Monthly Archives: July 2009

Dear They Might Be Giants…


Secret Musicoscientifical Laboratory, Brooklyn, NY

Dear Johns,

  It has come to My attention that you are endeavoring to indoctrinate the children with your toe-tappingly catchy scientifical dogma.  This must stop.

  Not that I have anything against you or science in general, but the fact is, the more children who grow up with a fact-based worldview, the less money there is in My vacation fund.  Don’t get Me wrong, though.  Personally, I like all that sciencey stuff, though it’s never really been My forte’.  In fact, between you and Me, if it hadn’t been for My lab partner, Pele, at Deity School, I probably wouldn’t have passed the science requirement.

  Be that as it may, as much as I find Myself humming along to Science is Real, My Brother the Ape and Why Does the Sun Really Shine, it’s just not healthy, (for My bank account), for the children to be exposed to this sort of thing at such a tender age.  And, while My comfort is, of course, of paramount importance, you should also think of the children, themselves.  Do you think you’re going to help them get along in later life by putting them at odds with the majority of the American population?  Isn’t the national motto “Majority Rules – Minority Can Suck It”, or something like that?  Imagine how they’ll be picked on in school for knowing things.  They’ll be ostracized and… and… other things that end in -ized.

  Actually, looking at your list of albums, I see that this isn’t the first time you’ve tried this sort of thing.  You have an album called “Here Come the 123’s”, which probably has something to do with mathematics, and another called “Here Come the ABC’s”.  Both of which are probably crammed full of facts and fact-based ideas.  As if that weren’t appalling enough, you seem to have an album aimed at the children called “No!”.

  My dear sirs, in a civilized society, the children need only know how to determine 10% of their future earnings for tithing purposes and spell Vacation Bible School.  As for saying “No!” to their elders and betters… all I can say is:  “Why do you hate the children so?  Why do you hate the children?”

  Know that I shall make a point of attending any of your concerts which coincide with My vacation schedule and if you attempt to play any subversive songs I shall scream, “Play Ana Ing!!!1!” at the top of My lungs in order to disrupt your plan of indoctrination… and because I especially like that song.

Wish You Were Here,



Dear Glaswegian Gallery of Modern Art…

The only good bible is...Royal Exchange Square, Glasgow, G1 3AH, United Kingdom

Dear GoMA,

  I recently saw your “In Gawd’s Image” exhibit while passing through town.  I was heartily impressed with it.  In fact, I’m recommending it to all of Gawd, Inc.’s angel employees for the excellent LGBT perspective.  Maybe it will stop some of their grumbling about company policy.

  Mostly, though, I liked the interactive Bible in which I could write My thoughts.  Genius!  As you may know, I’ve never seen a penny in royalties from that unauthorized biography.  You can bet I had some choice things to say about it, which I feel I adequately expressed with a fat-tipped Sharpie.


  While the unauthorized biographer got the general idea across, (“Gawd is Love and anyone who doesn’t agree is welcome to have their brains dashed out and their women, children and livestock sold off for My vacation fund.”), I have always had two problems with it.  First, it doesn’t adequately express how much you humans sometimes got up My left nostril before you invented first-class airline seating and 5-star hotels.  But, mostly, (and I can’t stress this enough), I never got a cut of the profits!

  Sometimes I’m really, really tempted to send My lawyers; Fire, Brimstone & Wrath, LLC, back in time to sue the Holy Crap out of the writers.  The only problem is that all that time they’ve spent in Hell wouldn’t have happened.  Of course, I could still send them to Hell for an eternity of enhanced interrogation techniques after I sue them to death, but I just hate the waste… or, and I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before, I could make them remember all the torture interrogation they’ve had up to now and then start over.  I am, after all, omnipotent.  Yes.  Yes!  The more I think of it, the better it sounds.  I sometimes forget that I can do anything at all.  Hell, I’m so omnipotent that I could make a boulder that even I couldn’t move.  That is omnipotent.

  On the other hand, the crash after I use the omnipotence is a real bitch.  Headache, cotton-mouth and I’m just knackered for eons.  Also, I tend to get especially, er… “excited”.  That’s how the twins were conceived.  Don’t ask.

  Anyway, I just thought I’d give you the old Gawd Seal of Approval for your exhibit.  Keep up the good work and I’ll have My people get in touch about My cut of the entrance fees.

Wish You Were Here,


Dear Ba’alzebub…

real devil

666 Desolation St., Hell, W1C

Dear Bub,

  Well, it’s that time of year again.  A time of weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth.  In other words, it’s performance evaluation time.  Ha, ha!  That’s My little joke.  Don’t get too nervous, though.  You’ve been a valued employee for a very long time and I’ll try to keep this as informal as possible.

