"I was really hurt by what you said," declared Her Dreaminess as I passed by her desk for the first time that day. Her verbal bullet missed by the thinnest of margins, but the fact she was taking a shot rattled me. If her tone hadn't sounded so political in nature, I might have believed she was speaking honestly.
The offending remark in question I assumed to be my parting statement to her yesterday during our daily conversations at work. All last evening I kept running it through my head, afraid I'd gone too far. If she cut me off I'd die worse than anyone alive. She knew that and deliberately cut me slack. But did I go too far??
She was telling me of her "objectivity" which I thought was amusing but revealing. A truly objective person tells you she's biased. Regardless, she was opening up to me and I treasured that more than the crown jewels. And she went on to state she had problems with selfishness - like I didn't know that (and share that trait) - but I so dearly loved her speaking with her eyes down, trusting me not to judge her.
But she'd prefaced her remarks by taking a shot at me, saying objectivity was something I wouldn't know anything about. So I decided to return the volley and give her a taste of true objectivity and see how the hell she liked that.
"Well, look at it this way," I said in my most innocent voice, "If you weren't selfish you wouldn't be married!" - implying theirs was a love of selfishness and not a love of love.
Her eyes flashed me an expected anger, hoping I would wilt. But I knew I was someone who'd die for her and I felt no remorse. Instead, I smiled a seemingly knowing smile - even if I didn't know if I spoke more out of hope and self-interest than I did of her reality.
But with her need to lay down the gauntlet just now I had my answer.
Our chemistry had grown with every word, every lowering of the guard, every secret fluttering of the heart. Dare we believe each need never lie to the other? Did we have the strength to grab on to that freedom and truly live at last? Here was a bump on that road.
I feared both her and her wrath - when genuine. I played stupid, backpedaling instead of facing her directly. Problem was, I really didn't want to hurt her but if my observation had been correct, it was a shot straight through her heart.
"What did I ever say?" posed baffled me, pretending I hadn't noticed I'd ever spoken any sort of possible painful truth to her. I knew she wouldn't go for the innocent act and I was kinda hoping she would call me out on that because truth be told I wanted to have this conversation. I wanted her.
"You know what you said."
You know what you said? She's talking to me like we're in a relationship. Dear God, I wish we were! I'd never curse God again the rest of my life. If only... So is she saying that because she wishes we were in a relationship too? Is she wanting to see if I respond in kind and pick it up from there? I dare not do that! I can't take that sort of chance with a married woman. That and I'm a fucking coward who's more interested in protecting his belief system than taking what he wants. Otherwise, there'd be no doubt what I'd do.
"I say lots of things. Maybe you're referring to something I said last week?" I deferred, despising myself, riddled with guilt.
"You had no right to speak about my marriage like that."
She got it out and I could see she was relieved to have made her statement of fact. Clearly, she and her husband had discussed it and decided to put me in my place (which I thought was endlessly funny). The words were spoken as if a language agreed to in a political speech, staged for effect rather than felt. But she was speaking to me now and her facade was all too easy to see.
"What do I know? I'm not married, so who cares what I think?"
She gasped because I had stolen her next lines. Was she going to come clean and admit her feelings now? I knew what she was trying to infer: We have a treaty of vulnerability and I'm accusing you of breaking it. And it was true, we did have such a treaty, passions were boiling over and phrases such as "Anyone but you and I wouldn't say this" and open declarations of admiration were bandied about. Damn, I want to be with you, girl! You're all my dreams!
"I don't care," she lied in knee-jerk reaction. "Nobody does." She had to cover for her husband/god as well. "Maybe if you had someone of you're own you wouldn't be so interested in other people's affairs." That was the end of her script, I knew. A very clever comeback if she hadn't wanted me to be interested in her affairs.
But she had left me an invitation. Yes, I wanted to say: "I don't care about having someone of my own if it's not you." But would she commit back to me, risking her most prized possession? I decided to be "logical" and told myself she's too weak to choose her feelings over her pride. I decided to be "sensible" and not give her an opportunity to jump down my throat and deliciously propagate her moral commitment to her holy marriage. I decided to fuck up and lie.
