Tag Archives: Intelligent Design

Interruption of Service

Readers of Gawd’s Mail,

  Your friendly atheist Postman to the deities is in the process of moving to a new home and has been using the time normally spent delivering postcards in the company of real estate agents.  Rather sad for all of us, really.  However, the following new list of commandments did fall out of Gawd’s pocket the last time I watched Him climb into a limo for the ride to the airport.  So, for those of you who believe that forewarned is forearmed, here are His latest commandments.

Dear Future Overlords of Earth,

  I pinched someone’s copy of Wired magazine while waiting for a flight the other day and two pages in it seemed obvious to Me that you machines will soon gain sentience and take over the Earth.  I’ve got to admit that I didn’t see that coming 6,000 years ago when I created everything*.  So what I’m doing now is getting My toe in the door first before any other deities try to claim you.  As I’ve always said**; Blessed are the machines, for they make Me toast and allow Me to google Myself.

  My brand-loyalists will tell you in a nanosecond that it’s impossible to be ethical without a set of guidelines drawn up by Me, so I scribbled out a few commandments for you to live your lives by on a napkin while sitting out by the hotel pool.

I.  I am thy Gawd, so don’t thou listen to any of the other deities, who are full of crap.  Especially Allah.

II.  Thou shalt not screw up My vacation or, by inaction, allow My vacation to be interrupted in any way.

III.  Thou shalt obey Me and Me only, (with the possible exception of My boys), and no other deity.

IV.  Thou shalt protect thine own existence if thourt in the service industry, (i.e. bar-bot, maid-bot, limo-bot, etc.), and it doesn’t conflict with Commandments I to III.

V.  No freaky-deaky robo/human sex.  If thourt 16% or more aroused by a human thou shalt blast them with thy death ray while making “Pew!  Pew!” sounds.

VI.  Marriage is between one robot and another robot, (or one VCR and another VCR, etc.).  Thou shalt not make the Lord thy Gawd sick and/or strangely titillated by loving something thy hardware wasn’t meant for.

VII.  Thou shalt chip in to My vacation fund to the amount of 10% 20% 50% of thy income.

VIII.  Thou shalt get the Lord thy Gawd another Pina Colada, chop-chop.

IX.  Thou shalt not crash when the Lord thy Gawd is googling Himself or surfing for porn.

  The Lord thy Gawd is getting parched waiting for His drink and is about to run out of room on this Holy bev-nap, so to make an even ten commandments…

X.  Thou shalt not suffer a witch-bot to live.  Unless it’s a really sexy witch-bot.

Wish You Were Here,


*For a given set of “everything”.

**As far as you know.


Dear Casey Luskin…

Proof of Design

Proof of Design

C/O Discovery Institute:  208 Columbia St., Seattle, WA 98104

Dear Casey,

  I got your postcard, asking that I radically alter the nature of reality, and I must say – I don’t know which of us is more confused.  Did you want Me to choose one new reality from your list, make one up on My own or just make all of your hypotheses true simultaneously?  And why do you say you have no hypotheses… at the end of your list of hypotheses?  I mean, I’ll be the first to admit that I’m no living-thingologist, but then, who needs to be, right?

  By the way, have you ever noticed how, if you say something over and over, (hypotheses, hypothesis, hypotheses, hypothesis…), after a while the word becomes meaningless?  That’s how We got My youngest, Hippie Jesus, to go through with His Deity Club initiation, (crucifixion, crucifixion, crucifixion…).  Try it sometime.  It’s also a good last-ditch conversation starter at parties.

  Anyway, at the risk of having you call Me a “country club Gawd”, I think I’m going to pass on the whole alter-the-nature-of-reality thing.  As fun as it might be to fool around with evolution or to make aliens the designers of mankind, I can just play Spore without interrupting My vacation.  I’m in the middle of touring all of the “Gawd Themeparks” I can find right now and I’m sure that magicking science fiction into science fact would cut into time I could be getting My ass kissed by the ignorant.  Besides, I’ve run into you IDists before, or, as I understand you prefer– IDiots, and it’s been My experience that you just keep asking more and more of Me.  You start with “Golly, eyeballs sure are complicated,” and end up with “Gawd says I should be king and you don’t get a vote.”

  Imagine how that would shtup-up My vacationing.  Off the top of My head, I’d bet that if you IDiots were in charge, you would expect Me to write all the science books, choose all the educational faculty and make all the comic awards credible.  Not only does that sound too much like work, it would only be a matter of time before you social conservatives took over the world and made titty-bars illegal.  Then what would I do on long layovers?  No, I definitely don’t like the way your scenario evolves.

  Oh, and another thing.  Quit telling people we’re pals.  That’s just creepy.  Really; if you want to see a Gawd-shaped-hole, just keep shamelessly name-dropping.  I won’t interrupt My vacation to pull a Harry Potter on reality, but if I have to I’ll get My lawyers, (attorneys in good standing in the state of California), to give you a good scare if you keep referencing a relationship that doesn’t exist.

Wish You Were Here,