The Sloth-o-meter

God-

You know how you liked it when people used to sacrifice lambs in your honor—well how do you feel about pigeons?
Should I be using an altar—reciting a bunch of holy stuff prior to snuffing them—or will “take that, you miserable little piece of shit”—followed with a swift round of pellet gun justice suffice?
There are no lambs in my neighborhood, otherwise, I’d probably “sacrifice” one of them every couple of weeks.
There is a dog that won’t stop barking, but I’m not much of a dog killer, even if it was a sacrifice in your honor—besides, I don’t have any dog recipes…not like I do lamb.
Anyway, thats not why I’m writing.

I need your opinion on something.

What’s a safe level of lazy before registering on your sloth-o-meter?
My TIVO’s on the fritz, and I don’t see me getting enough spare coinage to get a new one before football season starts this August.
So I was thinking.

Would it be wrong of me to get a Foley catheter and an IV stand—so I wouldn’t have to leave the room to go potty… or would you consider this too lazy?
I only plan on using Coors Banquet beer, and not those unholy light beers if it makes a difference….and, I would actually get up if I had to grease off a big heater. (tortilla chips and bean dip do that to me)
Now that would really be a sin—to just sit there and shit your pants during a major scoring drive with only a few minutes left…now that’s just plain lazy!

Please give me a sign if you approve, and quickly if you don’t mind, as it will likely take some time to find a disgruntled hospital worker—one who I can talk into stealing this stuff before pre-season gets underway.

3-34-hut-hut,

Diego J Serrano

A humble request

God-

I want this guy’s life….

Yours truly, (truly wanting this guy’s life, that is)

 

Diego J Serrano

Mr Hawking, please…

God-

You know how folks from England sound so intelligent—the way they enunciate when they speak?
Well why hasn’t anyone figured out how to make Stephen Hawking’s voice box sound intelligent?
He sounds just like Ned from South Park.
This is troubling.
Can’t researchers find a way to make the mechanical larynx imitate a persons native dialect, instead of making them all sound like robots?
That would be so much more interesting.

If Stephen sounded like Rex Harrison, I’d probably pay attention to him the next time he launches into one of his diatribes on how we’re all destined to become slaves to an alien society in the not-so-distant future.

???

Diego J Serrano

The new me

God-

My weight keeps going up and nothing I do works—I feel like a tick.
As you know, I’ve tried diet and exercise, but they interfere with my eating-sleeping regimen.
I even tried going from pounds to metric, which worked…at first.
Then I found a scale that displays what a person would weigh on the various planets…I liked Jupiter the best, where I reduced down to a svelte 100 pounds overnight, but eventually that stopped working.
Now what?
I’ve got a class reunion coming up…I need help fast—and not that cabbage soup—shit the pounds off hourly, kind of help.

I was wondering.
Remember that movie “Heaven can Wait”—was that for real?
If it was real, do you think you think you could accidentally take out a news anchor or popular actor—or better yet, LeBron James—switching bodies with me?
Just like the movie—I get his body, he gets mine—along with an untimely ending, and a visit up at your place.

The new me

I’ve always wanted to be a sports star, and LeBron probably always wished he had an open dialogue with you, like I do, so I can see how we’d both benefit—at least until after the reunion, when we’d switch back…only I’m not necessarily ready to come visit just yet.

If you did this for me I would be so grateful, as would the rest of Cleveland.

Just wait until Mary Beth Erickson sees me now, I bet she won’t even recognize me—neither will that idiot upperclassman she married, Tony—whateverthef*ck his last name was.

Oh, yeah, can I get a couple o’ bitches to go wth me to the reunion?
I’ll need some bitches, God…maybe even a ho or two.
Oh, and a limo.

Thanks in advance.

Love,

Diego J Serrano

What year is this?