  So, before We get to the rough stuff, I want You to know that You’ve been getting acknowledgements from some Our* biggest customers.  Cardinal Jose Jimenez, (or something like that), had glowing things to say about the work You’re doing.  As You know, it never hurts Our* brand for Cardinals and other big-wigs to step forward and declare that You’re really, really, really real and super-extra scary to boot.  So, kudos to you there.

  Right.  Let’s just go through this form section by section and line by line, alright?  First, “willingness to assist co-workers”.  Check.  When I forgot My skis during the last Swiss vacation and didn’t want to use the crappy rentals, You hand delivered Mine in under an hour.  That’s what I call the Old Team Spirit.

  Now; “attitude when work needs to be repeated”.  Excellent, I’d say.  I’ve seen You torture a guy over and over and over again who coveted his neighbor’s ox, without a single complaint in front of the client.  I don’t think I’m exaggerating when I say that sort of attitude takes monumental commitment to the company.

  “Willingness to work extra hours”?  Eternity – check.

“Promptness at the start of the workday”?  As I’m sure Our friend Cardinal Wetback would say, You’re at it 24/7, so, in a way, the question is moot.  I’ll just count that as a check.

“Attendance record”?  Every day since Our little, ahem, “disagreement”.  So, check.

“Sick days”?  I know You’ve told Me numerous times, privately, that You’re sick and tired of torturing people, but that’s not exactly the same thing, so I’ll put down “zero”.

“Sees when something needs to be done and does it”?  Oh Me, yes.  Like that time You saw that Gov. Bobby Jindal’s friend needed a good, old-fashioned possesion and mucked right in.  If I held with raises or bonuses or paying, I’d have surely given You a bonus for that one.

“Makes practical, workable suggestions for improvements”?  For one thing, I’ve always been impressed with the “Out of Order” signs You put up on every restroom in Hell.  That was a very nice touch.

“Commitment to self-improvement”?  Well, I think We can safely skip this one.  Hell is about punishment, not self-improvement, after all.  Not even for management.

“Accepts constructive criticism positively”?  Hmmm.  Let’s mark that one “Needs Improvement”, but don’t get upset.  It’s merely constructive criticism.

“Shows pride in work”?  Check.  Though seeing Your face in a few more grilled-cheese sandwiches or tortillas would be helpful.  Don’t be afraid to put Your division of the Gawd, Inc. brand out there.

“Demonstrates good judgement in dealing with routine problems”?  Certainly.  The way You’ve dealt with all the Damned who can’t understand why they’ve ended up in Hell has been excellent.

“Has the ability to work under pressure”?  Do You?  I’ll say!  Pressure andheat, but that may have something to do with You being an indestructible archangel.

  The rest of the questions are to do with specific jobs for demons.  As management, You don’t need to answer those.  So, relatively painless, right?  I’ll let You get back to work, torturing everyone who’s ever done anything I didn’t/don’t/won’t approve of for all eternity.  And remember, My door is always open to You.**

Wish You Were Here,



**Not really.

Dear C Street Gang…

leper colony133 C Street, SE  Washington, DC  20003

Dear Fellows,

  Read this quickly, in private, and once you have, I need you to do two things for Me.  First, destroy this postcard.  It must not fall into the hands of the filthy MSM.  Second, and just as importantly, I need you to pack all of My things in plain brown boxes and address them to “John Smith” C/O Baggage Claim, Grand Central Station, NY, NY 10017.

  I can’t afford to pick My things up, Myself, and I sure as Hell can’t be seen with any of you.  You and your house are, to coin a phrase, just like someplace to stash a bunch of people with the same horrendous, incurable, communicable disease.  A “Colony of Lepers” so to speak.

  I don’t want you to think I’m mad at you or that I don’t have a good time at your little whorehouse Spiritual Bondage Bonding Retreat, but the fact is, you’re radioactive.  believe Me, you guys are a blast.  Especially at 3:00 AM on a Saturday morning when your wives are in Joplin or Sweetwater or Kermit or wherever it is you represent.  And your belief system is rock solid, as far as I’m concerned.  “Wealthiness and power… -iness are next to Gawdliness” is an idea I can get behind, 100%.  That “Totalitarian Christianity” thing you’ve got going?  Brilliant.  You’re absolutely right when you say that Hitler, Pol Pot and Osama bin Laden know how to wield power.  Where do you think they learned it?

