An email from God
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An email from God
by Mugzy » Thu Jul 14, 2005 2:36 pm
FYI to those who can't figure it out, P-mail is prayer mail...
To: undisclosed receipients
Subject: an urgent e-mail from GOD
I'm minding My own business -- and everyone else's -- and in comes the flood of p-mails.
“Oh Lord, spare us.”
So I look up from My divine breakfast -- bacon, eggs over medium, stewed prunes -- Yes, I eat stewed prunes. You have any idea how old I am? No, you don't.
Where was I? Okay, huge hit of p-mail, all on the general topic of some hurricane.
“Don't drown me, Lord.”
“Our Father who art in heaven, please don't let thy mighty winds knock my trailer off its cinder-blocks.”
“Lord, let me find a decent motel room in Alabama.”
(Yeah, good luck with that.)
“Oh, Lord, not the ragtop of my classic 1968 Mustang convertible, anything but that, Lord.”
The truly pious say things like:
“Thy will be done.”
Well, that's very generous of you. My will be done? Me, God Almighty? Not your will be done, Gladys? Gosh, I really appreciate the free hand.
And of course there are the various “helpful” suggestions:
“Lord, why don't you steer the hurricane into my brother-in-law's condo in Sarasota, he's rich and he won't help me buy that Subway franchise, so he has it coming, Lord, the cheap bastard.”
And a lot of:
“Lord, why don't you smite the heathen in” (fill in the blanks.)
Well, here's why I don't smite the people in Fill In The Blanks with my mighty hurricane winds: because the people in Fill In The Blanks aren't stupid enough to live on a beach that's three inches above sea level. I mean, seriously, this kind of thing was okay back in the days when people thought the world was flat and were not entirely sure they shouldn't cook and eat their enemies, but you people were supposed to have advanced a bit further than this by now. What is this, the slow class? Exactly what is the point of Me giving you people brains?
Every year, you get hurricanes. Every year you're surprised. Is it fun being able to forget everything you've learned that way? Is every day just fresh and new for you people?
Let Me explain this: hurricanes and stilt houses on the beach? Not such a good combination. Live where the storms aren't. Maybe I should have made that a commandment, but I kind of thought it was obvious. If you want to defy common sense and live that way, don't complain to Me.
By the way, same thing with tornados and homes on wheels.
And cliffside homes in earthquake zones.
And wooden homes surrounded by flammable brush.
Next time out I'm not bringing down a great flood and do the whole Ark thing, I'm just going to swap you out for an equal number of Chimpanzees and see if they can track a little better.
Here's the deal with p-mail - prayers. I'm omniscient, right? So you don't really need to update Me on things. Whatever you have to tell Me, guess what? I already know. And I can kind of guess that all things considered you'd rather not have your roof blown off.
You know what kind of p-mail I like to get? I like the p-mails that show some enthusiasm. Some evidence that you're enjoying yourselves. The occasional:
“Attaboy, Lord.”
“Nice sunset, God.”
“Excellent fruit, Jehovah.”
“Oh, Lord, what a pair on her!”
I get a lot more kick out of an honest:
“Oh God, oh God, oh God, I’m coming!”
(I knew that; omniscient, remember?)
than I do out of some windbag in some pious, poorly-disguised bitch session pointing out all the things I didn't do, and reminding me of the need to make the sun shine for the church social and then tacking on some weak-ass, “Thy will be done.”
Damn right, My will be done. You know what it says in the “occupation” line of My tax form?
“God Almighty.”
I don't mean to be cranky. You know I bless you and keep you and make My face to shine upon you, right? So enjoy yourselves a little. And if you're going to p-mail Me and tell Me things I already know, at least make it something fun. You're going to suffer and you're going to die, that's a given, so carpe the diem, all right?
Life is short.
For you.
And don't tell Me where to steer my Me-damned hurricanes.
Have a nice day.
GOD
To: undisclosed receipients
Subject: an urgent e-mail from GOD
I'm minding My own business -- and everyone else's -- and in comes the flood of p-mails.
“Oh Lord, spare us.”
