On birth and death

God-

Who decides when a baby is born or when someone dies—or even how they die—you?
Or do you have an agency in charge of this?
Here’s why I’m asking.

I’ve thought about some of the various jobs I might be well-suited for in Heaven, and this is one I think I could be really good at.
First of all, I can think in the abstract—like you!
Well, not exactly like you.
I mean, I’m not sure I could have coughed up an entire universe in only seven days, but I’m reasonably certain I could have at least gotten a small ocean started or something.
And this is important, why?
Well for starters, I believe whoever is in charge of the birth / death thing is doing a really shitty job. Seriously.
I mean who gives a little kid cancer, or for that matter, old people Alzheimers?
Old people are fucked in so many ways as it is, why the need to top it off with dementia? That’s just cruel.

And while we’re on the topic, what was the Holocaust?
Part of me actually believes your agency was on vacation somewhere, and instead of leaving one guy in the office managing their traditional raffle system, (which seems like the most plausible explanation for who goes and when), they simply concocted some crazy motherfucker named Hitler, put their jobs on autopilot, and bounced for the Caribbean.
Then, as if an alarm sounded, they all come rushing back to work when they learned how their freaky-deaky-moustached asshole just killed off 6 million people, as they were laying on a beach somewhere slogging down Corona’s.
They should have all been fired for that one. The entire lazy-ass bunch of them.

Really? This is how my cousin Jack contracted AIDS?

Which is precisely why you need someone like me.
I think I can do a whole lot better than mindlessly doling out cancer, heart attacks, or terrorist events.
All too easy in my book.

I’m thinking outside the box here, but if I was in charge, I think I could be just a tad more creative than these brainless twits.
Here’s what I’m thinking.

First. No more raffles!
Kids and cancer don’t mix. That’s just fucked-up and I believe your current death-raffle system has a lot to do with this.
Next, I’d make death both fun and interesting.
Nobody wants to read about car crashes, gunshot victims, or babies falling into the backyard swimming pool. Those are unpleasant media stories and as far as I’m concerned, really morbid. Some even passé.

No, if I was in charge, I’d inject a certain flair into what would be an otherwise ordinary death.
Here are some examples.

BUS PLUNGES

Why do most bus plunges only occur in South America? Is it their single lane roads, steep cliffs, and narrow bridges?
Sure, they all play a role, but if I was in charge, I’d have buses plunging over cliffs and bridges all over the world, and not just South America.
Bus trips are typically happy affairs, with group sing-alongs and an unmistakable sense of excitement often accompanying a good road trip.
So nobody onboard will be more surprised when the driver falls asleep at the wheel, veering off the nearest bridge, or plunging over a steep mountainside.
In fact, with all that singing, I doubt anyone would notice as they merrily, (and unwittingly) plunge their way right onto your doorstep.
I know, pretty cool idea, huh?

Next Stop....forget it, you'll never believe me

HIGH SPEED TRAIN WRECKS

Now here’s a creative way to kill hundreds, perhaps even thousands, and without the aid of cancer or Alzheimers!
Old people like to travel, right? So I’d arrange for free travel on rickety old Amtrak or Eurail trains about ready to crash anyway.
Make it one of those high-speed Eurail trains and now you’ve got something really interesting.
Everybody wins!

Might wanna try hanging on

HOT AIR BALLOON MISHAPS

Ever since those crazy Montgolfier brothers built that first hot air balloon, these things have been going down like Sasha Grey. So why not a hot air balloon? It’s  adventurous, scenic, and a great venue for dying.
One minute you’re snapping pictures over the Grand Canyon, the next, you’re laying under a pile of colored silk.
Forget about cancer. All you’ll need on this trip is a leaky gas valve and

KAPLOWEE !!!

Game over.
No pain and suffering, hospital bills to saddle relatives with, or even funeral costs, since rescue crews will never find the bodies! Just some burned-up colored silk and a partially legible Cinzano logo.
I realize this won’t give me the numbers I’m looking for as Earth’s new population manager, but it is a much more pleasant way to go than some of the current alternatives.

AMUSEMENT PARK INCIDENTS

No one can disagree with the statement “Disneyland is the happiest place on earth”.
Well it doesn’t need to be. Not anymore.
With only a few hundred accidents per year, I’m betting I can get some fairly big numbers between Pirates and that new Harry Potter ride.
Here’s the best part.
Everyone loves to have fun, so a few thousand deaths a year isn’t going to deter anyone from planning that next spring break trip, least of all mom and dad.

Then, when I need some really big death numbers, when the population is getting too out-of-control—despite China’s best efforts at birth control, I can always throw in a major virus that’s only activated by blowjobs.
I know, I know…your crew already tried this with butt-sex and AIDS, but that was a lame effort in my opinion since it targeted mostly the homo’s, whereas bj’s could take down everyone, and damned fast too!
Well, not exactly everyone.

I’m stretching here, but I don’t think the Amish much care for oral sex which could be a slight problem.
I’ll need to come up with something special for those creepy motherfuckers, like some kind of barn-raising gone bad, or perhaps a goat cheese virus.
Something organic anyway.

