uuuuuuuuggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhh...
Today...totally hungover.
The clicks of my keyboard sound like cacophonous promises of deliverance and death that are never fulfilled. I know now how cancer patients feel...or Viet Nam vets. The gay ones, at least. I just want to end it all, but I'm bound inexplicably, perhaps by honor or pride or some fleeting hope, to fight it. Perhaps I should just let go. Let it all happen. Perhaps I should...
...OH! Oh God! I feel like I'm gonna boot.
No, God. Chew it back. Breathe. Fists with Your toes.
Water. I need...water. One sec.
I'm back. See? It only took one sec! (OW...Even typing exclamation points hurts. No more exclamation points for the rest of the day, you hear? If you type one...LAKE OF FIRE! [OW])
I'm God, dammit! (OW)
Ugh...I never should have had those last Hornitos Torpedoes. Just...that's when it all fell apart. That's when it all went fuzzy.
And why does my butt hurt?
You know? I'd like to take a moment and talk about Satan.
As you should already know, Satan really tried to pull one over on your ol' pal, God. That...I just...I...lots of umbrage right there. You know? LOTS of umbrage! (OW)
I'd be remiss if I were to just let him punk me like that, right? I'd lose my street cred(insert exclamation point). So you're about to witness, right now, the opening salvo of my viscous counterattack on the Little Horn, Lucifer B. Satan.
Wait...did I just say my counterattack was gonna be viscous? Heh. I totally meant vicious. Errrr...I think I'm still a little drunk. No matter. It wasn't a mistake. It was an intelligent design, albeit a subconscious one. I've planned to hit Lucy viscously anyway. One arm of my strategy is to wait until he utters the words, "I don't know", at which point I'll drop a bucket of green slime on him.
Ha HAAA(exclamation pointage). God rule-
Oh crap...here we go again. (Chewitbackchewitbackchewitback)
All better. I really gotta be careful about that, though. You know what happened the last time I vomited?
Yeah. Chernobyl.
So...yeah. Satan. Boy, have I got stories. Heh. Have I ever. And I'm going to tell you them one at a time. That's gonna be My payback to him for trying to punk me like that. I just want you to know that these stories should in NO WAY alter your fears of the LAKE O FFIRE-rrp. One sec.
K. I think it's passed for good now. Ugh...I should have ordered my eggs over-hard this morning.
Just...just listen up. But keep the fear. That's all I'm saying. Right?
And here we go.
Do you have any idea what Satan's full name is? I've told you that it's Lucifer B. Satan, right? I know that. I'm God, dammit. I know all. But do you know what the "B" stands for?
Now I'm pretty sure that you're sitting there thinking, "Well...yeah, God. The 'B' stands for 'Beelzebub'. Easy Jeezy Creezy."
WRONG(exclamation pointalation) It's not Beelzebub. Beelzebub is a linguistic mutation (not that I believe in mutations...that's Evolutionist speak right there) of "Baal Zebub", who is considered a pagan god, also known as "the lord of the flies" or "the lord of feces".
While all very fitting, it's still not true. You see, that pagan god Baal Zebub never actually existed. Not that you need to hear it but NO other god ever existed. I am the one true God. There are no other gods before Me. And, depending on your belief system, Jesus is (not) My Son and/or Mohammad is My prophet.
That clear? Good. Nuff said on that.
Y'all made up Baal Zebub. Well...maybe not you in particular. Humans did, though. And even that was a bit of a fallacy.
You stupid humans and your made up gods. When are you going to learn?
See..."Baal Zebub" is yet another linguistic mutation. It all derived from what I said to Lucifer when he first challenged me for power over Heaven. He all sauntered up to Me and laid down his terms, as if he didn't have a care in the pantheon. I heard him out, as I am a just and merciful Lord. I let him speak his piece, which took ages by the way, and never interrupted him, as I am a just and merciful Lord. I even thought about his proposal. Why?
Yeah...because I'm a just a merciful Lord.
I then looked at him, shook My head and said, "Sheeeeeeeeeit. You're ballsy, bub," before pressing the button under my desk that activates the trap door he just happened to be standing on the entire time, thus damning him to Perdition, where he resides to this day.
From that day forward my Angels told that story around the water cooler. Well, you know how stories get out of hand when you just let them go. After a couple of millennia, the story "mutated" (once again, I don't like that evolutionist term...but I think it works best in this milieu) into Me saying, "Oh(exclamation pointalism) Thou art Beelzebub(exclamation point-of-view) Thou keeper of flies and feces and filth(exclamation Pointer Sisters) Get thee hence from My sight. Unto the bowels of Perdition I damn thee. Thee and thine shalt ne'er gaze 'pon Mine countenance again."