"Then you've got it all worked out," I feinted. "You already confided you're leaving in a few weeks and after that we'll never see each other again. I'm just a co-worker, right? It's not like you have to live with anything I say." Translation: We've bonded and you're leaving and I want to keep it going but how can I when you're already tied down?
I saw her crumbling, realizing she had no answer for that either. She was conflicted and I winced at her dismay at having to remain in her prison of silence. We both hated that prison. And since I couldn't man up to offer to take care of her, she was left with no choice but to defend what she had.
"Thank God," she said, turning her head away from me as we both wished the conversation had never taken place.
I have a head for business. I understand it's all about the bottom line. I also understand it's about relationships, that if you get people to trust you that creates a positive momentum. And I also understand that chasing money at the expense of quality will leave you with neither (Hello, General Motors). So I don't need any lectures on capitalism from those who think they've been around the block and have such great insight into human nature - as long as their eyes are shut.
At 17 I was a daily subscriber to the Wall Street Journal, owned stock, read books on investing and bought Milton Friedman's "Free to choose". I like the mechanics and logistics of doing business and I also understood that, unlike war, there's no taking prisoners if you want to survive; generosity means death. But like I said, I keep my eye on the bottom line and the bottom line is either a system works for us or it does not.
If it does not, then you chunk it. Despite what we tell ourselves, thinking is not only allowed, but mandatory to survival. The Light Brigade chose not to question why and they ended up dead losers. Nobody gets a free ride to not question what they do. That's how the bad guys take over - like now where we don't question each other's greed but complain bitterly how the greediest rule and spread misery.
Truth is, it's everyone's fault things are like they are. But you knew that already.
Here's another story about another guy who understood the bottom line. He had to make a business decision and was forced to let some people go if his business was to survive. And mankind has deemed it a religious fact of life that business survival is mankind's survival, so how could anything be wrong if it serves the greater good?
It came to be known as the Zong Massacre, the Zong being a slaver ship sailing from Africa to Jamaica in 1781. Due to bad weather, overcrowding and poor navigation, 60 of the slaves had died with many others seriously ill. But the captain had a dilemma on his hands: if the remaining sick slaves died onshore the ship-owners were out the cost of the slaves. But if they drowned at sea they were insured for 30 quid a head.
So the answer was obvious!
Over the next three days, the captain and crew picked out 122 slaves to throw overboard and into the shark infested waters. Nothing personal, of course. It's just business, the cult of mad men and bad men. Another ten slaves, outraged by the crew's conduct, threw themselves overboard in the same way a samurai retainer attempts to shame his master by committing seppuku in protest. Not that it did much good to the cultists' minds.
To a mind uncontaminated with our principles and mores, to have watched the people being drowned it would have appeared murder had been committed on those three days. After all, what else is one to think when seeing a live body thrown overboard to die? But the brainwashed brain sees something else:
Of course, one court case was filed: the insurers wanted their money back. Can't have people cheating the holy system, now can we?
And we are brainwashed to this day. When people are thrown out into the street and denied the right to work, we think nothing of it. That's just a business decision, nothing personal. These things have to happen, sort of like a thousand years ago when a bad harvest meant no food. Now, no mythical profits means no food. We have equated the two in our minds, absolving ourselves of all guilt of who the profit axe casts adrift.
But I say it's murder. It was murder then and it's murder now. I know the lie you tell yourself, I lived it too. But I don't like being played for a sucker (unlike you, dear Light Brigaders). The bottom line is eliminating human misery, to build our house on the rock of truth - that's the true law of nature. Only question is: how many people have to die before we admit that?
In the meantime, all I have to say is: FUCK YOU! Fuck you to hell!
__________________
So before you go making fun of ancient people who worshipped wooden idols to ensure their welfare...
think of the wooden idol we worship - and suffer and die for:
Sally read the paper and shook her head. "Well, it finally happened. Josh got his name in the paper. He always wanted to be famous." She wadded it up and pitched it in the fire, losing herself in the flames. "You always thought you was somebody - but you died a nobody."
When it happens so slowly, sometimes it's a shock to the rest of the world when you finally reach the end of your rope. For Joshua, this had been the worst day of his life - and not even because he died. For though his behavior never changed - or maybe because it never changed - his mood edged ever deeper into darkness over the years, like a body pulled under water a drop at a time. This dry, dusty day the final culmination of a lifetime, his life passing with no more notice than a tumbleweed blowing down the street.