God-

Do Muslims go by a different calendar year than Christians?
Shouldn’t they be on a different calendar year—or did Jesus and Mohammed die in the same year?

checking,

Diego J Serrano

-J

Formal Complaint

God-

I’d like to make a formal complaint about our (mens) body design.
I don’t like how you designed our junk—why is it so sausage-like?
Couldn’t you have designed it to resemble a pizza or birthday cake—why a sausage?

Lets say you went with pizza, think about it.
The first time a person disrobes in another’s presence, and he/she gets a good look at their personal pan-sized pizza (Chicago-style) with at least 3 toppings—how glorious would that be—what a treat!

Or, think how festive if our junk was shaped like a birthday cake—one with little blue rosettes (butter cream, not that fake whipped cream) with some clever script that read— “Happy Birthday Diego!”

And you know how you disapprove of homos?

Kids: Leave the room

Well problem solved.
I’ve never heard of anyone shoving a birthday cake or pizza up their partners ass—have you?
What a mess!

God, when I get to Heaven, you can bet your sandals this’ll be the first thing I put in your suggestion box.

You do read the suggestions from time to time, don’t you?

Love,

Diego J Serrano

My 4th grade she-devil

God-

Does the devil have a wife?
Does she have horns and an arrow on the end of her tail—is she red and scaly?

My 4th grade teacher, Mrs. Lockett, was red and scaly…and she wore a bouffant hair-do, and she was galacticly mean.

My mom said the red scaly skin was something called psoriasis, but I never bought it.
I think  the psoriasis was a cover-up—a clever ploy—and the bouffant, well, it was hiding her horns.
I’m not sure about the tail however, she did have a really big behind so it would’ve been fairly easy to conceal.

I always knew she was sinister God, especially with all those wise-cracks about men being two-legged wolves.
Mom routinely dismissed my warnings about her, she explained how she was recently jilted by Mr Shultz, the P.E. teacher—but I still believed she was really Mrs. Lucifer in disguise.

God, I think the Catholic school system should conduct more thorough background searches…particularly as it relates to people with rashes or skin conditions like Mrs. Lockett—these could be all important clues as to ones real identity.
I’d even suggest they get a priest to conduct a strip search (they’re good at it) to check for a tail.
No child should have to endure a she devil like Mrs. Lockett.

4th Grade Abomination

On a side note, do people still name their kids Lucifer, or was that name banished from the popular baby name pool?

Still fuming over my 4th grade, drag-me-to-hell nightmare.

Diego J Serrano

Will NOT work for food!

God-
They taught us in Catholic school how rich people aren’t allowed to enter Heaven—is this right?
Apparently, Jesus was going around telling everyone a rich man had about as much chance of getting into heaven as he did threading the eye of a needle with a camel (not the cigarette).
If this is true, does that mean Heaven is full of poor people?  

That would be awful—poor people can really bring you down—especially at stop-lights, where they beg for money.
I really don’t care for panhandlers, God—Are there panhandlers in Heaven?
Do they wander around like they do here, with little signs that say, “Will work for food?”
What a load.
I saw one of these guys at a stop-light once, I told him to jump in the truck, explaining how I had a job for him (actually, I was going to beat him up and take his stash of weed) but he refused, simply asking for the money instead.  

I wouldn't beat her up, I don't hit women

  

God, this is wrong.
All you’re really doing is promoting their being lazy and unkempt.
People who can obviously afford weed shouldn’t be begging for money, or, pretending they want to work—and deserve everything they have coming to them, like a good beatdown and their stash taken away!  

Vigilantly yours,  

Diego J Serrano

Taser the ones you love

God-

Will I be allowed to haunt people after I die?
I’ve always been afraid of ghosts, so this could be a good way to confront my fears (my psychiatrist says this is healthy).
But so you know,  I don’t plan on haunting everyone, well, at least not at first.
I thought I’d  practice up on people I don’t know…scaring the bejesus out of a white-knuckler or two at the airport, or perhaps an old man—one who drives real slow in heavy traffic (with a dumb looking hat).
Then, when I have a little more confidence, I’ll haunt rich people (poor people don’t scare as easily)—maybe even scare them in the shower, where its slippery.

