserve My usual table in the Defender Bar and have Maurice ready with a large scotch when I check in.

Dear Christian Broadcasters…


C/O Christian Broadcasting Network, 977 Centerville Tnpk., Virgina Beach, VA  23463

Dear Telecasting Brand-Loyalists,

  As you know, I don’t much like to meddle in your business.  My motto has always been “if it’s bringing in money for My vacation fund, don’t fix it”.  However, I have another motto which goes, “there’s no such thing as bad publicity”, but since Jerry Falwell went to his reward, (24 cubic feet of real estate on the Liberty University campus), publicity has fallen off somewhat.

  So imagine My shock when I learned that Allah, (that hacktastic hack), has been stepping up His publicity game.  One of Allah’s, (hack, hack), brand-loyalist broadcasters went and cut off his wife’s head, presumably with a wickedly-sharpened copy of the Qur’an.  You can’t buy publicity like that!

  Now, I’ve only read far enough into the Qur’an to satisfy Myself that Allah, (who, by the way, is a hack), stole His schtick from Me.  Maybe cutting off wive’s heads is a central tenet of His brand.  I don’t know.  What I do know is that Muzzammil Hassan launched Bridges TV in 2004 in order to portray Allah’s, (or, the Thief of Baghdad’s), brand-loyalists in a positive light.  Then, two days before Valentine’s, he beheaded his wife.

  On the one hand, if he was trying to steal publicity from the Gawdless Hindus defiling one of My brand-holidays; more power to him.  Frankly, with some of the things I’ve seen Hindu deities get up to, it’s just crassly hypocritical to give people a hard time on Valentine’s Day.  Especially since I get a kickback from every heart-shaped box of candy sold.

  On the other hand… where were you?  How come you’re not grabbing headlines?  I know you’re going to try to tell Me that most of you didn’t run those two stories, but that’s not enough.  Suppressing stories with religious overtones is all well and good.  Only running positive stories about My brand-loyalists, or stories that make them look like oppressed minorities, is fine.  But My bank accounts demand more.

  Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of Gawd’s vacation fund.  A half dozen or so of you are going to have to step up.  (Rupert, I’m looking at you.)  My first thought was that one of you could eat a baby on live television.  Uncooked, if possible.  But then I thought it would be more powerful if you re-enacted scenes from My glory days.  Then, if anyone tried to stop you, you could say that the wicked, Gawdless majority was trying to suppress Biblical History.

  So here’s My plan.  Try to space these actions out so that just after publicity peaks for one, you pull the next, and so on.  That way, you get constant airtime throughout.

1.  Release a ravenous bear in a school playground.  It worked like gangbusters for Elisha.  People were talking about that one for years.  Be sure to interview the parents afterwards.

2.  Pre-empt American Idol to sacrifice an only-son on top of the Time-Warner Center.  Close-ups of his trusting face before, during and after are a must.

3.  Sign a business deal with someone, then kill him, his son and everyone in their neighborhood.  Take their women and cattle.

4.  Torture and kill one or more of your employees, making sure they last a day or two.  Show video teasers during prime-time.

5.  Free all the carnivores from a local zoo.  Try to synchronise it with a school field trip if possible.

6.  If anyone complains about My plan, infect them with something gross.  Leprosy works nicely.

  Now get out there and start making headlines, instead of just suppressing them.

Wish You Were Here,


Dear Catholics…

As soon as a coin in the coffer rings / the soul from Purgatory springs.

As soon as a coin in the coffer rings / the soul from Purgatory springs.

C/O Benny Ratz, Apostolic Palace, 00120 Vatican City

Dear Papists,

  Hi, it’s Me, Gawd.  I know you haven’t heard from Me in a while, but I was just thinking about you last week.  I was looking forward to a lovely time at Grosvenor House Dubai, but when I checked in I was embarrassingly short of cash.  Instead of the Deluxe Suite with Sea View and butler service which I had reserved, I was forced to settle for the 1-Bedroom Apartment with Marina View and butler service.  It was, as you can imagine, not only disconcerting but it made Me feel dirty and poor to stay in such low-rent accommodations.  How do you people manage it?

  It forced Me to take a long, hard look at My vacation policy.  Eventually, I raised My hands to Me and said, “As I am My witness, I shall never stay in business-class rooms again!

  This is where you come in.  It’s time to pony up – and tithing isn’t enough.  However, as I am a market forces type of Gawd, it’s only right that you should get something for your money.  So step right up and get your Indulgences while they last!  For the first time since 1567 you can know the peace that passeth understanding; that, for the nominal fee of whatever the market will bear, you can get Gramma out of Purgatory early.  Think of it.  Dear old Grammy, who accidentally stabbed Grampus for snoring in 1964, can get early parole in the afterlife… if you love her enough to stump for the Deluxe Suite.  As My former business manager, Johann Tetzel, used to say:

“As soon as a coin in the coffer rings

the soul from Purgatory springs.”

  I loved that man.  I really did.

  Or perhaps you’re more interested in a little insurance.  That’s fine; I don’t judge – (unless I’m feeling cranky).  Worried that you might have to cut someone off in traffic?  Feel like smacking the wife if she serves Hamburger Helper™ again?  Know in your heart of hearts that little Johnny will mind better if you just give him a good shaking?  Well, there’s no need to feel guilty about it as long as you’ve got one of these babies in your pocket.  Venialize to your heart’s content.  In fact, the more, the better!

  As you know, I’m no shopkeeper and I’m much too classy to publish a price list.  Frankly, if you have to ask, then you probably don’t really need one… yet.  But on the other hand, who knows what little sin might keep you cooped up in Purgatory while all your friends are having a blast praising Me for eternity?  Don’t ask yourself if you can afford a file cabinet full of indulgences; ask yourself if you can afford not to have a few dozen tucked away for a fiery day.

Wish You Were Here,