You all probably know me, at least by name. I’m God and I’m going to borrow Damen’s account for a little while. I know this goes against my usual method of butting out of humanity’s business (after the New Testament, of course. I was a pissed off old bastard way back when) but fuck it, I’m God and I’ll do whatever the hell I want.
I just want to clear a few things up tonight. First off, I did not talk to Pat Robertson. He heard a voice in his head telling him that if he puts his fingers to his scalp and squints really hard he’ll look like a gypsy and get money. What do you know, but it worked. If I were going to tell anyone My plans for the human race, who in their right mind would think I’d tell a doofus like Pat Robertson?
Secondly, Pat Robertson is not one of my children. He sold his soul to Lucifer back when he was 14 to clear up his pimples and for a lay from Lilith. The devil cleared up the acne for an hour, but Lilith wouldn’t go near him. Someone tell me why I kicked her out of Eden again? That girl’s got brains and standards.
Now, for those of you who live in Virginia, I’m sorry I sent that hurricane your way. I was just getting really pissed at Patty and I kinda went Old Testament on his ass. Back in the day I could have got him with that hurricane or maybe a lightning bolt but I threw my arm out when at the Holy Baseball game. I tried to trick Chronus with a sliding curve and pulled a muscle. I’ve never been able to send My wrath exactly where I want it since then. And to make matters worse, Chronus ended up hitting the winning home run anyway.
Also, I wanted everyone to know that F.G. Fitzer was right and to look out for storks with their tongues hanging out of their beaks.
P.S. I am not infallible and I don’t have a personal hand in creating every human on earth. If I did, do you honestly think I would create George Bush?