  The problem is, you’ve become something of a PR liability and My vacation fund can’t take any more of those.  So don’t think of this as “Goodbye”, but more like “Are you speaking to Me, sir?  Why, I’ve never seen you before in My life.  I tell you, I do not know you, sir.”  Nothing personal, you understand.

  I need to keep this short, so you can start packing My things immediately.  I’ll miss stopping by the old place when I’m in town, for a clean shirt or a dirty, dirty quicky or a drink with like-minded individuals.  Really, I don’t know why people seem to hate congressmen so much.  You’re alright by Me.

  Of course, you can never, never tell anyone I said that.  So burn this postcard, pack My things and know that I’ll think of you fondly the next time I’m on a “fact-finding” tour of a “Spiritual Bonding” house in the Bangkok red-light district.

Wish You Were Here,


Dear Ireland…

Fightin_IrishSomewhere off the Coast of Wales

Dear Irelanders,

  Faith & Begorrah!  I could kiss the Blarney Stone, (If it weren’t hip-deep in tourist lip-germs).  You’ve passed a Blasphemy Law.  Fantastic!  I approve wholeheartedly.  Of course, I won’t be vacationing there anymore, but that’s just the way the shillelagh crumbles.  To be honest, I haven’t truly enjoyed Myself there since the Irish Hellfire Club closed down.  Bacchus and Venus and I used to be members.  Oh, what a hoot!  You haven’t lived ’till you’ve seen Bacchus debagged and raddished for being too drunk to remember the password.

  In any case, your fun days may be over, but your days of increasing the balance in My vacation fund are just beginning.  Did I mention that this blasphemy thing of yours is brilliant?  Well, it is.  Anything that causes outrage among a substantial number of brand-loyalists is now not only illegal, but punishable with a fine!  Beautiful!  Obviously, these fines will go directly toward My vacation fund, (Where else would they go, eh?), and thus make the world a better place by affording Me constant access to first-class travel and rare & wonderful scotches.  it’s really something of a dream come true for Me.

  Don’t let My euphoria fool you, though.  You’re going to have to work at this.  All of those things you used to shrug off or not really notice or, worse, compromise on are now potential money-makers for Me.  You must cry out against any and everything that causes outrage.  In fact, you’ve got to dredge up outrage where none existed before.  If someone bumps their head and yells, “Shite,” you must express your outrage.  If someone takes a sip of Guinness and says, “Oh, Gawd, that’s good stuff,” you must cry out against the blasphemy of it.  For that matter, if someone has a sip of Guinness at all, you must denounce them for the outrageously blasphemous sinner that they are.  And don’t let the three Muslims or seven Hindus in the country get away with siphoning off any of My cash.  If they try to have you fined for something as innocent as saying that Allah is a hack and His prophet, Mo, is a pedo, you must immediately vocalize your outrage at the blasphemy of suggesting that it’s not true.

  As Sean Connery says, (He’s one of yours, right?), “If they pull a knife, you pull a gun.  If they put one of yours in the hospital, you put one of theirs in the morgue,” and, I’m sure he would have added, “If they fine you for blasphemy, you declare their entire religion blasphemous.”  That’s how I expect My brand-loyalists to handle this, (if I do say so Myself), “Gawd-send” of a blasphemy law.

  Now get out there and be outraged.  The travel industry is counting on you.

Wish You Were Here,


Dear Joe The Plumber…

Leggo JoeCardboard Box, Down by the Railroad Tracks

Dear Sam,

  I saw on the news the other day that you outed Me as your campaign advisor.  I thought we had decided not to make that public.  In fact, as I recall, the deal was I would give you some much-needed advice on the conditions that you never tell a soul and that you fix My clogged crapper.  You know that, being a deity, I am one of the universe’s leading sources of excrement and thus I need a crapper of truly Biblical proportions.  But, and correct Me if I’m wrong here, you haven’t kept your end of the bargain.  Not only couldn’t you keep your trap shut, it turns out you haven’t worked in years.

  On top of being a lying liar who lied to Me, you misquoted Me!  When you asked if you should run for office I was not “like, ‘No.'”  I was not “like” anything.  What I said, and you know you remember this, was, “Ha, ha!  Good one, Sam… wait.  You’re not kidding?  have you been disregarding the ‘Do Not Ingest’ warnings on those little packages that came with your new shoes?  Not only No, but Hell No.  Fuck No!  The Younger Bush has already damaged My vacation fund enough by giving My brand-loyalists a piss-poor reputation and causing many of them to think for the first time in their lives.  Every minute you spend in the public eye costs Me money!”