Yeah...horse patootie. I never said that.
Anyway...somehow that story got down to you guys and you ran with it. I tried to stem it but, after a while, the nick name grew on Me. "Beelzebub". It had a ring to it. So I let it stick.
No. His middle name is not Beelzebub. It's Bernard.
HA! (OW) Can you imagine? Bernard! (OW)
How much did he get his ass kicked on the playground in Catholic school? No wonder he was so pissed at me! (OW)
Bernard.
What a fag.
God hates fags.
So there you are, Lucifer Bernard Satan. My opening volley against you and yours. Bring whatever pain you can, cuz I got a million stories about you, and that one was pretty much the tamest.
I hope you're getting your ass kicked in Hell right now.
Oh, God...I gotta lay down. I'm starting to get the spins.
Ooooooh. OOOOOOOOHhhhh, GOD! (OW)
This doesn't look pretty.
Lift up you87 rvbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Monday, August 4, 2008
F = GMm/R² = ROFLMAO!!!!1!11
HOOOOOO Doggie!
What a nutty weekend I had. Wow! I never thought I'd say this, but T.G.I.M.! Thank God it's Monday!
Or Thank God I'm Me! But I always say that one...heh heh.
Hey all. Lordy! I sure am glad to be done with that Sabbath. Let Me start off by, well...not apologizing per se. I don't apologize. I need no forgiveness. I'm God. I'm the almighty forgiver...or the eternally wrathful judge, depending on whether or not you have complete, undying and blind faith in Me and My works and/or fear the LAKE OF FIRE. At any rate, I want you to know that I realize I came off a little testy in My last couple of posts. I can get like that when I'm totally stressed out and have little-or-no recourse of alleviating the tension. Usually My squeeze ball does wonders, but not this time. I was in some dire straights.
What's My squeeze ball, you ask? Well you'll just have to wait for that one after I'm done not apologizing for being Mr. Noah Snark last week.
So, yeah...I figured out the problem. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, you should stop right here and read this....and then this. Consider it required reading, just like The Bible. In faith, depending on how well this blog goes, I'm entertaining the notion of publishing these musings. Don't worry. I'm not gonna make it The New Testament 2.0 or anything cheesy like that (although that's not a bad title). I'd make it more of a companion piece to The Bible. kinda the way The Silmarillion was a companion piece to Tolkien's oeuvre. But much more accessible. Because, really...have you ever tried to wade through The Silmarillion? I mean...damn.
Not really damn, though. I really should be more careful with flinging that term around, huh?
Damn, I'm all over the place today! it's like I got ADD or something.
Any(Iam)who(am)...back on track. So last week I had a problem with Steve and his CSRs being overwhelmed by your prayers even though I intelligent designed a flawless filtering process to ensure that all your prayers were addressed to the proper channels, thus allowing Me to just relax on My damn vacation and enjoy the splendors of this finely tuned and irreducibly complex creation without being bothered by the minutiae of your eternally myriad and often trifling requests for guidance, boons and deliverance.
GASP! That was a mouthful. Even for Me.
Well, My filtering system was not as flawless as I thought it was. There was one unforeseen faithor (albeit understandably unforeseen as, in the 6,500+ years [give or take] that this creation has been in motion, this faithor was never possible, let alone probable). And I bet you can guess what that faithor was.
Go on! Give it a guess. I have faith that you know it. I have so much faith, in faith, that I'll give you three guessessessezzzz (heh...get the Tolkien reference? Yeah! God reads!) and if you don't get it...LAKE OF FIRE!
Nah...I'm just funnin'. I'll tell you.
It was Lucifer B. Satan himself.
Of COURSE!!! Lucy B. pulled a stunt that has been heretofore unprecedented; unthinkable even (and, rather brilliant, I must admit). And it was this that totally harshed My mellow. It was then, when I was at My lowest, when I was just about to whip it out and start peeing on everything again (for 80 days and 80 nights this time) when I had a divine inspiration. I asked Steve to take a sample cross-section of the prayers, about a million, and run a quick traceroute on their source. 98.2% of them were coming from the same point of presence. I then knew what was up.
As you may already know, Hell is (aside from somewhere you go to eternally get your soul slowly flayed by the flaming maws of Seventh-Circle sear maggots) the absence of God. As such, Satan has been vigilant about keeping any of his subjects, including himself, from any whiff, any notion, any hope of Me. Prayer, of course, was right the frick out.