Love,

Diego

The real story of creation

God-

There’s something about the whole Adam and Eve story that’s never made any sense.
Did Adam start out as a baby, or did you make him a fully grown man right off the bat? The baby route doesn’t add up, unless of course there’s a Mrs. God somewhere who would have raised him for you.
That might make sense.
But if that’s the case, how old was he before you both threw your hands up in the air and wanted him out of the house—was it right after puberty?
Did you throw him out of the house?
I would have, especially if he wrecked your car or something?
I know when I wrecked my dad’s car, he threw me right-the-fuck-out! No questions asked.

C’mon God, level with me. What was it, really?
Was it the car, or did you and the Mrs. bust him choking his chicken one too many times?
The car I get, especially if it was all tricked out, but bouncing him for jackin—that’s not cool. It’s like you set him up to fail, what did you expect?
The kid was an only child.
He had no friends.
And toys wouldn’t be around for a few hundred years, so what else did he have to do with all that free time—play with you and the Mrs. in the park?
No offense, but you and the Mrs. don’t exactly strike me as the frisbee types, and the last time I checked, you hadn’t even created the first dog yet, so really, what was he supposed to do?
I suspect he did the only thing he could do, make friends with whomever was available at the time—his dick!
And this could explain why you created Eve.
But then that doesn’t add up either.
If Eve started out as a little girl, (like Adam), that would mean Adam would have to wait another 13 years or so before he could finally stop whacking and get down to business.
But by then, it’s likely Adam would have rubbed himself to death, or at the very least, gone blind.
Besides, I can’t imagine you and the wife allowing him to diddle your newly minted teenager, unless of course you were both from Arkansas.
That’s why I don’t think any of this makes sense.

What makes more sense, what is entirely more plausible, is this scenario.

You created Adam very similar to how Arnold first appeared in Terminator 1—all balled-up in a fetal position, naked and with a mission.
Only Adam’s mission wasn’t to kill some kid’s mom like in the Terminator.
His mission was to make babies and populate the world, kind of like a Mormon.
So, after standing upright and a short body stretch, he instantly began running around Eden with a boner as you and Mrs. God looked-on in horror!
That must’ve been a proud moment for you both.
At least in the baby Adam scenario, if he did get a stiffy, it’d only be about an inch long, and that would be cute.
There’s nothing cute about a full grown man running around naked, sporting wood no less!

Anyways, it was probably about that time Mrs. God put her foot down and said; “create a woman for this guy before he hurts himself or somebody else with that thing.”
And that was that.
So I’m going out on a limb here, but I suspect that’s when you bitch-slapped Adam silly, knocked him out, took one of his ribs, and created a full grown playmate, Eve.
Then, as Adam slowy gained consciousness, he notices this really hot babe standing there, naked, and everyone was happy.
That is until that thieving little bitch ganked your special apple.

This makes a whole lot more sense than does the baby Adam and Eve scenario, and, helps to explain why you got so pissed off, finally throwing them both out of the garden.
He was this turgid fuck who couldn’t keep his schlong in his fig leaf and she was a thieving little slut.

And since we all descended from that special duo, that explains why we have politicians and celebrities in the world today.

I think I’m close on this one.
Am I?

Love,

Diego

Church music: out with the organ, in with the drums

God-

I have a question.
Whose bright idea was it to designate the organ as official musical instrument of the church—was it you?
If it was, I hate to say it but you kinda screwed up on that one.

The organ, save for the boring as shit sermons, the kneeling, the holding hands, and the uncomfortable seating, has got to be one of the primary reasons I can’t stand going to church. I hate organ music.
Organ music (the kind they play in church) is just plain sad, and to some extent, scary, like you’re in a horror movie or something.
Besides, who plays the organ these days anyway? Just try to name one pop star who made it big on the organ?
Nobody, right?
Don’t believe me? Google “popular organ players” and see what pops up. Nothing.
Do you know why?
Because there is no such thing as a popular organ player. Hell, Lawrence Welk didn’t even have an organ player in his band and if anyone should have, it would’ve been him.
And that makes me question if you were you on a mission to have church music bring everyone down, because if you were, I think you pretty much succeeded.

Sometimes I just don’t get you.
See, if I was in your shoes, and I got to choose the kind of music to play in church, I’d have gone with a live band as my first option. Live bands always draw crowds, and isn’t that what you want? Big numbers of church-goers?
The live band would also help take a person’s mind off how excruciatingly boring church can be at times, (which is pretty much all the time, for me anyway).
I think it would be kind of cool to have a lead guitarist softly strumming Stairway to Heaven as background music while the priest is giving his sermon. That would actually improve my holiness stats since I’d tend to focus on the lyrics instead of checking out any hot church-babe strays that showed up for services that day.

But let’s say, for the sake of argument, the only live bands back in the day were Mozart or Beethoven. Under those circumstances, I could see where the live band wouldn’t have been such a hot choice.
Some of that classical shit can get pretty boring. Combine that with a bad sermon and now you’ve got a real mess on your hands.

Maybe the live band isn’t such a good idea after all. Maybe a better choice would have been the drums!
Bongos, snare, bass, timpani, even steel drums. Now that would be cool.
Drums, after all have been around forever. Even cavemen played the drums.

