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,