See...remember how I told you that I intelligent designed My prayer filter to pass through legitimate prayers for guidance, boons and deliverance from evil originating from the truly penitent and/or sincere? Well, when Lucy B. caught word that I was going on vacation, he did something utterly vile: he finally allowed everyone in Hell to pray.
What a dick.
Being as that those in Hell are now, after they've been damned (too little, too late, bitches!), completely faithful to Me and penitent of their mortal sins, their prayers were forwarded directly to Steve and His CSRs. The effect was nigh on catastrophic. Lucifer B. damn-near shut down Heaven. In short, Satan almost brought Us down, at least My vacation, with the greatest denial-of-service attack in the history of My 6,500+-year-old (give or take) creation.
Seriously...what a dick!
Whatever. We handled it once we knew the point of fault. One quick tweak to the filter rules and everything was back to normal. I could relax again. Steve could stop flagellating Himself for failing Me. Life...was...beautiful.
Except for those assholes down in Hell who were praying to Me. They got this auto-response:
Dear penitent one,
This is an auto-response to inform you that I have received your prayer. I thank you for your faith. Your prayers are God's food. I would respond to you personally, however I am currently on vacation in Sarasota, basking in the temperate sunshine and enjoying My intelligent designs of coconut rum, silicone implants and thong bikinis.
How are things in Hell?
I regret to inform you that your request(s) for guidance, boons and/or deliverance from evil has/have been denied. Neither I nor My host of Seraphim and/or Cherubim see fit to grant holy favors to anyone as vile and iniquitous as you. You must be high, or at least mildly retarded, to think I or any deserving of My Love would grant such a request. I'm not exactly sure what happens down there in Hell, but I hope they heap it seven times 700 (the product of which I'm not entirely sure, as I'm not that great at math...but I'm pretty sure it's one of the largest numbers imaginable) on you just for trying to pull a fast one on Us up here in paradise, where everything is fluffy clouds and puppy noses.
I will give you this word of advise, however: when you scream in agony as Pit Imps of the Deep, who have ice picks for penises, are raping your extremities by gouging their members underneath your toe and finger nails before they ejaculate into the bloodied tips of your phalanges some hellish tincture of lemon juice and sodium, don't cry. It makes you look like a little girl.
Give My Love to Satan. And by "Love" I mean "punch him in the junk".
Lift up your heart...but not really.
God Almighty
There! Problem solved.
So that's why I was so pissy last week. That's why I couldn't relax. That's why My beloved squeeze ball didn't work.
And I know you've been waiting patiently to know what My squeeze ball is. I once wrote in My best-seller The Bible (pick it up on Amazon for only $4.95!!! Or from a hotel room for FREE!!!), "Ask and you shall receive." Well here it is.
It's Earth, My children! Earth is my squeeze ball.
After all, what do you think causes gravity?!?
Lift up your hearts...really.
God Almighty
What a nutty weekend I had. Wow! I never thought I'd say this, but T.G.I.M.! Thank God it's Monday!
Or Thank God I'm Me! But I always say that one...heh heh.
Hey all. Lordy! I sure am glad to be done with that Sabbath. Let Me start off by, well...not apologizing per se. I don't apologize. I need no forgiveness. I'm God. I'm the almighty forgiver...or the eternally wrathful judge, depending on whether or not you have complete, undying and blind faith in Me and My works and/or fear the LAKE OF FIRE. At any rate, I want you to know that I realize I came off a little testy in My last couple of posts. I can get like that when I'm totally stressed out and have little-or-no recourse of alleviating the tension. Usually My squeeze ball does wonders, but not this time. I was in some dire straights.
What's My squeeze ball, you ask? Well you'll just have to wait for that one after I'm done not apologizing for being Mr. Noah Snark last week.
So, yeah...I figured out the problem. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, you should stop right here and read this....and then this. Consider it required reading, just like The Bible. In faith, depending on how well this blog goes, I'm entertaining the notion of publishing these musings. Don't worry. I'm not gonna make it The New Testament 2.0 or anything cheesy like that (although that's not a bad title). I'd make it more of a companion piece to The Bible. kinda the way The Silmarillion was a companion piece to Tolkien's oeuvre. But much more accessible. Because, really...have you ever tried to wade through The Silmarillion? I mean...damn.
Not really damn, though. I really should be more careful with flinging that term around, huh?
Damn, I'm all over the place today! it's like I got ADD or something.