Remember how Santana had all those drums in his band at Woodstock. Well it could be just like that only better, without Santana singing any of his stupid lyrics.
Just think, if you had gone with drums, communion would be an entirely different event, as a drum roll would precede each person’s communion.
And when the priest is about to pull off a big move, like polishing the chalice, or doing the blessing at the end of mass, you could have dual timpani’s kick in for a proper grand finale!
Then, on holidays like Easter and Christmas, you could feature a really big drum solo, like the ones in all those Queen songs.
I like that idea.
In fact, I think you should make a big solo standard right after communion, as you’re finishing up the mass.

That way, I could snag my communion, get seated, say my thank you prayer, bolt for the car, and get the hell out of there before all the other church-fucks beat me to the parking lot.

Time for a change God,

Diego

My soul to take…on Ebay!

God-

I need a favor.
I’m listing my soul on Ebay soon and wanted your input as to its fair market value prior to doing so.
Normally, I’d do my homework beforehand, looking up a similar year, make, and model so I know where to start the bidding, but in this case, I don’t see where anyone else currently has their soul on the market and my fear is that I could really lowball the damned thing.
This could be dangerous.
I can totally see where some douche might take advantage of my below market pricing, pick it on the cheap, and then expect me to sing and dance like Mr. Bojangles for his perverse delight.

God, the family business is no longer, (Thank you Wall Street), I’ve sold off all available assets, and now find myself in the unenviable position of not having enough cash-flow to support a comfortable retirement in Florida. (At least not without knocking off a bank or something).
Lottery odds stink. (Unless I live to 300)
The NFL and NBA lockouts may limit my sports betting.
I’m awful at handicapping the ponies.
Indian casinos steal my unemployment check each week.
And even if Ellen does answer any of my Pity Party Prayers, the most she’s good for is about 10,000 in cash and a new Chevy SUV.
A few small glitches with the Ellen scenario.
I need a Range Rover not a Chevy.
Ten thousand bucks is like a fart in a Category 5 hurricane when you live in Boca Raton.
And Ellen’s producers would make me appear on her show, jumping up and down, crying, and behaving like a massive tool on cue.

Well I’m not jumping up and down, not with my bad back and this sore knee. (I could manage a tiny hop, I suppose).
The last time I cried was when Eduardo (my massage therapist) twisted me into a position resembling a Vietnamese basket prostitute. (I’ve only heard).
And while I’m good at being a tool, I don’t think Ellen’s audience will swallow my bunny hop limp and cheesy smile.

This leaves me with one option. Selling my soul.
Why not?
I have a yellow star rating on Ebay, proving I’m legit.
I’m prompt at shipping. My feedback is all 100% positive.
And I’ve only had one returned piece of merchandise. Not bad, eh?

The only bad part about this whole scheme is how the Devil may likely be the only bidder, and that’s why I’m writing you today.
Maybe you could get in on the bidding too!
This way I’be be sure not to end up like Brendan Frasier did in “Bedazzled.” Elizabeth Hurley really fucked him over!

So here’s the auction information I’ve assembled thus far.
Please feel free to send me any editorials you may have so I can include them in the Item Description.
It’s going in soon so don’t drag this out.

Human Soul

You are bidding on one used human soul.
Slightly blackened from age (and a plethora of misdeeds) but otherwise in overall good condition. This soul, for all intents and purposes should skate right into Heaven, however, depending on whatever kind of devious shit the new owner has in mind, could be subject to a short stint in Purgatory.

Soul Background

• Spent time in Catholic school, until kicked out
• 8 years of Catechism (never kicked out but now wish I was)
• Confirmation / First Holy Communion recipient
• Former Alter Boy  (never abused by Father Murphy)
• Prays regularly, albeit electronically,  Emails to God©
• Have always stayed pretty true to the 10 commandments (With the exception of all the ones pertaining to coveting stuff).
• No major prejudice’s to speak of, except maybe Al Qaeda, Taliban, and The Monkees

Possible Heavenly deterrents

• Socked a kid in the head with a brick when I was eleven. He survived but is now in the Arizona legislature.
• Ran over a kid with my Jeep  (Important note: hitting kids is not a theme here) In my defense, my new Boston amp was bumping AC / DC so loud it vibrated the windshield, blurring my visibility, so he might have actually hit me. I’m not sure. He survived but since there were no witnesses, I blamed it on him.
• About 40 years of lies, most of which were multi-colored with few if any being little or white.
• Pretended to be a priest once, conducting a fake mass on a Mexican Beach so the old Mexican women selling tamales would feed me for free. (This is the only time being an Alter Boy actually paid off). I did anoint the communion goers with my last few precious drops of Johnny Walker Red from the night before. I should get some serious sin credits for that.
• Staged a phony charity golf tournament for inner-city kids and pocketed the proceeds. (They would have bought drugs with the money anyway)
• Stole 4 kegs from the Delta Sigs during Rush week. (I know, unforgivable…I still feel bad).

Soul Disclaimer

Soul will be sold as is and may have several existing Heavenly deterrents.
Soul is willing to do just about anything for money, with the exception of any illegal, immoral, or otherwise socially unacceptable activities. This includes becoming an actor, politician, car / insurance salesman, any of those awful jobs on Dirty Job’s, gay prostitute, priest (same thing), farm worker, Wall Street broker, or musician.