Maybe I should start haunting right now, this way, by the time I get there I would be good at it and ready to get started!
I have a taser—perhaps I should include it as part of my haunting training—but only if someone gets all up in my business.

They’d probably deserve a damn good tasering if they couldn’t take a little haunting joke.

High voltagely yours,

Diego J Serrano

Fringe benefits

God-

I’ve been pushing myself too hard lately and am thinking It’s time for a vacation.
My wife says I should just stay put, here at home, citing how vacations are for people who work—I say she’s way off base.

I fixed the barbeque a couple of weeks back and also went camping last weekend, in addition, I started reading a new novel (The woman at the Washington Zoo) which is anything but easy to slog through—oh, and I almost forgot, I even re-programmed the Tivo a few days ago, wiping out all nearly 100 episodes of Ellen and The Daily Show—taking nearly the entire morning.

I’m ready for a break from all this action God.

Speaking of breaks, how much vacation time do we get up there? I hope it’s not like here—where they only give you 1 week after an entire year and then never see more than 2 weeks after that.

I will need closer to 40 weeks of vacation time if we’re going to make this work—I’ll also need health insurance (not the Obama plan), a matching 401k, and 3 weeks sick leave.

I’d also like to participate in your pot-luck events, only I promise not to bring those stupid ‘Lil-Smokies cocktail weenies (in a delicious barbeque sauce). I’ll probably do what everyone else does and come in that day with a bucket of the Colonel’s finest, presuming he’s opened up shop by now, yes?

Anyway, I was saying, about my vacation.

My television schedule is fairly rigorous, and by the time you factor in my eating and sleeping downtime (depression) I can’t see me working more than 4-5 weeks per year—will this be enough to cover my rent, or will I need to seek assistance?

Uncool

Working 4 weeks a year will be a tough move for me God, but I’m willing to sacrifice, and thought with your help, I could work even more if you let me ”work” from home.

Do you need any hot dog stands in downtown Heaven—I could sell hot dogs to all the city workers and lawyers, while lecturing the local indigents on the virtues of hard work and success….they could probably use a good role model.

I’d do this 4 weeks a year, easy—but not during the holidays.
I typically use this time to reflect—about all the things I’ve learned (and will subsequently plagiarize) from Andy Griffith re-runs.

Love,

Diego J Serrano

Exactly, what is a brewers job?

God-

Does Heaven have a downtown section—is it near the airport?
I don’t like going downtown these days, not without a gun anyway. It seems as though there’s always some low-life trying to car-jack you or hold you up for money to buy some mad-dog.

Unfortunately, downtown is where all the sporting venues are located, so if I want to go to a Diamondbacks game (meh), I have to go right into the heart of downtown Phoenix.
God, if you’ve ever toyed with idea of coming to Phoenix, I’d tell you to hold off for now—no, not because of the hot weather (it really is a dry heat), because of this illegal storm that’s brewing….which by the way, if something is brewing, doesn’t that imply a witch is in charge—don’t witches make brew—is this why our governors last name is Brewer?

Do you think she planned this all along—or did you make it her mission in life to brew up this monumental shit-storm?

A brewer at work

Or, conversely, does it mean we’re simply brewing something so intoxicating, we’ll be f*#kd up for all our remaining days as a state?

I suspect it’s both.

Your faithful illegal employing, Ak-47 defending, can’t wait to drink the brew—servant,

Diego J Serrano

Working in Heaven Pt 4

God-

I know what I want to do in Heaven—I’d like to be an attaché.
First of all, I like the word—attaché, it just seems cool, and from everything I’ve read, it sounds as though an attaché doesn’t do much…which is right up my alley!

Wikipedia says there are several types of attachés, including military, cultural, press, and agricultural.