Any(Iam)who(am)...back on track. So last week I had a problem with Steve and his CSRs being overwhelmed by your prayers even though I intelligent designed a flawless filtering process to ensure that all your prayers were addressed to the proper channels, thus allowing Me to just relax on My damn vacation and enjoy the splendors of this finely tuned and irreducibly complex creation without being bothered by the minutiae of your eternally myriad and often trifling requests for guidance, boons and deliverance.
GASP! That was a mouthful. Even for Me.
Well, My filtering system was not as flawless as I thought it was. There was one unforeseen faithor (albeit understandably unforeseen as, in the 6,500+ years [give or take] that this creation has been in motion, this faithor was never possible, let alone probable). And I bet you can guess what that faithor was.
Go on! Give it a guess. I have faith that you know it. I have so much faith, in faith, that I'll give you three guessessessezzzz (heh...get the Tolkien reference? Yeah! God reads!) and if you don't get it...LAKE OF FIRE!
Nah...I'm just funnin'. I'll tell you.
It was Lucifer B. Satan himself.
Of COURSE!!! Lucy B. pulled a stunt that has been heretofore unprecedented; unthinkable even (and, rather brilliant, I must admit). And it was this that totally harshed My mellow. It was then, when I was at My lowest, when I was just about to whip it out and start peeing on everything again (for 80 days and 80 nights this time) when I had a divine inspiration. I asked Steve to take a sample cross-section of the prayers, about a million, and run a quick traceroute on their source. 98.2% of them were coming from the same point of presence. I then knew what was up.
As you may already know, Hell is (aside from somewhere you go to eternally get your soul slowly flayed by the flaming maws of Seventh-Circle sear maggots) the absence of God. As such, Satan has been vigilant about keeping any of his subjects, including himself, from any whiff, any notion, any hope of Me. Prayer, of course, was right the frick out.
See...remember how I told you that I intelligent designed My prayer filter to pass through legitimate prayers for guidance, boons and deliverance from evil originating from the truly penitent and/or sincere? Well, when Lucy B. caught word that I was going on vacation, he did something utterly vile: he finally allowed everyone in Hell to pray.
What a dick.
Being as that those in Hell are now, after they've been damned (too little, too late, bitches!), completely faithful to Me and penitent of their mortal sins, their prayers were forwarded directly to Steve and His CSRs. The effect was nigh on catastrophic. Lucifer B. damn-near shut down Heaven. In short, Satan almost brought Us down, at least My vacation, with the greatest denial-of-service attack in the history of My 6,500+-year-old (give or take) creation.
Seriously...what a dick!
Whatever. We handled it once we knew the point of fault. One quick tweak to the filter rules and everything was back to normal. I could relax again. Steve could stop flagellating Himself for failing Me. Life...was...beautiful.
Except for those assholes down in Hell who were praying to Me. They got this auto-response:
************************************
Dear penitent one,
This is an auto-response to inform you that I have received your prayer. I thank you for your faith. Your prayers are God's food. I would respond to you personally, however I am currently on vacation in Sarasota, basking in the temperate sunshine and enjoying My intelligent designs of coconut rum, silicone implants and thong bikinis.
How are things in Hell?
I regret to inform you that your request(s) for guidance, boons and/or deliverance from evil has/have been denied. Neither I nor My host of Seraphim and/or Cherubim see fit to grant holy favors to anyone as vile and iniquitous as you. You must be high, or at least mildly retarded, to think I or any deserving of My Love would grant such a request. I'm not exactly sure what happens down there in Hell, but I hope they heap it seven times 700 (the product of which I'm not entirely sure, as I'm not that great at math...but I'm pretty sure it's one of the largest numbers imaginable) on you just for trying to pull a fast one on Us up here in paradise, where everything is fluffy clouds and puppy noses.
I will give you this word of advise, however: when you scream in agony as Pit Imps of the Deep, who have ice picks for penises, are raping your extremities by gouging their members underneath your toe and finger nails before they ejaculate into the bloodied tips of your phalanges some hellish tincture of lemon juice and sodium, don't cry. It makes you look like a little girl.
Give My Love to Satan. And by "Love" I mean "punch him in the junk".
Lift up your heart...but not really.
God Almighty
************************************
There! Problem solved.
So that's why I was so pissy last week. That's why I couldn't relax. That's why My beloved squeeze ball didn't work.
And I know you've been waiting patiently to know what My squeeze ball is. I once wrote in My best-seller The Bible (pick it up on Amazon for only $4.95!!! Or from a hotel room for FREE!!!), "Ask and you shall receive." Well here it is.
It's Earth, My children! Earth is my squeeze ball.
After all, what do you think causes gravity?!?
Lift up your hearts...really.
God Almighty
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