Soul’s job preferences include:

• Writer
• Personal Shopper
• Crossing guard
• Doorman at Jumeirah towers
• Bartender at strip club
• Sheik administrative assistant
• Inventory clerk at Victoria’s Secret
• Medical Marijuana taste tester

I was going to set the Buy it Now price at 2 million but due to my yellow star rating, I can only sell 5,200.00 dollars worth of stuff this month. A far cry from what I’ll need for Boca.

Should I try to hock it on Craigslist instead?

My wife says not to because apparently people show up at your doorstep and shoot you.

I want to sell my soul but I’m not up for getting shot.

Not yet anyway.

Confused again,

Diego

Me ‘n Baby

God-

Just a heads up.
When I die, and they bury me, I fully plan on bringing my .44 Magnum with me to Heaven.
Not because I plan on shooting anyone, on the contrary, I plan on keeping the peace and I’ve found there’s no better way to accomplish this than with “Baby” strapped to my hip.
Don’t get me wrong, I never used carry my gun into public places, but when Arizona passed a law making it legal to carry a weapon without a permit, that’s when I sort of got used to carrying my heater with me.
Why just the sight of that nine inch, nickel-plated, mahogany-handled beauty has caused many a loser to think twice before messing with me, except for this one time when some guy took it from me and hit me in the head with the handle. Fuck that hurt.
I don’t know what kind of burr he had up his ass, but he followed me outside the club, called me a pussy and told me how I probably never even fired it, then grabbed it out its holster and whacked me with it, opening up a nice gash on top of my head.
He dropped the gun and took off running, as I searched frantically for the gun—blood pouring into both eyes.
I was pissed.
I wiped my eyes, grabbed the gun and caught up with him just as he was backing out of his parking space. That’s when I fired 2 shots right into his engine compartment.
Holy Shit!
I’ve never heard such a metal twisting cacophony of sound the way that engine sounded with two slugs in it. It was glorious. I wish you could’ve heard it.

I stood there,—tall—like U.S. Marshall Matt Dillon—in the middle of the parking lot, my hand poised just above my holster in a ready-to-draw position.
That’s when he and his date started sobbing. Can you believe that?
One minute, he’s beating me with my own gun, the next, he’s crying like a little baby.

I looked just like him except for the hat

“Who’s the pussy now?” I asked as I swaggered to my car, hand still poised above my gun just in case I had to do a quick turn-around-draw, like I was gonna shoot him or something.

And so you see God, this is why it’s so important to carry a large caliber weapon, here or anywhere else. Not only do they look ominous, but they can stop a car right in its tracks.

Admittedly, I had the chance to shoot his foot or leg, but I didn’t and I think that speaks volumes about me God. I don’t want to kill or even mame anyone, and I’m not a troublemaker either, but if someone’s  gonna get all pissy at me for stealing his drink and dancing with his date, well, they deserve the wrath of me and Baby, post-haste.

YEAH!

Ballistically yours,

Diego

Biblical abs…fact or fiction?

God-

A few years ago I went to France where I took a day trip to the Louvre museum. It was fantastic, especially the renaissance section where they house all the marble statues and biblical paintings. But there’s something that’s bothered me about the experience.
Namely how all the statues and paintings of old dudes, (like in their seventies) depict them as being absolutely ripped, with six-pack abs and bulging muscles.
Conspicuously absent however was anything resembling a wheelchair, cane, walking device, or portable oxygen rig. I would’ve expected to see at least one painting of some old dude dragging along behind a walker, all hunched over, but no. These dudes were total studs.

So what gives—how was that possible back then?
They didn’t have Wi, or PX90, training supplements, steroids, Suzanne Somers crotch-busting thighmaster or a shakeweight.

Now this is more like it

Why don’t any of those paintings or statues look like this guy?
That’s what old people really look like, at least nowdays anyway.
Not like some 20 something posing for Shape magazine.

Do you think it was diet related? I know my abs have never look like those guys, even when I was young and went on that dumb-ass food pyramid!
My parents made me go on it as a kid until I swelled up like a blue tick. Then they threatened me with fat camp that same summer to lose it all before school started. How ironic.

What a load of shit!

Was it goat meat? As far as I know, they ate lots of goat back in the day. Personally, I won’t eat goat. Goat binds me up and I can’t take a dump, and when I finally do, I nearly bust a ‘roid in the process.
I can’t imagine getting that buff on goat alone, not without hemorrhoids the size of Texas anyway.

Or was it the fruits and veggies?
Sister Mary Cannissia told us they did have fruits and veggies, at least initially, in someplace called the Garden of Eden.
That is until you fire-balled it over some dude stealing one of your special apples. Way to go.

So after a lot of thought, I’m calling bullshit on all those paintings and statues.
If you wanna know what I think, well, I think it was an ill conceived plot by your artists to promote goat-eating and Preparation H.

I’m on to you God.

Investigatively yours,

Diego

Einstein in Heaven?

God-

Is Albert Einstein in Heaven?
If so, aren’t you the slightest bit worried he’s working on something new that might blow-up the place?
After all, he did come up with that whole E=mc2 thing scientists used to create the A-bomb.
Do you know how fucked that turned out for Japan?
Don’t get me wrong, a guy like Einstein would be a huge asset to any Heavenly organization, but only if he stops messing around with all these math theories ending in explosive devices. Not cool.
If I was you, I would have just given him a lobotomy before he got unpacked and settled in up there. He’d never know the difference, and, you wouldn’t have to sweat some giant explosion that’d turn you all into cosmic dust.

