Mrs. God

Image by Caio Basilio via Flickr

I'm Sherri, the wife of God. You've probably never heard of me, but that's cool. I'm the one who makes sure God gets your prayers every night. In fact, I delivered one of your prayers yesterday. You said, and I quote: "If tomorrow's blog story is successful I'll be forever grateful." I hope you don't mind me telling you that God put your submission in the stack with everyone else's, so I wouldn't get my hopes up.

What do you want to know about Him (notice the capitalization?) I'm sensing that you want to know His first name. If I told you I would have to kill you. Do you have another question? The answer is No. See, you didn't even have to ask.

Let me tell you one thing: He hates beards. All future prophets, enough with the beards. More questions? Yes, He is ambivalent about masturbation. Yes, He can read, but prefers your prayers be out loud. Yes, He will use lightning on someone. Boy, you can come up with them. Yes,  Hair loss will visit you. Yes, steeples are an extravagance. Yes, periods are necessary. Yes, Fanta is disgusting. Yes, worshiping 30 minutes or more is a waste of time. Yes, foreskin removal is a relic of the past but looks a hell of a lot better.Yes, yes, yes.

Excuse me, God is calling. Nice chatting.

Never Mess With (My) God

Image via Wikipedia

Especially if You're in a Different Religion

If I were God I would have a Commandment that says you can make fun of me three times a year. Do it four times, though, and you're going to hell. Two times is considered pushing it. Once is best.

I don't believe in God, but that doesn't make me a heretic. It makes me an non-believer. If you believe I'm a heretic, you probably believe in an anthropomorphic kind of God, one that avenges this type of behavior. I also think God would have more than two nostrils, given the choice, and He wouldn't need toes, which are there to keep balance. Also, God would not have ugly ears. He would have beautiful ears. Have you ever noticed our ears? The ugliest things on the planet.

I believe God would have a middle name, too. Make that three middle names. Or eighty middle names. He would have the longest name in history. If you said it out loud, you would be required to put a "Sir" in front of it. Or  "Lord." Or the "The Lord."

I don't believe God would allow a snarky thing called science to disprove him. He would abolish science, or have his true believers try to abolish it. Wait ... maybe there is a God.

I believe consciousness permeates the universe, that God is everywhere, and everything, not just an entity who resides in a special place called Heaven. I don't believe in an anthropomorphic God, one with human characteristics, like anger, jealously and vengeance.

I've run out of time... I wasn't allowed to mock "God" more than a couple of times, and here I am overstaying my welcome. I believe I'm wanted in hell now?

I'm God

"If you were God what would you feel,
do, or think about the world today. "


I'm God, and I'm pretty happy with the way things are on Earth. Planet Urdy, on the other hand, 21 light years away, is another story. I'll use discretion by saying if you don't like locusts, or unhealable boils, or hail mixed with fire, I wouldn't go visiting there any time soon.

Earth used to be my problem child until I sent an ambassador there several years ago and cleaned up the place. Sure, you still cuss, and I still hear my name said in vain, but that bothers me only if I'm actually listening; otherwise, I couldn't care less. Sin is still around, but I've gotten used to it. I don't like it, but I've gotten used to it. Put it this way: there used to be a hell of a lot more lightning bolts when I was younger. Now, I've gotten more mellow as I've aged (agelessly).

I don't visit Earth like I used to. Used to be, I was there every week. Now it's just another orb on my radar screen. Thank God! (Yes, I am allowed to say that.) Used to be, I had the route memorized. Now I have to pay attention.

Earth? I'm trying to think of some recent highlights. Some islanders got together the other day and asked me to put a thumb in their volcano, but that's not how things work I told them. Some bigwig offered to buy me a church or two if I could get him out of jail early, but I said there would have to be a virgin-volcano sacrifice, and I never heard back. A kid wanted a bicycle for Christmas, so I re-directed him to you-know-who.

I don't get involved as much as I used to, but I still help out. For instance, a lady prayed last week that she would get to work on time, so I relented and made a red light turn green early. Things like that please me. Some guy prayed his computer was not fried--it was--but I undid the damage, using a complicated algorithm that I came up with on the spot. It was a lot of work but worth it.

Overall, I'm very pleased with Earth, and its humans and especially its animals. The insects I'm still not keen on.

My next Big Visit will be approximately December 2012, but that's only to say "Hi," and I'm not sure if it will cause any waves -- or tidal waves.

The Anti-Christ (part one)

"Hell found me! Yessir! Tarnation and damnation! And tribulation. The place YOU don't want to be!"

The preacher stepped back from the podium. "Then I found Jesus," he proclaimed, looking straight up. "He came from up there."

The audience looked up.

"Look straight up," the preacher said. "Not halfway up."

They looked straight up.

"He came from up there and saved me. He will come again One Day, and he will come fast, so make sure you're looking up. He will most likely see your nostrils first, so make sure they're clean. AND that goes for the rest of your bodies, too. I CANNOT BELIEVE how many of you congregate here without wearing anti-perspirant," said the fiery preacher, who was perspiring. "I got a deal with a deodorant company, who says if I wear this," he held up a white stick, "and mention it once each Sunday--Schick--they will pay for our new Pre-School."

Wails of joy from the audience.

"This is God's place," came a small voice from the back -- an old lady. "How dare you."

"How dare me?" said the pastor. "Was that a question or a statement?"

"God isn't a game show," said the old lady defiantly. The audience was hushed.

"Isn't there a final prize, ma'am?" asked the preacher. He leaned forward to see her better.

"NO," said the old lady. "Heaven is not a prize."

The preacher cleared his throat. "It most certainly is, madam, and I intend on getting there, one way or another, as does everyone here. I don't know about you, but I'm saved, i.e., born-again, i.e., 'locked in.' Hallelujah, I'm going to Heaven as soon as this show is OVAH!"