I think I would be good at agricultural, since I have some experience with growing pot in my closet, but as far as the other attachés go, I probably wouldn’t do well since I’m not a big military guy, I don’t like reporters, and I have very little culture.

Display only—please don't call the police

So when can I get started?

Oh, and I’d like to request a closet bigger than the one I have now…I’m continually bumping my head on the overhead lights.

Thank-You for considering me for this all important post.
I will do my best to make you look good to all the other Gods and their attachés.

Attaché….God, I love that word.

Love, (and a salute)

Diego J. Serrano

That villainous tuft

God-

Why do filmmakers always feature a guy with male pattern baldness as the antagonist in their action films?
As I recall, the only time this wasn’t the case was when they used that dreadlocks guy in Predator.
Why can’t they use more dreadlocks—why does it always have to be a guy who’s semi bald with a little tuft of hair in the center of his forehead—like Phil Collins?

Doesn’t Phil know he would look better if he shaved his tuft, or is it his signature—kinda like Adam Lambert’s pompadour coif?

Cool looking villain

And while we’re on the topic, why do only men get this little tuft of hair, why not women?
I wouldn’t feel so bad if everyone got a tuft, at least this way, I could furtively glance at them at the NASCAR races, pretending they just shot George Clooney in Oceans 25.

Still cool—even with the tuft

 

Love,

Diego J. Serrano

My animal spirit guide

God-

Remember the time Lonnie and I ate those Yacqui leaves, in hopes of meeting up with our own designated animal spirit?
Well I don’t think they were Yacqui leaves.
You may recall he explained how we would launch into a spiritual journey, guided by an animal spirit of some sort—one with whom we would connect…taking us God knows where.
What I want to know is if I did something wrong?

The Creep

God-

My wife hated my co-worker, Eddie, because she found out he was a Hells Angel in his youth…and because he liked to barbeque a goat whenever he had a party.
She refused to go to his parties because of the goat, and especially wouldn’t go after learning how it dropped into the fire-pit at his New Years Eve party.

That’s not why I’m writing.

Heavenly Haunting

God-

Can dead people check us out?
Sometimes, I get the feeling (when I’m in the shower) one of my dead friends or relatives is sitting up in the corner ceiling of the bathroom, dissaprovingly looking down at me as I wash my butt.
I don’t think they should be allowed to do that.
I’m nervous half the time as it is—I don’t need ghosts checking out my stuff.

Why can’t these ghosts talk to us—tell us about themselves—their life in Heaven—who’s going to win the 7th race at Santa Anita this Saturday?
If you’re going to let these people out to haunt me, at least you could make them useful—like the guy who took George Bailey around, showing him what the world would be like without him…Clarence, I think his name was.
I’d like a ghost like that.
Only, instead of taking me around like he did George, I was thinking we could do something like more of a road trip—travel—party—finally take the time to see the United States in summer.
I’ve always wanted to do that.

Can ghosts drive?
I’d need a designated driver.
Oh, and I dont want them hanging out in the shower with me in the hotel room either!
That is sooo creepy.

Love,

Diego J. Serrano

I won’t do India, Pt 2

God-

If for some reason you do reincarnate me to India, I’m giving you fair warning…I will eat a cow.

I will also make it my business to find a way to use something other than my hand for toilet paper—I don’t care if I have to use my Members Only jacket or an old Coogi sweater, I WILL NOT use my hand.

I plan to barbeque steaks, make pot roast on Sunday and roast beef hash for breakfast on Monday.
I’ll make my moms tripe recipe, her ox tail stew, and even tacos de cabeza (brain tacos).
I’m going to be a cow-eating, ass-wiping mothef*#ker!
Not really.

If you send me back, I’ll find a way to worship the stupid cow, but I won’t be happy about it. I’ll also wipe my ass with my hand like they want me to—but don’t expect me to ever become a dentist or a chef.