I hope you're watching him God

Anyways, I’d like to know there’ll still be a Heaven when I get there, and that this wacky old man didn’t fuck the joint up with some new incendiary device.

Please tell me you’ve:

A.) Dumbed him down a tad (lobotomy or the like)
B.) Got some disciples or apostles (whichever) keeping a close eye on him
C.) Hit him in the head with a rock or something and that he’s wandering around up there with amnesia

You’ve got me nervous.

Premeditatively yours,

Diego

Why do you get all the credit?

God-

You know how porn stars like to scream out your name when they’re having sex? What’s up with that?
How is it that you get any of the credit?
You’re not the one doing any of the work. If anything, they should be screaming out each others name but that never happens—why?
Do you think its because they don’t know the persons name they’re screwing, so they just say yours instead?
I have a theory, tell me if I’m wrong.
Let’s say, just for shits and giggles you consider sex a holy act.
I don’t know that you actually come out and say this anywhere, like in the ten commandments or anything, but let’s pretend for a second you do. I can see why people scream out your name. Maybe it’s their way of thanking you for getting them laid in the first place. That makes sense. Maybe that’s why porn stars are so popular. They’re really much holier than anyone would know.

So what about all the people who don’t believe in you, do they still shout your name?
Like Muslims for instance, do they cry out “Oh Allah?” That’d be pretty funny to hear.

And what about those really weird religions like Scientology, do their followers say “Oh Xenu, God of the Confederate Galaxy”? Now that’s a mouthful and not easily repeatable if you need to say it real fast like porn stars do.

I wonder if the Amish even speak during sex? I wouldn’t have anything to say to an Amish woman except “Now tell me again, why are you still Amish in 2011″? Or do they talk about whose turn it is to milk the cow in the morning.

NO!

 

Whose name do Mormons scream out—yours or Joseph Smiths? I’d probably go with Smiths’ since he paved the road to polygamy.

Hell YES!

 

Sometimes I wish I would’ve married a native American woman. Aside from the fry bread, she’d probably cry out “Oh, Great Spirit” which I could easily interpret as me, and not you, for once.

Coitfully yours,

Diego

One small request

God-

Do we still have to pray in Heaven? I hope not.
I don’t know what we’d pray for anyway, unless we get there and find out there’s another Heaven somewhere, and that we’d have to pray like hell to get into that one too. That would be a royal jip.
I’m under the impression we only need to pray until we get into Heaven, like how you only have to study just enough to get through college.
Which brings up a good point.
Going to Heaven, in a way, sound likes graduating from college. Is it? That would suck if it was.
When I got out of college my parents made me go get a real job.
Is that what you’re planning on? I hope you’d at least have the decency to let me get moved in and settled first before kicking me to the curb, it just seems fair.
Besides, I don’t like  job hunting.
The unemployment office here is full of lazy-as-mud half wits that smell bad. Some of them even look like they want to kick your ass. It’s not fun.
And if that’s not bad enough, my unemployment officer always talks to me as if I don’t speak english, often repeating herself and talking real loud. What a bitch she is!

I have another question.
What about all these people down here who pray incessantly, your basic prayer overachievers—do they get extra credit? Some people say they go to a special part of Heaven, kind of like living in snooty Scottsdale versus west Phoenix. Is this true?
I’ve never been an overachiever at anything, let alone praying, but if that’s what its gonna take for me to be driving a Range Rover and living on the “good” side of Heaven, well count me in.
Another question.
Do I actually have to say the prayers? I can, it’s not a problem, but I was thinking I could speed things up a bit up if I could just print out a bunch of prayers online and email them directly to you nightly. That would be much smoother on my end, and I could send in thousands to boot, insuring I get a spot in the good part of Heaven, far from the railroad tracks or airport. That’s where all the wino’s hang.
I wouldn’t have to kneel down anymore either. A win-win.

Ok, so I’ll start tonight. Ok?

Ok?

Praying like hell,

Diego

Do you ever laugh?

God-

Do you ever laugh?
I’ve never seen you laugh. At least not in any of the pictures I’ve seen.
You just look really pissed off in most of them. Why?
Is it stress?
I had stress once and it made me break-out in a real bad rash, right around my nose. It got all sore and red, even a little blotchy.
You don’t look like you have a rash in any of those pics.

Maybe the artists who painted you just wanted to make you look mean so everyone would be afraid of you.

Why so pissed off?

I had a mean uncle once. What a wad he was. He used to call my aunt “chunky” after she beefed-up a little, making her cry a lot of the time. But the worst thing he did was make my cousins cut a switch (limb) from their mulberry tree, then he’d whip them with it.
Jeez.
Needless to say I wasn’t too sad went he went.

Maybe that’s it. Maybe you’re not mean at all but just pretend to be so the world doesn’t fuck-up.
Maybe, deep down, underneath that nasty gaze of yours, you’re really just a big pussycat.
I hope so.
I don’t know if I can handle eternity with someone who kind of looks like my uncle, lurking around scowling at me everyday. I got enough of that shit as a kid.
I was thinking.
What if I were to paint a picture of you with a big shit-eating grin? Would you get all pissed-off and give me cancer or something? I won’t do it if you’re gonna mess me up.
Think about it. The world would love you and you wouldn’t scare the shit out of kids anymore.
Your weekly church numbers would probably go up too!
I’m thinking some shades, maybe a Yankees ball cap,—sort of modernize you a bit, right?
While we’re at it, would you mind if I painted me in the picture next to you, maybe with your arm around me like we’re friends or something?

