Monthly Archives: July 2010

Dear Albert Mohler…

C/O BioLogos Foundation, 6549 Mission Gorge Rd., San Diego, CA  92120


  Don’t piss Me off, Mohler.  Just… don’t.  This universe I built just 6,000 years ago is ageing prematurely?  Groaning?  Are you saying that I can’t build a universe that won’t shrug off a little sin?  Mohler, you are trying the Lord thy Gawd’s patience and, bad for you, I don’t really have any.  I ought to give you a brain aneurism right now.  I really, really want to.  My trigger finger gets itchy every time I think of you.  Do you know how many people get away with insulting Me?  Not many, that’s how many.  But I promised Hippy Jesus I’d keep it down to statistically probable numbers and I’m right at the edge with 1.89999999 deaths per second and if I give you anal syphilis or sinus herpes or something it will put Me over.

  So you lucked out, you noisome little bug.  In a manner of speaking, that is.

  I’m not going to kill you.  I’m not even going to give you the Job treatment, (frankly, because that’s just more micro-managing than I want to do while on vacation).  I mean, who has the time to kill your children, then hang around and knock down your house and then come back twenty minutes later just to give you boils?  There are hotels all over the world just begging to pamper Me and I see no reason to disappoint them.  No; I’m going to use something a little more fire-and-forget.

  Albert Mohler, for the heinous sin of disparaging My handiwork, (which somebody’s going to be groaning under the weight of, I can tell you)… I curse you!

  How do you like that, eh?  You illegitimate son of a squashed cockroach, eunuchs will laugh at you!  May your pomegranates wither, thou bum-loving Gitite!  And I don’t mean “pomegranates” the fruit things, I mean your pomegranate things… you know, down there.  You get what I’m saying?  I’m talking about… oh, you know what I mean, you… pooface!

  Now fuck off, and the next time you lose your car keys, don’t come praying to Me.

Wish You Were Here,



Dear Jesus Christ(s)…

Fixing a Race at The Dog Track and Sulking In The Basement, respectively

Dear Boys,

  I was relaxing at the VIP Grand Lisboa Hotel & Spa last week and I picked up a copy of Playboy Magazine… you know, for the articles.  Well, You could have knocked Me over with a feather.  There You were, right on the cover!  At first, I thought, “Oh, dammit.  They’re going to get naked,” which is not an extraordinary conclusion, since one of You has no nudity taboo, (presumably from smoking too much of the marijuana), and the other just likes to show people how big His cock is.  You can imagine how relieved I was when I saw that it was just You two, doing the things You two do – with wedding tackle mercifully covered.  I was unhappy to see that You didn’t share the photo space evenly, though.  There was You, Republican Jesus, on the cover, about to make sweet, sweet love to a drunken/roofied chick You met in a bar; another of You propositioning a street-whore; and yet another of You after paying a couple of street-whores to do the lesbo-nasty, (I’m glad You took the time to finally make it clear that I’ve got nothing against lesbians).  But only one of Hippy Jesus, staring creepily over a Catholic schoolgirl’s shoulder.  RJ, You’ve got to learn to share, even if You are My favorite.

  It’s good to see You getting Your faces out there, and not just on grilled cheese sandwiches.  If there’s one thing Gawd, Inc. needs it’s more publicity.  We could use some good press.  You ought to do the talk show circuit and remind people what We stand for.  It might take their minds off of all the child rape Our investment bank employees are getting up to.  Show them that We’re not just a one-trick pony.  For instance, remind them of some of Our other positions on children, and I don’t mean doggy-style.  Remind them of Our “Mauled Straight” program.  That’s one I’m particularly proud of.

  By doing this spread in Playboy, You can bring some much-needed attention to My holy and perfect stance on women.  But I don’t need to remind You, of course, You know how I feel.  The important thing is, get out there, show Your faces, and most of all, push the tithing.  Like that crazy old coot of Mine, Malachi, put it:

Will a man rob God? Yet ye have robbed me. But ye say, Wherein have we robbed thee? In tithes and offerings.

  That man had a beautiful way with words.

Wish You Were Here,