I’ll probably have to give up nose-picking too, but that’s not a bad thing.

disgruntled.

-J

Deadliest Cache

Crew of the Time Bandit

God-

Have you ever seen the tv show; Deadliest Catch—the documentary about crab fishermen in the Bering Sea?
Well I’m pretty sure that’s what I want to do for a living….catch crabs.
Only I don’t want to actually do any of the work, heck, I’m way too old for that!
What I was thinking is perhaps they’d let me sit in the wheelhouse of the Time Bandit, where I’d tell dirty jokes to the captain when he’s all stressed out.
I’m good at sea, and rarely get seasick—plus I love to eat crab, but only King Crab.
I don’t care much for the smaller crabs they catch, you know—the ones they serve at Red Lobster during Crabfest?

Why, I’ll bet you didn’t know I ate 57 crab legs in one sitting during their all-you-can-eat crab special, did ya?
But hold on to your wad for a second—before you go getting all 7-deadly sin, gluttony, on me, it was my first date with my wife—I was showing off—and the crabs were those stupid little opelia crabs with hardly any meat and a whole lotta shell.
You could probably eat 57 without even trying!
At any rate, I could boil crabs for the crew, heat up some butter, maybe clean a little—but not much, and most importantly, keep the Hilstrand brothers and the cameraman amused with my filthy cache of jokes.

Oh, I almost forgot…I love fireworks and have never lost a digit in almost 20 years of amateur displays (lighting M-80′s under the security guard’s chair at work).

I would think they could use a guy like me God.

Serious,

-J

Black and White?

God-

I know this is going to sound dumb, but is Heaven in black & white—or color?

I like the way black and white covers my many moods, and believe me, there are quite a few to cover—particularly if I stray from my meds for any length of time.
Personally, I like Kodak’s new T-Max 400, as it makes me appear almost normal looking, even when I’m having a bad day—which anymore, is every day!
When I was a kid, my dad wouldn’t let us have a color tv set, he said black and white was the only ”true artistry.” Personally, I think he was just cheaping out—bullshitting us with some lame, artistry excuse.
But if he was right, and black and white is the only true way to capture art, then I suspect everything in Heaven is going to be black and white as well.

God, this is precisely why I sit around each day watching old “Rifleman” reruns—to be closer to Heaven.
I feel even closer to Heaven when I watch old Andy Griffith reruns…especially the ones featuring Ernest T Bass.

Its really weird how I feel so connected to you through the wizardry of black and white media.

Love,

-J

Cage Free

God-

I need clarification.
If we all get wings in Heaven, does that mean we become bird-like—will we get beaks too?
If I follow this line of thinking, it means before long, (after learning to fly) I’ll be flying around shitting on things, like statues, and people having their picture taken.
It also means my wife will be laying eggs, does it not?

Is this the Heaven you had in mind?
I get to suffer through this life, only to watch as my wife lays eggs in a small wire cage—while I fly around shitting on things?
I don’t think so!

I didn’t spend all that time in Catholic school having my brain twisted around the concept of fat little babies flying around naked, smiling, playing string instruments—where old men have to come back and haunt people, before they earn their wings, and where people float around on clouds waiting for eternity to pass, like a Diamondbacks game.

God, I don’t want to be bird-like unless it’s a cute little hummingbird.
Kids with BB guns can’t take them down, and, they don’t go around pooping on everything.

As far as my wife laying farm-fresh eggs, I suppose if that’s the way it has to be, well, so be it.
She won’t like the cage though—fair warning, in fact, I’m sure she’ll want to be cage-free—but don’t let her.
There’s an alarming trend here to eat things that are cage-free, which means she may end up on someones dinner table with french cut green beans, mashed potatoes, and a delicious country gravy (on the side).

God, I don’t want to see my wife roasted and served as someone’s Sunday supper—you simply have to do something about this wing thing.

Shaken,

-J