I had a picture taken of me with a Phoenix Suns basketball players one time, he had his arm around me like we were friends. Anyone who saw the picture asked me how I knew him and I always lied, saying “we grew up together and we’re close friends”.

I won’t tell anyone you and I grew up together, but I would like to say we’re at least friends.
We are friends, aren’t we?

High Five,

Diego

I want to be Somebody in Heaven

God-

I need to bring cash with me to Heaven, more specifically, my life insurance proceeds.
I know this kind of goes against your rules a little, but just listen.
If we don’t get to bring our cash to Heaven, how are we going know who’s the shit up there?
Down here, if you have a lot of money, you’re the shit!
I’ve never been the shit.
I’ve wanted to be the shit, but unfortunately, I’ve just never had enough money.
Down here, if you have money and good looks, you wind up on the cover of People magazine every week.
You’re celebrated by everyone, and everyone loves you.
Sometimes, if you have a shit-load of money, you start making your own brand of vodka or cologne.
This is an important part of being rich as it allows others (clubbers) to share in your success by smelling just like you when they’re really wasted.
Not me, I still smell like Right-Guard and chicken soup when I’m wasted.

This leads me to the inescapable conclusion that I’ll never be the shit, at least not here or anywhere else unless I have some coinage, and that doesn’t seem likely until I die and collect on my insurance policy.
So this is why I was hoping you’d let me load my robe with dinero—so I could finally make something of myself. Be somebody if you will.
Why, I’d be on the cover of People and everyone would love me.
I’d be seen yukking it up at all major sporting events, and in the front row no less (with my bitches).
Oh, yeah, I’d have me some bitches.
I could even pontificate my bullshit political agenda on all the talk shows!
I’d have a jet, a helicopter and a yacht. I’d finally smell good, too.
I’m thinking we (you) could even give me a reality talk show since I basically have no talent and I’m not very interesting.
I’d have a crew. Money buys crews.
My crew would be lazier than mud, high all the time, kiss my ass, do any chores you might require, laugh at all my shit, and let me debase them like evil step-children.
I’d have a mansion. No, I’d have several mansions.
I’d have a white tiger, an English butler, and a midget named Leopold.
I’d have a movie popcorn machine and one of those pimply-faced theater kids tending to it.
I’d have an arcade, and an arcade fire.
A soda fountain with colored sports drinks, a cotton candy machine, and a pizza guy named Luigi who only speaks Italian and has a big mustache.
I’d even have an old French homeless-dude organ-grinder with his own monkey that begs for change from the crowd.
A dog named Owen.
A whore for a sister.
A neighbor I don’t covet, and a garden hose nozzle that lasts for more than one summer season.
Flops that don’t ever break. A pair of blue crocs, and a purple pair of Jellies.
I’d have a signed picture of George Burns, Gary Coleman, and the fat kid from InSync.
I’d have sworn testimony from OJ that he really did do it.
A male donkey without a dick.
A blind deaf-mute female porn star who can’t grunt.
And a video of Al Gore peeing in the Ganges.

Is this unholy of me or should I raise my policy benefits to 100k?

Longingly,

Diego

Resource Depletion Executive

God-
Will there be any natural resources for me to deplete in Heaven? I sure hope so.
I have a real knack for wiping out the Earths precious resources and feel like I’d be pretty good at it up there too, so much so I believe I just may qualify for a Senior Management position in this department.
For instance, I never turn off the water while I shave, and often leave the water running outside after getting distracted by just about anything, leaving the garden to routinely flood.
My penchant for  wasting plastic water bottles is exceeded only by the fact that I throw them out half full.
I love wasting gasoline and often go on long drives for no particular reason.
My home’s air conditioner is set to 65F in the summer, not a big whoop unless you consider I live in Phoenix.
I have a wood burning fireplace because I like to stare incessantly into the flames as I contemplate absolutely nothing.
I don’t use my recycle bin.
I only use paper plates, bowls and plastic dinnerware so I don’t have to do the dishes, and, I don’t keep leftovers.
Pretty impressive, huh?
Did I also mention how I refuse to “Go Paperless”, loathe the term “Green” in any form, and will not purchase anything made out of recycled anything.
How wasteful is that?

I kick our dog sometimes, too.

Wastefully yours,

Diego

Just how bright is that light?

God-

Do blind people regain their eyesight in Heaven or do they just stay blind?
That would be pretty messed up if they had to stay blind, in Heaven of all places.
And how do they even know if they’re going to Heaven if they can’t see that bright light and tunnel stuff when they die—or do they?
I would imagine after being blind all that time, and then seeing a bright light all of a sudden, well, couldn’t that make them go blind again?
Anyways, there’s some real nice stuff to look at right here on Earth, I can’t imagine what they’d be missing out on up there.
I suppose if they do have to stay blind up there, maybe the silver lining is that there’s probably not a whole lot of stuff to bump into or get run over by—is there?
Do the blind get wings?
I hope not.