"Why should I give a fuck about anything!"
It had always been more a declaration than question, the catchphrase of Joshua's life. As a twenty-year-old rebellious firebrand it got well received laughs from his fellow troublemakers. In his thirties, his drinking absorbed him as he surrounded himself with like-minded nihilists feeding his urge to oblivion. But now, isolated and turning forty, his was a ship lost at sea and few were the ports who'd still receive him.
But the cry for oblivion can be made only so many times. If only Joshua had known that secret number, would his life have turned out differently? Could he have kept the words inside? But he did say them, and thus started his final day on earth.
The mid morn sun was already brutal as it encroached mercilessly up the exposed back porch of the white clapboard house. Joshua observed the coming solar assault with eyes blazed and dazed from another night of hellish nightmares, these not stopping even with the light of day, wretched imagery wrestled his mind and pierced his soul, reaching out as if to pierce Jesus upon the cross.
What if I never escape this? What if I'm tormented every night the rest of my life? Suddenly, the dog started barking, peering straight up at him as if to chastise Joshua for his loser life. "Shut up, dog! Why should I give a fuck about anything!"
***
Next thing Joshua knew, his final port closed its harbor to him. He didn't live with his ex-wife Sally but he often came to stay despite the inconvenience of the two children. But there was no mistaking the finality in her voice - he'd heard before this lecturing tone.
"You're sick, Josh. You're sick and I won't have you around my kids ever again! I don't care where you go or what you do, but go."
"I can't...I can't..."
"I said go! You shoulda been put in jail long time ago. Maybe it'd of done ya some good. Lord knows something needs to! How could you do something like that, killing a poor defenseless dog? You're nothin' but a monster and I got two screaming kids crying their hearts out!"
"It was barkin' and my head-"
"Stop it! Just stop it! I don't want to hear another word you sonofabitch!" Her voice pitched into frustrated hysteria with dirty blonde hair flying across her face in trembling anger. Joshua thought maybe if she had a gun right then she'd of shot him down cold. She cut the ties to his mooring and forever he was doomed to roam the seas alone. What future now on the vast horizon?
She's right. I am a monster.
Like any weak person, Joshua only found remorse from enduring pain. He stumbled back in shock and disrepair to his rented room in the boarding house. Can I just not feel anymore? Is the pain too great? He grabbed a bottle off the chest and plopped down on the bed aiming his gun at the door in case Sally sent someone to kill him. Where did I go wrong?
He'd never gone right.
Joshua's father, his hero and rock, died at eight, putting a chip on his shoulder to stay. When his mother remarried, she was scared and latched onto security above all, the taste of life alone panicking her like a gun to the head. But his new stepfather never wanted to be a father and sorely resented the boy who came to represent an incarnation of his own inadequacies and he regularly beat the boy, swearing each time: "I'm going to beat the Jew out of you!"
As if his identity were the source of all things wrong. Joshua's mother kept any feelings she had on the situation to herself.
Determined the boy would join him in his prison before he left the house, Joshua's stepfather never passed on a chance to discount him for every mistake and declare him unfit for life and responsibility any time he reached out to find himself. Thusly caged, the boy knew his odds for survival weren't good in a world surprisingly blind to human pain. So Joshua started looking for shortcuts.
He skirted the edges of the law at first, trying amateur scams and schemes that could never pan out. Sometimes even he was taken in the process. The life was ruthless and heartless and left him feeling stupid. But what choice had he if not to be himself? But then he met the Special One...
Joshua didn't much think of her anymore. His vacant eyes stared at the room's ceiling, having dropped both his bottle and gun. How many times had he sought an answer while gazing at the same yellow blotched stains of the overhead plaster. No matter how many times he looked the damn patterns never changed. He felt if the ceiling changed then somehow he could too. Instead he found only crushing oppression, compressing his mind in hopeless agony. Thank God the Special One couldn't see him now.