Wails from the audience.

"But that doesn't mean," continued the pastor in his normal voice, "that I can't mention what a jewel it is from time to time, this 'Heaven'...this 'place' I covet, this place where I KNOW I'm going in the end. So I bring it up each week because I want the people to KNOW I AM BLESSED BY THE PRIZE!"

The crowd went crazy.

The old lady scurried out during the excitement. She was followed by a church member, who reported, via transmitter, that she did a sign-of-the-cross before exiting.

"That old bird was a Catholic, eh? What do you expect?" said the preacher to the flock. "Might as well been a Scientologist."

Gales from the audience.

"Catholics insist on eating during the service, did you ever notice that?" said the preacher. "Primitive people."

More gales.

"Scientologists wouldn't know what to do with a bible if you handed it to them. Probably try to eat it."

Screams.

Jack McElroy was in the back of the audience. He wasn't laughing. He was holding a gun in his pocket. It wasn't loaded--yet. If the pastor began cracking on Lutherans, he might load it.

In the meantime, the old lady circled the parking lot in her Buick. She was kicking up dust, trying to find the correct way out. She didn't know how to navigate the many rows of parking and the dust she was kicking up was thick, and nasty, and threatened to enter the church's double doors.

A freckle-faced boy was in the front row of the congregation. He was wearing a bow tie. He was 9-years-old, shy, and needed to use the bathroom badly.

Ten-thousand feet overhead, in a jet plane, a stewardess told everyone to put away their trays. They landed in 10 minutes, she said. One passenger, however, was going to parachute from the plane in less than a minute. He was next to the emergency door. The only thing that could possibly hamper his descent was landing on a steeple.

The preacher's wife was part of the choir. She kept glaring at the preacher during the sermon, giving him the evil eye. She had pushed the TV remote's "last" button the night before and discovered it was on MTV. She suspected her husband secretly watched TV porn.

Across the world in a Berlin nightclub, a plot was hatched to assassinate a prominent gay black American rap star named "The Almighty" (sometimes called "Almighty" for short) and start a culture war. If they couldn't assassinate him they planned on seducing him. Either way, he would lose.

The preacher's transmitter crackled again. He touched his ear lightly to hear it.

"Gimp Guy, second row, I think he'll remain standing if you shove him," said a voice.

"Okay, let's heal someone!" yelled the preacher.

The crowd roared.

"Who needs a little healing?" he asked, rhetorically. A few hands went up. "You," he said, pointing at the gimp. "Come up here in the name of Jesus."

"I can't," said the gimp guy. He pointed to his knee. "I'm lame."

"Can't? We'll see about that."

The preacher swooped down and gently grabbed the gimp guy's arm, then yanked him up on stage.

"The devil got your leg, brother?"

"Yessir."

"Which one?"

"Left."

"Left side. Why is it always the left? I think the devil loves playing on the left, but that's just me being unscientific."

Laughter, and a couple of groans from the audience.

"Those aren't real groans I hope," said the preacher. "If so you'll be up here next."

More laughter.

The preacher put his hand on the man's left knee.

"Get out, Satan, you foul beast. Leave this man's leg alone ... be Healed!" He shoved the man for good measure. "Hallelujah!"

The man started to fall, but somehow regained his balance. He had a smile from ear to ear.

"Any better?" asked the preacher.

"I didn't fall. I'm blessed by God."

"Blessed by Jesus. Need to be more specific."

"Thank you, Jesus," said the former gimp. He was starting to lose his balance.

"Help this man to his seat. He's a little wobbly from all the excitement."

Then, a big plume of dust came up the aisle. Fits of coughing started everywhere.

The freckle-faced kid rushed to the bathroom.

The preacher's wife screamed when she saw the gimp fall and the preacher grabbed his ass to steady him.

Another scream was heard from the rooftop.

Jack McElroy loaded his pistol and fired at the rooftop, causing more screams (from the audience).

In Vegas, "The Almighty" was wrapping up his big show. He always did his best shows on Sunday mornings.

End of Pt. 1

On and On

The Westlake Church of God finally met a foe it didn't know how to handle: the Eastlake Church of Christ.

"We're the church of Christ!" the ECC screamed at the WCG. "You're not!"

"Are too," screamed back the WCG members. "What you got to say about that!"

"Are not!"

"Are too!"

"Are not!"

"B.S. I mean, B.P. -- bull pucky. Read your damn Bibles. God covers it all."

"What version do you use?"

"The ONLY version, the King James version."

"We use the NEW King James version. Hahahahaha."

"That version don't count. Blasphemers."

"Only blasphemers can say that God's word doesn't count."

"Who you calling blasphemers?"

"You, my friend."

"Did you just call me 'friend'?"

Stoner/Drunk elements of style

Image by zappowbang via Flickr

I'm writing this stoned out of my mind. When I'm stoned, I'm concerned about punctuation, which is why I'm using a keyboard now, because it has all the symbols (at my fingertips). If I wrote this without a keyboard, I might forget a comma or a period, or God-forbid, a dash. Drunk I WRITE LIKE THIS and could CARE LESS about spelling or PUNCTUATION and forget where I am in a sentence and end up talking about Aunt Claurice, who raised me as a child, along with several puppies, most of whom grew up to be excellent companions. I'm actually DRINKING now and it FEELS GOOD!! Did I mention I love punctuation when I'm DRUNK?? What kind of symbol is this anyway ~ ? And what does it DO??
This is the stoner speaking, and I apologize for everything I've written so far, and I intend to wrap this up, but I have some re-editing to do, so I can figure out how.
In the meantime, THANK GOD for keyboards for MAKING ALL THIS POSSIBLE!!