Optically yours,

Diego

Whipped cream

God-

You know how I pretty much lived on whipped cream after giving up tortilla chips and salsa for lent?
Well, I really like whipped cream. A lot!
In fact, I eat whipped cream every day, substituting it for milk, yogurt, and cheese as well as all the other food groups.
Is this ok?
Or do you think this is following too closely in Jesus’s footsteps?

Generously dolloped yours,

Diego

Fallen Angel

God-

Presuming I somehow make it Heaven, and, to go a a step further, actually get my wings, exactly how bad do I need to fuck-up to become a fallen angel?
For some reason, the whole fallen angel thing holds some kind of perverse appeal, although I’m not exactly sure why.
Maybe it’s the term itself—fallen angel.
I like the term. It just seems to fit given my years of experience as a fallen human.
In fact, now that I think about it, I may just be the best fallen angel you’ve ever had!
One question.
What does a fallen angel do all day?
Will I have to file for unemployment or do the checks come automatically?

Yours fallen,

Diego

 

 

 

 

Hounds of hell

God-

I have a question.
Are the hounds of hell vicious dobermans or big floppy-eared, wrinkled-skin hound dogs?
If it’s the latter, I’m thinking hell might not be such a bad place after all.

I can totally see myself spending eternity with a lazy-ass floppy-eared hound named Duke, who sleeps away his days on my front porch, waiting for his call to duty on those special days I feel like going bird hunting.

But if the hounds of hell are big rotweillers, pit bulls, or dobies, forget it.
The thought of my spending eternity continually being chased by some big-toothed, slobbering evil fuck named Hercules; well, that kind of sickens me.

W/B when you can, I’m trying to figure out which direction I want to go.

Love,

Diego

Can I call you Bud?

God-

Did your parents name you God, or did you change your name—like Sting and Meatloaf did?
I mean, I’m down with the whole one-name thing, but mainly just curious how you landed on God?
Meatloaf, I get. He probably didn’t want to go by Marvin his entire adult life, making a carnivorous handle like Meatloaf almost pale by comparison.
But Meatloaf did fit him, especially after he got really fat.

Sting, on the other hand is kinda cool… I like it anyway, and it certainly beats the name Gordon.
Sting, to me, says; I’m a little dangerous…like a small bee or something—don’t f#*k with me!
I like that!

But you? You I don’t get.
You could have named yourself anything, like Superman, or for that matter, Superman’s father; Jo-Rel. (Really cool)
I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like the name God and all, its short, one-of-a-kind, and, the last time I checked, still hadn’t made the popular baby name list for 2010. (Most people would never dream of naming their kid God…at least not like they do Jesus).

I may be going out on a limb here, but I’m guessing your parents gave you a really goofy name you didn’t particularly like so you changed it, like Barnaby, or worse, some really stupid name like that NBA player, Anfernee Hardaway.
I wouldn’t blame you if you did change your name from Anfernee to God, since Anfernee is pretty off-the-charts stupid. It always makes me think of some dumb-as-a-rock, post-delivery-mother arguing with the head pediatric’s nurse over how to spell her newborn son’s name—Anthony.

Anyway, as I said, I have no problem with the name God, but sometimes think it’s a bit too stuffy…too formal, and was wondering—what’s your take on nicknames?
My friends have various nicknames for me, all of which represent some term of endearment…even when they address me as dickhead! (It’s a guy thing).

So I was wondering.
How ’bout it if I just started calling you Bud, like my late Uncle Bud? I really liked him.

Uncle Bud taught me to fish, hunt, and even taught me about the perils of drinking, when at age 13, I got really drunk at my cousin’s wedding, insisted on dancing with Aunt Mary, nestled my head in her 42 DD’s, and proceeded to dry-hump her left leg until unceremoniously passing out on the dance floor in a pile of my own yak.
I thought Uncle Bud showed enormous restraint by not killing me that next weekend when he took me deer hunting (He could have made it look like an accident, since I am left-handed and rather clumsy) but he didn’t.
Instead, our hunting trip provided him a captive audience for his one-man, three-day rant on the perils of drinking. It didn’t seem to work. (Although my dry-humping career did stall after that, good thing).

Anyways, I think I’d like to start calling you Bud, since it’s painfully obvious you’ve had the chance to kill me about a thousand times thus far and have yet to do so.
I really admire your restaint—your name…meh.

Ever given any thought to the name Larry?

Love,

Diego

I won’t use restrooms in Heaven unless you outlaw hovering

God-

How clean are the restrooms in Heaven and are they unisex? I don’t think I can handle sharing a public bathroom with women, not the way they hover when they take a leak.
That’s totally uncool, they pee everywhere but the bowl and never clean it up, leaving it for someone else to mop up….someone like me.
I know, I used to work at a Jack-in the-Box, where I routinely mopped up a small lake of piss off the floor of the women’s restroom each night at closing. Ewww!

I don’t understand this phenomenon—why the hover?
When my dad taught me to pee, I learned how to stand rigidly at attention, take aim, and fire, which evolved to include a vigorous shake followed by  a surprise body shiver, fait accompli!

This leads me to believe there are some mothers who actually teach their little girls how to hover, (4-5 feet above the bowl) which is no doubt why we have phenoms such as Lake Lady Piss.

