Monthly Archives: March 2009

Dear Archbishop of Canterbury…


Lambeth Palace, London, UK  SE1 7JU

Dear Rowan,

  I saw this postcard and immediately thought of you.  Funny that you share a first name, eh?  I imagine I’m the first to point that out to you, so if you use it as chit-chat at a dinner party or something, be sure to mention where you heard it.

  Anyway, kudos to you for sticking up for the little guy.  I couldn’t agree more that My brand-loyalists are always getting it in the neck from those bastards over at the BBC.  Why, it’s practically a television Inquisition.  How dare a business exclude brand-loyalist programming just because no one wants to watch it?!  Don’t they realize that My poor, minority, shat-upon brand is the largest in the world?

  Here.  I’ll just sketch out a pie chart you can show to the minions of intolerance at the BBC.


  That ought to show them that they can’t kick sand in the face of the proverbial 98-pound brand-loyalist, or they’ll get broken like a twig.

  On the other hand, I picked up a copy of some rag called The Dailymash while on layover at the Jersey Airport in the Channel Islands, (and by the way, if you find yourself there, be sure to try the Royal Potato Onna Stick).  Their interview of you struck Me as just a tad bit more to-the-point than I usually like.  As you know, I generally prefer brand-loyalist leaders to steer a path around saying things like, “[N]ot once in the entire history of the world has [Gawd] intervened to stop bad things happening,”.  You and I know that I’m not going to answer the droves of tiresome postcards I get daily asking for relief from disease, war, famine, etc., but We don’t mention it in polite company.  Instead, try pointing out that it’s slightly possible that I may help someone find their lost car keys.  You’ve got to start concentrating on the positive.  Not, obviously, as concerns the BBC; but in the finding-lost-keys or turning-traffic-lights-green areas.

  So, otherwise, good job and the boys say “Hi”.

Wish You Were Here,



Dear Amber…


3rd Bunker on the Left, Compound

Dear Amber,

  Some of the other deities and I have a bet on about whether or not your advice column and itself is some form of advanced satire or not.  On the one hand, a lot of people are laughing at you, but on the other, your advice for mothers of masturbators is completely in line with My will.  So it’s a tough call.

  We’ve all agreed not to turn on the omniscience, (those of us who have it), to decide this bet.  Although I’m tempted to switch it on just for a minute to make sure that Smertrios isn’t cheating.  You can never trust those Me-Damned, filthy, foreign deities.  We’re all meeting at the Mt. Olympus Bar & Grill next Wednesday to lay Our final bets before turning on the omniscience and settling up.

  That’s why I’m writing to you.  I figure, since you’re the advice columnist, you’re the go-to person when readers ask, “Is this shit for real?”  Personally, I’m leaning toward “For Real”.  Your advice alone parallels My will so closely when you say things like;

“Masturbation will make your daughter very comfortable exploring her body, and it will not be long until she begins to envision other people partaking in the deviant behavior with her.”

  That is so dead-on.  There is nothing that gets up My left nostril like masturbation.  I’ve lost count of the number of people I’ve had to smite for it over the years.  It’s pretty much the only thing I have time to smite for these days, but don’t spread that around.  And you’d be surprised at the identities of some of them.  Jimmy Carter?  Monkey spanker.  Benny Hinn?  He’s dated Palmela Handerson, (and, by the way, Benny Hill – hardly at all, go figure).  Stephen Baldwin?  Plays one-handed baseball every single time no one is looking, and sometimes when they are.  You ladies, too, of course.  Michele Bachmann hits the slit.  So, surprisingly, does Barbara Bush.  She shuffles her iPod at least three times a week.  There’s also, and I can understand why you didn’t mention it – you.  You’re almost constantly slamming the clam.  When you’re not doing that you’re turning Japanese or double-clicking the mouse.  No matter how many times I smite you for it, you never seem to even cut down.  Remember when you slammed your finger in the car door that time?  That was a Righteous Smiting from Gawd.  Remember when you lost your car keys and found them a week later in the freezer on top of the ice cream?  That was a smiting, too.  The time that dog chewed up the shoe string on your left sneaker was Divine Retribution for having a knee-trembler, as well.

  Admittedly, I’ve never been very good at spotting satire.  But it’s very important that I’m one of the winners, (hopefully the only), of this bet.  If that hack, Allah, gets it right and I don’t, there will surely be weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth.

