Hello, America,
It's Me, God
by Bob Iozzia
Actually, I
prefer Lenny, but call Me anything you’d
like; just don’t call Me late to the
Apocalypse. LOL.
Every few thousand years, there seems to be
enough of you hounding Me to stop one form of
suffering or another for Me to get off My
otherworldly ass and reply. But before I start
addressing some specific requests, some fact-checking
is in order.
Where any of your ancestors got the idea that I
created “man” in My image is beyond Me,
and I’m omniscient, for chrissakes. Have any
of you looked in the mirror lately? Do you think
you’re the best a Supreme Being can conjure
up? Only two legs and one head? Really? You
people are so full of yourselves, I almost want
to vomit, but I’m way too supreme for that
and My vomit would be another biblical flood,
only stinkier.
Contrary to all the depictions of Me, I’m
not an old dude with long white hair and a beard.
That’s a more accurate description of one of
the Oak Ridge Boys (the deep-voiced one who quit
the group for a few years before returning). BTW,
“Elvira” is one of My favorite human
songs, especially the part that goes “Ooom
papa ooom papa ooom papa mau mau,” or
whatever the hell it is (even I have trouble
understanding hill people). What I look like is
none of your business; Me Almighty is entitled to
some privacy, too. I’ll also keep you in the
dark about if I’m a He, She or It. I like
surprises—not for Me; for you. Remember the
2016 presidential election? SURPRISE!
I work in mysterious ways because, truth be told,
I’m sneaky and have stuff to hide. So
whenever someone asks any of you something like,
“Why did God let hackers fuck up my computer?”
you have my permission to say, “Because He,
She or It is sneaky and has something to hide.
And you need to update your malware protection.”
Hey, maybe I am the
virus. Coo coo ca choo.
Catholics, stop saying Catholicism is “the
one true religion.” For one thing, no
religion is true. For another, your faith is a
new kid on the block of the major ones, so quit
being so high and mighty. Not for nothin’,
but I liked your so-called masses a lot better
when they were in Latin —it’s fairly
easy to fool people and keep them in the flock
when they have no idea what the hell you’re
saying but it sounds mysteriously official. And
just a suggestion in the interest of reality:
your services shouldn’t be called “masses”
since that word denotes “many,” as in
many people show up, which we know is a crock.
Maybe you’d attract more customers if you
renamed the services “Wafer, Wine &
Whatnot.” Also, purging the criminal sexual
perverts couldn’t hurt.
Another correction before I start addressing your
FPR (frequently prayed requests). Fable has it
that I created the world in six days and rested
on the seventh. Think about it logically: why
would I, Lenny Almighty, the Supreme Being, the
Ultimate Overachiever, need a break from any
activity? And why would I need more than the time
it takes to wiggle My omnipotent, omnipresent
nose to create anything?
Okay, that’s enough of that. On to the FPR.
GOD BLESS AMERICA. I know this is technically not
an FPR because it’s usually spewed by a
politician who wants to appear to be righteously
patriotic, but I consider it a biggie. My reply:
“Why? Did America sneeze?” ROFL.
PLEASE MAKE (fill in blank) BETTER. I don’t
work that way. For those of you who pray for the
recovery of a loved one or somebody who owes you
a substantial amount of money, I refuse to play
favorites. And BTW, explaining to survivors of a
deceased that, “I guess God needed Grandma
in Heaven” is so personally insulting and
preposterous that I want to bang—  PARTIAL SPOILER ALERT—one
of My heads against a wall (metaphoric or actual)
… and you don’t want that, trust Me.
First of all, I don’t need any help with
anything. Ever. Did you forget that I’m
those three omni words? And if I did
need help, what use would an old lady be? Would I
ask her advice: “Excuse Me, Gram, do you
think I should reconsider unleashing another
deadly flood on the Midwest?”
Gram: “That would be nice, Dear.”
PLEASE LET ME GET OFF WITH JUST A WARNING AND I
PROMISE I’LL NEVER FIREBOMB ANOTHER POST
OFFICE AGAIN. Okay, you got it. Just kidding,
moron. You’ll wait in a sinfully-long line
at Christmastime like everyone else and like it.
That is, if you’re ever released from prison.
SHOW ME A SIGN.  . Really. Stop.
Well, I don’t know about you (actually, I do),
but I’m glad I got that off My presumed
chest. We should do this again in another few
thousand years, assuming you trigger-happy
hotheads haven’t nuked yourselves to kingdom
come (get it?).
Lenny, over and out.
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