Well, I don’t want to be the guy in Heaven assigned to cleaning lady-piss off the floor, or for that matter, fishing out Tampons from clogged toilets, so forgive me in advance but I won’t be using the facilities.

Here’s an idea.
Since tampon flushing and hovering aren’t really sins, but do generally fuck with the janitorial population at large, why not punish these wayward lady-pissers by making them clean the public restrooms in Heaven? Huh?

I’d be happy to use one of Heaven’s unisex public restroom under these conditions.
Otherwise, I’ll probably just go in the clouds when no one is looking.

One more thing, are clouds like snow?

Love,

Diego

Good thing Jesus didn’t get hit by a truck

God-

You know how Christians make the sign of the cross when they pray? Well if Jesus hadn’t been crucified—say he got run over by an out-of-control oxen cart, would we still have to make the sign of the cross, or would we begin our prayers by running down the street like those crazy f#*kers in the Pamplona bull run—arms outstretched and flailing—screaming—finally collapsing at some point to begin praying?

Or, what if Jesus drank too much wine at one of his outings, tripped, hit his head on the barbecue and died of a brain hemorrhage? I’d hate to mimic that event each time I wanted to say a prayer, especially when stuck in traffic. What would I do? Jump out of the car, run to the hood, pretend to smack my head on the hood ornament and collapse in the street—all for a 10 second prayer, hoping traffic will mysteriously unsnarl anytime soon?
Seems like a lot of work for a tiny prayer.
I wonder what roadside memorials would look like in the absence of a cross—in the drunken barbecue scenario? A statue of a guy in a robe, laying on the ground next to a mini barbecue…bleeding?  (Would the name and date of birth/death be engraved on the barbecue or the statue)?

Sometimes I wonder why Pontius Pilate didn’t just shoot Jesus with an arrow or something, it would have been much more humane. Jesus wouldn’t have suffered so much like he did on the cross, and, that scene would be easy to mimic before praying….I used to do it all the time as a kid, whenever we played Cowboys and Indians.

I’m really glad Jesus didn’t have a heart attack or else we’d be teaching our kids to do this each night before bedtime.

I kind of like how Muslims start their prayers….with some singy songy shit and everyone down on their knees…making me wonder if Mohammed was singing some kind of weird yodeling shit, then got down on his knees—and died! Maybe he was trying to seduce some Austrian babe or something.

My favorite though is Buddha…happy little fat-f#*k that he was—sitting around, probably eating veggies (meh) when his big one hit. That’d be easy to mimic—just eat a few veggies and start praying, right? 
I can totally see that. I’d simply scarf down a couple handfuls of cheesy puffs, say a few prayers, and hit the rack for a good nights sleep, although, I’d have to do something about  the powdery orange shit I typically get everywhere. That’d really mess up the sheets.

I suppose I should just be thankful Jesus practiced celebacy.
Can you imagine how bad it would suck had he died of an STD?
How awful would that be—digging and scratching at ones crotch before prayertime, or worse yet, while saying grace.

I guess maybe that whole crucifixion thing worked out for the best.

Love,

Diego

Slim Thug doing Gospel?

God-

Why does gospel music suck so badly?
It shouldn’t, but it does, and I think I know the reason why.
A lot of people here don’t like hearing the name Jesus invoked every 10 seconds during a song—do that, and I’m frantically scrambling for my tuner to change the station, prior to the singer invoking one more Jesus.
We all know what a great guy Jesus was, is there really a need to showcase him in every fucking gospel song? Seriously?
Why can’t gospel songwriters be more creative?
Enough already with all those incessant ‘praise the lords’—JESUS!

There were other great biblical figures besides Jesus, why not write about one of them—like that prostitute Jesus healed—Mary Magdalene?
Why I’d bet if he wanted to, Slim Thug could easily pull off a gospel song about her and no one would be none the wiser, with all his “Put some back and some neck up on it” shit he’s constantly bandying about.

Or what about the biblical prophet Hosea, whom God supposedly told to marry a whore. Slim could’ve had a field day with him, and the best part is how kids would never know the name Hosea was biblical. They’d probably think the Ho in Hosea referenced one of Slim’s bitches, thinking it was cool—subliminal gospel at its finest.

You know who would be really good at writing gospel lyrics?
T.I.
No one can understand half the shit he’s talking about anyway, so why not give him a bunch of ideas about biblical booty and let him go crazy?
Just think how glorious it would be if you could get your ‘word’ out, while at the same time, we got some awesome tunage out of the deal?

I propose T.I. start with a tune about Cain and Abel,  a fine story about how Cain killed his bro-bro, only in the rap-gospel version, T.I. could have Cain pop a cap in Abel when God rejects his offering of fruits and vegetables over Abel’s ‘sacrificed’ goats or lambs. .
This would be a much more exciting way to learn about the bible than actually reading it, shit, who has time for that—not when you can get hip hop artists to deliver it directly to your headphones.

I can only guess what Eminem and Nate Dogg could do with that guy from the bible named Samson, you know—the one who screwed all those prostitutes?
Why they’d probably have Samson in a room full of pole-dancing, double-D bitches loaded on Crystal and E, shaking their asses like an Indosesian earthquake just hit.

Now that’s a gospel CD I would actually purchase for a change.

 

Diego