For a time, he'd walked on the clouds, she lifting him up, reversing everything he thought of life and fortune, gently feeding him sips from the cup of self-belief - because he believed in her. As his spirits soared, the secret, stored up dreams of his youth sprouted amid the thorn patch of his life. But Joshua balked at clearing out the thorns. Why should he have to endure such an injustice as that? Why should he do anything when he was inherently bad?
The Special One knew Joshua had to make a decision.
"You're an angry little boy, aren't you?" her deep brown eyes pleaded. "One thing you're going to have to learn in this world is that no one's got a say in what for the shit happens to them. And one day you're gonna realize what just one helluva gift that is!"
Joshua never accepted that gift, insisting on life on his own terms.
Twenty years later, the words echoed all the way to his sparse, neglected room in a town in a forgotten corner of the New Mexico territory. Anger had become too much the comfortable old friend over the years and Joshua came to trust only it. He pushed away the Special One ("Why are you saying these things just to hurt me, Joshua?") and drifted back to his life of aborted shortcuts - only more so now.
Joshua liked nothing more than playing the big shot, a badass outlaw fearless in his pursuits. To those not in the know, he made that image real - but that didn't make his life any grander. Truth was he was low man on the totem pole in the operations he partook. He never initiated the jobs, just tagged along and took orders. For while Joshua was smarter than most, his part time commitment never made him one of the main guys - a status that allowed him to escape more than once.
It also prevented the big score he needed to escape this empty life he fed like a prisoner feeding his guard.
His pocket watch said two o'clock. Sure felt later than that. Shit, what a day! Sally will never forgive me for killing the kids' dog. What made me do it? I just can't seem to stay in me right mind. Now it's too late. Too fucking late... Joshua rolled over on the bed, all the fight beat out of him. I'm just gonna give up. Be who I am and die. Maybe that will finally make the cocksuckers happy.
It was fragile and a bit amorphous, but a creeping sense of peace rested over him as Joshua surrendered. At first he tried to explain but then thought better of it. Was he really doomed as a "goddam Jew"? But he let the question rest and the room settled into a stable solitude, unfreezing the waves of time trapped within. In the corner of his eye, Joshua spotted a glimpse of elusive hope. Dare he trust it?
Then his eyes shut under the weight of long unsated weariness and when they opened again he felt more refreshed than in years. Was any of it real? But he smiled and remembered an ancient yearning of his youth as every object in his room came suddenly alive and he knew he must capture that for all time. But you have no paint and what money could be made from it? interrupted his stepfather's voice, condemning the no-good Jew from beyond the grave.
But the urge remained and Joshua was tired of feeling eaten up about everything he did. This would feed him - and it excited him just to think of it. Art was a connection to the universe, a lifeline to God and all that exists outside of time. Even the idea of merely attaining the supplies rejuvenated him and he grinned at the thought of surprise an easel and paint tubes would put into all his naysayers who never expected him to give a fuck about anything.
But isn't art a special commitment above and beyond the world, a flower to be guarded?
A crashing, thundering knock banged in demand upon his door and for a split second Joshua thought his stepfather come back to life. He had to consciously push the thought aside and woozily answered the door. He saw the hardened face of Olin Mingo, looking at him as if he'd read his thoughts in contempt.
"Mr. Harlen needs some men quick. That Chama fucker's coming in and we aim to stop him. Mr. Harlen don't want any more trouble from that Mexicano. There's a bonus in it for ya if we get him 'fore he makes it to the courthouse."
No! No! No !No! resisted Joshua the artist. Sure maybe it was a foolish venture but doing something he felt good about, that was just too precious.
"Nah, man, I don't feel like it. Maybe next time," he replied weakly.
"What do you mean?" scoffed Mingo. "This is a big job. Mr. Harlen won't forget it you let him down like this. You suddenly don't need money or something?" Mingo was a hard man but he had savvy eyes that always spotted a man's weak points.
I can't tell him the real reason but I have to give him something. "It's been a bad day. Me and my ex, you know how it is." Mingo the statue stood his ground. "It was really bad this time...," Joshua found himself explaining.
"We all got women problems. Comes with having a dick." Mingo knew just when to play the understanding father to get his way. He was an expert with a long range sniper rifle and it always satisfied him to hit his mark. "But you've got to pull out of it. You can't just lie around here feeling sorry for yourself."