So I look up from My divine breakfast -- bacon, eggs over medium, stewed prunes -- Yes, I eat stewed prunes. You have any idea how old I am? No, you don't.
Where was I? Okay, huge hit of p-mail, all on the general topic of some hurricane.
“Don't drown me, Lord.”
“Our Father who art in heaven, please don't let thy mighty winds knock my trailer off its cinder-blocks.”
“Lord, let me find a decent motel room in Alabama.”
(Yeah, good luck with that.)
“Oh, Lord, not the ragtop of my classic 1968 Mustang convertible, anything but that, Lord.”
The truly pious say things like:
“Thy will be done.”
Well, that's very generous of you. My will be done? Me, God Almighty? Not your will be done, Gladys? Gosh, I really appreciate the free hand.
And of course there are the various “helpful” suggestions:
“Lord, why don't you steer the hurricane into my brother-in-law's condo in Sarasota, he's rich and he won't help me buy that Subway franchise, so he has it coming, Lord, the cheap bastard.”
And a lot of:
“Lord, why don't you smite the heathen in” (fill in the blanks.)
Well, here's why I don't smite the people in Fill In The Blanks with my mighty hurricane winds: because the people in Fill In The Blanks aren't stupid enough to live on a beach that's three inches above sea level. I mean, seriously, this kind of thing was okay back in the days when people thought the world was flat and were not entirely sure they shouldn't cook and eat their enemies, but you people were supposed to have advanced a bit further than this by now. What is this, the slow class? Exactly what is the point of Me giving you people brains?
Every year, you get hurricanes. Every year you're surprised. Is it fun being able to forget everything you've learned that way? Is every day just fresh and new for you people?
Let Me explain this: hurricanes and stilt houses on the beach? Not such a good combination. Live where the storms aren't. Maybe I should have made that a commandment, but I kind of thought it was obvious. If you want to defy common sense and live that way, don't complain to Me.
By the way, same thing with tornados and homes on wheels.
And cliffside homes in earthquake zones.
And wooden homes surrounded by flammable brush.
Next time out I'm not bringing down a great flood and do the whole Ark thing, I'm just going to swap you out for an equal number of Chimpanzees and see if they can track a little better.
Here's the deal with p-mail - prayers. I'm omniscient, right? So you don't really need to update Me on things. Whatever you have to tell Me, guess what? I already know. And I can kind of guess that all things considered you'd rather not have your roof blown off.
You know what kind of p-mail I like to get? I like the p-mails that show some enthusiasm. Some evidence that you're enjoying yourselves. The occasional:
“Attaboy, Lord.”
“Nice sunset, God.”
“Excellent fruit, Jehovah.”
“Oh, Lord, what a pair on her!”
I get a lot more kick out of an honest:
“Oh God, oh God, oh God, I’m coming!”
(I knew that; omniscient, remember?)
than I do out of some windbag in some pious, poorly-disguised bitch session pointing out all the things I didn't do, and reminding me of the need to make the sun shine for the church social and then tacking on some weak-ass, “Thy will be done.”
Damn right, My will be done. You know what it says in the “occupation” line of My tax form?
“God Almighty.”
I don't mean to be cranky. You know I bless you and keep you and make My face to shine upon you, right? So enjoy yourselves a little. And if you're going to p-mail Me and tell Me things I already know, at least make it something fun. You're going to suffer and you're going to die, that's a given, so carpe the diem, all right?
Life is short.
For you.
And don't tell Me where to steer my Me-damned hurricanes.
Have a nice day.
GOD
Mugzy
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- [ecgn] btt
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by [ecgn] btt » Thu Jul 14, 2005 5:59 pm
" Maybe I should have made that a commandment, but I kind of thought it was obvious. If you want to defy common sense and live that way, don't complain to Me. " 
"Damn right, My will be done. You know what it says in the “occupation” line of My tax form? "
God damn even God has to pay taxes. I guess I will stop complaing about it.
I wonder what bracket he/she is in.
"Damn right, My will be done. You know what it says in the “occupation” line of My tax form? "
God damn even God has to pay taxes. I guess I will stop complaing about it.
I wonder what bracket he/she is in.
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