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Saturday, February 26, 2005

God speaks to The Poor Man
Posted by Jill | 7:50 PM

Oh yes He does:

When I parted the Red Sea and made it rain frogs and all that, I didn't have to listen to pissy complaints about how my miracles don't live up to your artistic standards. Yes, he's a whore, in every sense of the word, he is a top member of the national press corps who is also a professional online ass-fucker, and, indeed, his head looks like a great big penis. I'm glad you finally figured it out.

And, frankly, I shouldn't have had to say anything, because it's not like this wasn't obvious enough to begin with. And it's not like I'm made out of fucking free time, either. I have to run the Universe over here. Do you know how big the Universe is? Pretty fucking big. A little bit bigger than your apartment, and, if I say so myself, a lot better managed. So let's maybe keep the wiseass Talking Heads stage show comparisons to ourselves from now on. And I wouldn't even have to get involved with all this metaphor shit if you'd just read your damned email once in while.

And I don't want to come off as hyper-critical here, because I'm a forgiving God and all that, but if there is any way of missing an obvious point, you people will find it. You know how many plagues I had to give Pharaoh before he clued in? SEVEN. Seven fucking plagues I had to come up with before this guy gets the picture. Makes me crazy. Now, if you've ever seen what a Pharaoh thinks of as a tasteful headstone, you'll understand that these people weren't real big on understatement, but still. And just look around at how many people still can't puzzle out what the Gannon story as all about. So I've got you and your smart-ass David Byrne comments on one side, and Howie Kurtz still scratching his head on the other, and meanwhile I haven't had a day off since that Sunday 15 billion years ago. I didn't create the universe so I could spend all my time tutoring shaved monkeys in Remedial Cluefulness. So, I'm real sorry I can't make absolutely everything perfect for absolutely everyone all at once. I'm real real super sorry about that. I'd love to spend all my time wiping your ass for you and making the cute girls fall in love with the chess club and everything, but I'm afraid my schedule is a little tiny bit busy at the moment. But everybody always wants something. It's like two weeks ago, when all the Patriots fans expect me to make the Patriots win, and the Eagles fans expect me to make the Eagles win, like that doesn't put me in an awkward position. Apparently, I'm supposed to figure out how all the Patriots blitz schemes work, while you all sit around going "The White House approves a 'journalist' who is a literal prostitute who literally has a dick for a head? I don't get it." I guess this is the division of labor which everyone thinks is fair. Well, that's just some real tough fucking shit for all y'all, because I'm not the evening's featured fucking entertainment at the fucking Howard Johnson's lounge - I'm fucking God, bitches, and God doesn't fucking do requests.
said


The Poor Man has more of his conversion experience here.
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