Wish You were here,


P.S. – Please don’t print this postcard and your answer in your column, as that would ruin the whole point of getting inside info.  Just keep in mind that it’s not only My Will, but it’ll be a poke in Allah’s eye as well.

Dear United States Government…


East Capitol St., NE & 1st St., NE, Washington, DC  20002

Dear Gov., (through your Three Branches),

  I’m sure you’re trying your best, but your best doesn’t seem to be doing the trick.  Even with the overwhelmingly huge clamour from My brand-loyalists, you don’t quite seem to have gotten the idea.  I don’t care about the rich getting richer.  In fact, I’m all for it.  Being “comfortable”, (though not as “comfortable” as I’d like), Myself, I have what you might call a vested interest in the status quo.  However, in this instance I expect you to funnel these bailout billions of yours in a more righteous direction.  If not directly into My vacation fund, then to people and things that can be counted on to pass the wealth to Me.  I think you get My meaning.

  This new guy in the White House seems to understand what I’m looking for.  In a word:  Faith-Based.  Compared to him, you might as well not exist.  Show Me the money, US Government.  Show Me the money.  I’ll believe you’ve gotten with the program once I see the money.  Actually, as I have these sudden, new doubts of your very existence, I’ll believe in you, in general, just as soon as My vacation fund shows a deposit amount in excess of $1 billion.

  The more I think about this existence issue, the more worried I get.  I’m trying not to think of it, of course, but I can’t seem to help it.  Do you exist?  Do you exist and are you working to make My vacation better?  Do you exist but not care about My vacation?  Do you even know about My financial woes and do you have the power to affect them?  These are deep, philosophical questions that I tend to shy away from.  I mean, I like to assume that you’re there, up in Washington, looking after My interest without having to do anything, Myself.  But what if I’m wrong?  Then I’d have to solve My vacation fund issues on My own.

  Well, until someone can prove to me that you don’t exist and aren’t looking after My welfare, I’ll just assume you do and act accordingly.  I’m off for a quick dip in the hotel’s solid gold pool.  Later, I’ll have them send up an omelet in a Faberge egg.

Wish You Were Here,


Dear PZ Myers, et al…


C/O University of Minnesota, Morris, Doolittle Lab for Applied Octogenesis

Dear PZ & Minions,

  It has come to My attention that you have called Me a “petulant, petty whiner“.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  Why is it that everyone is always saying unkind things about Me?  Just the other day I ordered a bottle of Chateau Lafitte Rothschild from room service and kindly tipped the waiter who brought it My customary 3 1/2%.  As he left I’m sure I heard him grumbling about Me.  As everyone knows, tips are for exemplary service, not simply doing one’s job, but suddenly I was the bad guy after going out of My way to give him something he didn’t deserve.  I swear, I’ll never understand people.

  Anyway, that’s a little off the point.  The reason I’m writing is because you were making fun of My reply to those kids about why I don’t intervene in school shootings.  You seemed to have some sort of issue with My Chosen Atheists asking Me not to interfere, or in fact, set foot in schools.

  Alright, in all fairness, My brand-loyalists on YouTube didn’t exactly make My position clear.  I’ll try to do so, as I always have for My Chosen People.  Without getting into the details, the non-interference request originated when I was asked to judge a science fair and, (I’m not proud of this), laughed at some children.  It’s really best all around, this way.  Parents don’t like their kids getting laughed at and I don’t like kids laughing, so it’s kind of a win/win.

  However, the main reason I don’t interfere in shootings and muggings and plane crashes and American Idol is that I am on vacation.  I just don’t have the time for all that stuff and sipping Mai-Tais by the hotel pool, too.  It’s not that I don’t care about those things… well, some of those things.  It all comes down to; I can’t be bothered.

  I sincerely hope this has cleared up your little misunderstanding.  And by the way, tell Cthulu He still owes Me 14s, 6d from that pub crawl in 1743.

Wish You Were Here,


Dear Jesus & Jesus…


Hither and Yon, about My business

Dear Boys,

  Quit screwing around, would you?  With Easter on the way it’s important, certainly, to get your faces out there.  I would like, for once since the Gawddamned dark Ages, to bring in more money this year than the Easter Bunny.  (That shrewd SOB and His candy tie-ins.)  But playing practical jokes is not the way to do it.