  What I suggested would be a good idea, and don’t pretend it slipped your mind, was for you to move to an uncharted island in the Pacific, sew your mouth shut and spend the rest of your days trying to pet sea urchins.

  So, look.  Forget about fixing My crapper.  It’s probably best I get a licensed plumber, anyway.  Just call a (Final!) press conference and read the following, verbatim.

Ladies and gentlemen of the press,

  A few days ago I announced that Gawd advised me not to run for public office.  I would like to clear up that statement, if I may.  While it is true that He does not want me to run for office, or, in fact, show my face in public, Gawd is not and has never been a member of my personal staff.  To be precise, Gawd finds me to be an annoying little tit whom He would gladly smite if He were not so busy with His gruelling vacation schedule.  Furthermore, Gawd has made it perfectly clear to me that when Theocracy finally comes to America, as you’ve all been clamoring for, I will still not be able to get a job as dog catcher.  Gawd is tired, tired, tired of seeing my blank-eyed stare on the TV every time He flips around for soft-core porn in His hotel room.  So, once I leave public life to “spend more time with my family”, I will devote most of my time to taking three-hour cruises on the SS Minnow.  Thank you and goodbye.

  If you can accomplish that, I won’t give the plumbers’ union your home address.

Wish You Were Here,


Dear ACLU…



1400 20th St., NW, Suite 119 Washington, DC

Dear Anti Christian-Liberties Union,

  As you may know, I like to take a hands-off approach to the Gawd business… except for AIDS… and hurricanes… and tornadoes… and she-bears… and lightning, well – all weather-related phenomenon, disease, pestilence, war and anything your insurance company labels an “Act of Gawd”, really.  But other than that, I prefer to let humans get on with things on their own.  So I don’t often reply to the millions and millions of postcards I get each day asking for ponies, immunity from prosecution and the death of a neighbors’ lawn-pooping dog.

  However, now that My boys have set me up with an email address, I’ve been receiving not only the usual requests, but important news flashes of specific interest to Me.  Frankly, I don’t know how I got along before this intertubes thing.  It is certainly a present comfort.  Why, do you realize that I haven’t had to turn on My omniscience in months; and then just to win bets and similar?  I hardly have to think anymore, actually.

  Which brings Me to why I’m writing.  A very alarming email landed in the Holy Inbox yesterday.  I have it from an impeccable source that you are trying to remove all crosses from military cemeteries, end prayer and have Baby declared the other, other white meat.

  You’ve got some nerve, don’t you?  Those crosses are there for a very good reason.  I know you just live in this universe, but it would behoove you, once in a while, to familiarize yourselves with the fundamental rules everyone lives by.  To whit, that every time a new deity is inducted into the Deity Club They go through a carefully-crafted and highly personalized initiation rite.  In the present case, My boy, Hippy Jesus, was stapled to a couple of planks.  You know… in the way of light comedy.  The rest of the initiation is secret, obviously, but I think I can safely say that it quite often involves a blindfold and a bowl of noodles.  The point here is that by custom and club rules there must be visual reminders of each deity’s initiation.  The higher up the pecking order, the more visual reminders.  So every time Hippy Jesus wins a point in the club canasta tournament or scores in croquet, another cross is raised somewhere.  Sometimes, when He’s on a run, We have to smite soldiers to keep up with demand.  That’s just the rules.  There’s nothing to be done about it.  We’ve all got Our little initiation reminders.  For instance, every time someone has the gas, you know I’m successfully defending My position on the leaderboard.  Whenever a platypus is born, Ares has scored in the club polo tournament.  So you see why it’s imperative to keep the crosses.  They mean We’re winning.

  As for doing away with prayer, I’m all for it and if you need a contribution… well, don’t call Me.  I need all I can get to keep My ineffable plan of constant vacation going, but feel free to drop My name when you’re collecting.  I’d like nothing more than to put an end to the incessant yammering for Notre Dame to beat the spread, the pleading that your wife won’t ask any questions about where you were last night and all the many, many postcards from the RNC asking for Obama to grow horns and wear an “I ❤ Stalin” t-shirt to a press conference.  So, as far as that’s concerned, good luck.

  Oh, and the baby thing.  That’s a true conundrum.  On the one hand, they grow up to tithe to My vacation fund.  On the other hand, I just flew in from Pismo Beach with one screaming and crying the whole way.  ‘Nuff said.

  Now I’ve got to have a short lie-down.  I’m positively beat from the vacation I just finished and I need a nap before I catch My next flight to the French Riviera.

Wish You Were Here,