The Polo Shirt of Lost Causes

Fame! I'm famous! This really cool guy somewhere really likes me!
Matter of fact, his blog is called, "When you're burning in Hell, I'll ask Jesus if I can send ya' some KoolAid", which is for one thing-evil (he left out both the dash and the Registered Trademark symbol from Kool-Aid, which is one of the many fine products of Kraft Foods), and for another, hee-larious! He has a lot of cool friends that obviously genuinely like him, and it's not like they're crazy and pathetic or something! I bet he gets a lot of "chicks", and doesn't live in his mom's basement! Not by a long shot!

But something I don't get at all is why they keep asking if I'm being 'sarcastic'. What's to be sarcastic about when you're me? I don't know: maybe it hasn't occurred to someone like "Mister" (LOL!) that I happen to posess every awful secret in the universe, including the central, most terrible one of all: There is a God, and He hates you!
That's not all, either. Not by a long shot. Along with having heard not only God's Confession (it's a doozy), I also have photos of him weeping at his mom's breast as an infant (and you don't want to see what his Mom looks like), which is really the one thing I use whenever I need to hold something over him. He just goes to pieces, and is all like, "Gimme it! Gimme it! It's mine!", and I'm all like, "Oh what? This picture? This picture right here?" as I keep it at arm's length. His arms flail childishly, hopelessly, and I just laugh and laugh. But I haven't seen him in ten-thousand years, so the joke kind of loses its zing.

Well, that's another thing. His Mom. (This is a big one. I'm really not supposed to tell you this one.) Since she's really just some sort of Hate Virus from Outer Space (I don't make the rules), once she gave birth, the Management had to come up with some sort of physical being for the Child to imprint as Mother.
But we were all a lot more stupid in those days shortly after the creation of the Known Universe (tm), and a bit strapped for technology, so what she is is...
I can't say it. If you were to know the identity of the True Mother of God, you would posess powers unknown to Man. By reading this 'blog', you would automatically have something to throw in God's face the next time you see Him! You would no longer be afraid of...God, God would be afraid of...You, and...

She's a water heater. She's a water heater that they stuck a washtub on top of, and then painted on a face with some lipstick. You shoulda seen how the little guy loved that thing. When he went to school later (Space School though: you probably haven't heard of it; it's in space), the other deities made so much fun of him, pretty much every day he'd run home screaming and crying. Then when he got there, he'd throw his arms around that damn water heater (which some of us named 'The Licorice Demon', for reasons I really can't divulge) and feel a whole lot better. She was so warm.

Of course, when he (fin-ally) grew up and realized that his 'mom' was actually a water heater (and a functioning water heater: it was in Ashtoreth's basement), he went twelve kinds of Jealous, Vindictive, Hangin' Judge God crazy, as pretty much everyone can attest. This is a Great Secret.

So if I know that, I think I can safely say that I know everything about my new Buddy in Blogland, too (note: posting pictures of yourself from ten years ago, before you gained a hundred pounds, is unfair, I'm just sayin') . I know all about you, and you too, so let's be friends. Maybe we can get it together to finally send that Letter of Termination to that bastard up in the Skybox, eh?
And I'll teach you the value of learning to take as good as you give. It's valuable.

I bought a polo shirt today from John McCain 2008, because like I said, I'm omniscient, and I appreciate a good laugh as much as anyone. I dunno. It's blue. I like blue.

The Stacy of Prurient Interest

I'm going to say it. I'm scared of my girlfriend. I mean, I'M IN LOVE FOR THE FIRST TIME, AND IT FEELS REALLY GREAT!
We have sex before marriage, because that's really, really evil, unlike my (I think) brother, Jesus. He doesn't get it. We were sent among...These, because we are to learn...Something about Loving, and why...

Look, God is Wrong, and I try to tell Stacy about it, but she never listens. The other day, we're going out to ride motor-sickles (We have them. They're dangerous.), and I'm strapping on my helmet, when I look over at her (hot!) self, and say, "Hey, aren't you going to wear a helmet?"

She just laughs and says, "What are you? The Lamb of God, or something?" And then she started laughing really hard. I tried to tell her: hey, no fooling now-He really hates you. If he looks down and sees you riding un-helmeted across His black, black pavement (note: God is Black), He'll almost certainly strike you down, since that's pretty much the only way He gets His jollies.

She just laughed and sped off, peeling out a little. I sat there shaking, looking over my shoulder. He knows...
I felt stupid, but I also know what an evil little crybaby He can be. Stacy? She cares Not. She's just out for 'kicks', and probably doesn't listen to me anyway. But I have a message for her, and for all mankind: He's out to fuck You. Watch it.

Stacy likes to drink lots of booze. I like to join her in this because it's sort of argued against in the Bible- well, inasmuch as anything is clearly stated in that book. But I also want to say: hey now, you know that stuff leads to necrosis of the liver and stomach cancer, right? Because God...She ends up laughing (with) me at that point, and orders another twelve mojitos. I go back to my Midori Sour (what? They're good!), and just keep my peace.

Then she starts screaming/giggling, and talking about how we need to have premarital sex on the lawn, in front of God and Everyone-hey. She actually used that exact phrase.

She looks at me sometimes, and I see fire in those eyes. I mean really, honestly, fire. That's why I'm pretty sure that God actually sent her to me. To screw with my life. Because he loves that.
And now I wonder: what will our Babies look like? Alternately Thrill-Seeking and Accursed By God? Addicted to Cupcakes and Borderline Psychopathic?
Sigh...I don't know...Hey, who's seen the new Fantastic Four movie?

The Worm That Doth Devour Itself

You know, after a long, hot day in Hell, there is nothing I like better than a warm bath and listening to some Ronnie James Dio:
"Again and again! Again and again! AND AGAIIIIIN!"
Man, that guy's good. And short: he's like, three feet tall or something. I think the only reason his voice is so awesome, and not squeaky and cute like other Little People is Studio
Trickery.

But the other thing I love is when Christians argue with each other. I mean, I'm a pretty live-and-let-wallow-in-self-induced-misery kind of guy, but I sometimes have to stop and say, "Wait a minute: they let you people drive cars?"
Think about it: other people with delusions that big don't get to. But hey; they're their own worst enemies, and there is some great love of self-punishment going on there, so I let 'em. It's a hoot. Get them going on the gays, and they'll be there all night.

But as usual, people miss the point. I'm not saying that they're crazy for believing in a god that isn't there (I met him once, at a lunch buffet, before, you know); I'm saying that they're endangering their eternal souls believing in a god who OPENLY AND HONESTLY HATES THEM.
Right? I mean, with all the things that truly suck about this jail cell they call a planet (Saint Cupcake excepted!), who's going to say, 'Oh yeah, that I Am That I Am (his real name) sure is a sweet old guy! He loveth me so much that he makes AIDS! He makes Heroin ("God's Own Medicine") and eternal warfare followed by further malaise and suffering!'
But best of all, he makes the dupes who follow him around, singing his praises, hate each other over silly things like the gays, and the environments.

It's great: sit back and watch, and remember what Ronnie said:
"So if a stranger calls you, don't look in his eyes, cuz' it's VOO-DOOOOOO!"

Word, RJD.