  Really.  Grow up, boys.  Just for My own morbid curiosity, which one of You pressed Your face to some incontinent old priest’s seat-cushion?  Just thinking of that nearly induces peristalsis.  How You thought anyone would be amused is beyond Me.  Now that I think about it, I’ll bet the joke was on one of You.  Let Me guess… You were bickering about something inconsequential again, and somebody said “I’ll bet I’m right!”  From there it was just a matter of googling before one of You had His face  smothered by a priestly butt-comforter for a count of 30.  Am I right?

  Gawddammit!  Easter is serious business.  I can’t vacation on hopes or wishes or pixie dust or prayers, You know.  It takes hard cash and Easter tithing has been dropping off over the last 700-odd years.  I need You two to manifest Yourselves on Letterman and start a ‘Stupid Deity Tricks’ craze.  Maybe that one where You turn Yourselves into crackers and wine, like the Wonder Twins.  “Shape of – a cracker!”  People will love that one.  Be sure to plug the tithing angle and try to hit all the talk shows after that.  Except Leno.  Leno’s out.  His voice and warmed-over jokes annoyed Me once too often.

  Now get to work supporting Your Old Man in the comfort to which He has become accustomed.  I have spoken.

Wish You Were Here,


Dear Jerry Lawson…

Gawd Likes It Freaky

Gawd Likes It Freaky

C/O Daystar Church, Good Hope, AL

Dear Jerry,

  As a brand-loyalist, you know that there is no subject too taboo, as long as it brings in money for My vacation fund.  I commend that attitude.  Sex happens to be one of My favorite topics.  If it will help get bums in seats and cash in hand, I’ll be happy to tell you a few stories.  Just let Me know.  In the meantime, you can use this one as a teaser:  “Gawd likes a threesome.”  It’s true.  I’ve been trying to get Pele, Shiva and a handful of roofies all in My hotel room at the same time for years.

  I was thrilled to hear that you make videos and post them on your website, “Great Sex Gawd’s Way“.  I thought I might be able to use them to unbend a hot young thing or two, (or bend them, if you know what I mean – huh?  Huh?).  But you just about earned yourself a lightning bolt up the keister when I actually saw the videos.  How the hell do you expect a Beelzebub impersonator in a cheap suit to get anyone in the mood?!  For Cruise’s sake, man.  That’s not Great Sex My Way, that’s some boring sermon.

  So I’ll do us both a favor.  The next video you post should not feature you on a stage telling husbands and wives it’s alright to turn the lights on once in a while.  It should feature one blond, dressed as Little Red Riding Hood.  One brunette, dressed in traditional Catholic School Girl uniform.  Someone dressed in wolf costume, with t-shirt labelled “Respect My Authority”.  This person should be more than commonly well-endowed.  Through the rest of the video they should work in at least five of the items on this list:  Spatula, Tea Cozy, one vinyl album throat-singing music, The Complete Works of Baruch Spinoza – unabridged, Life-size cardboard cutout of John Cleese, One cubit basket of miracle fruit, One bottle Chateau Lafitte Rothschild 1967 and One semi-tame wombat.

  Make that video and I’ll tell you a story about Great Sex My Way that will not only make your toes curl, but will bring in the punters from miles around.

Wish You Were Here,


Dear Billy Graham…


C/O Billy Graham Evangelism Assn., P.O. Box 1270, Charlotte, NC 28201

Dear William,

  I got your letter re: “Cults”.  I’m delighted, as always, to clear that up for you.  In fact, after seeing Watchmen last night, I knocked out a short graphic novel on the other side of this postcard.  That should answer any questions you might have.

    It was really a hoot, authoring a novelized visual artwork.  I forgot how much fun creating things can be.  Maybe I’ll start doing one daily during My schvitz.

  Anyway, remember that other people’s beliefs are crazy, cloud-cuckoo shit – while anything you brand-loyalists believe is rock-hard, scientific fact.  You can quote Me on that.  Actually… don’t mention the “science” part.  You don’t want to alienate the base, if you know what I mean.

  Gotta go.  Time for My schvitz.  I think today I’ll create a serious work of art called Gawdmen.  It’ll be a poignant story of vigilante evangelists in a crazy world with no Me, and how they might seem out of place and out of their minds.

Wish You Were Here,