I guess technically I do need to get the money. Then I can make the commitment after that. Joshua sold himself the lie, too afraid to see otherwise.
Feeling sorry for himself was the most devestating charge the Special One had laid on Joshua. He knew she was right and if he didn't stop he'd forfeit his future. Oh, how it killed him not to stay and tend the inner garden he'd just planted! But that's the price of growing up, he told himself, time to get rid of the dark cloud once and for all.
"OK," relented Joshua, feeling sorry for himself. "What else have I got to do?"
"That's the spirit!" assured big brother Mingo, his ploy having worked. He strode over to Joshua's gunbelt and handed it to him, shutting the door on any change of heart. The gun looked extra heavy to Joshua.
***
Joshua stepped out the door, never to return, crying a stream of tears for his stillborn painting, seeing the light only as a fatal bullet brought him home to reality.
One man protested the protesters. "You are what you protest!" he fumed. - Sarcasm Alley
That's one of my favorite lines from my magical mystery novel. And if I had made a sign it would have said exactly that: You Are What You Protest. We are a funny, funny people! Blindly fumbling around seeking approval, desperate to keep our truths inside all the while desperate to free them. That, of course, is the source of all war on this planet.
And frankly, that's what I feared when I headed out to Westboro Baptist Church's protests here in Arlington today. For those who haven't heard of these clowns yet, here's a little Wiki blurb:
They hate pretty much anything that breathes but really it's obvious they loathe themselves above all and these protests are a cry for help. But I don't mind free expression as long as it's nonviolent. Don't mind it all, and in fact I find it refreshing. I know a lot people have gotten riled up about them but I can't get really upset over flat earthers like this. They're not persuasive, just pathetic. And I see all sorts of patheticness every day, some just more socially acceptable than the rest.
Two protests were planned today in Arlington. You can see the Westboros entire protest schedule at their website: godhatesfags.com. (Earth 2010 AD, you just can't make this stuff up). The first protest was truly ungodly as it started at 9 AM and that was just too early for my lazy bones and I only caught the tail end of it.
I got there in time to see the Westboro clan escorted out by the police.
Later, another protest was held at a Catholic church. I made sure I was early for that one.
Approaching the church, spotting a couple of cops.
The Westboro picketers were just getting set up
But a much larger counter protest was waiting for them!
Like I said, I was expecting contention, ill will and bad vibes. I found just the opposite! It was hard not to walk around smiling. Felt more like church camp than anything else - maybe a hyper-inflated version, though. But it was great and a lot of fun and I wished it had lasted a lot longer than the usual 30 minutes these protests do.
It was tough taking pics without a 35mm camera. Mine was overwhelmed by glare and fuzziness anytime I tried to zoom. I ended up circling around, taking as many shots as possible hoping I could get a couple of good ones. But I made out OK, finally getting close enough for some clarity. First I wanted to check out the Westboro signs and see if I could decipher how their minds - or whatever - were wired.
As much as I love psychological puzzles, I gotta admit I'm stumped on being pro oil spill. It certainly wasn't an act of God. The other sign is pure Bill Maher.
These pretty much run the gamut. I wonder if they protested the [anti-Christ 43rd President] same way as they do Obama (though the "Coward" sign could certainly be a reference to our infamous Dallas resident). These signs certainly speak of those at war with themselves.
Poor dumb kids didn't know what they were doing, they just want mom and dad's approval like all kids do.
Here you can see the approximate distance between the two. The police wouldn't allow any interaction.
The other side was much more fun! Many of the signs had me chuckling out loud and despite feelings running very high it never ran over the top to the point of verbal violence. If so, the Westboros would have truly won. I really, really wanted to interact with all this passion but I had made a mental commitment to be Switzerland in all this. I'm too much the advocate.
When you got a cop talking to Wookie, you know it's a fun protest!
I got in behind them for a closer look.
Church members were inside, services still going on.
While outside was pure chaos! I was nervous about the impending reaction of the churchgoers. Dogma breeds more dogma and I would hate to see that circle begin here.
Passing motorists were targets as well.
This car gave the counter protesters the finger but there were many honks and thumbs up from passers by. A loud cheer would go up whenever that happened.
And then out came the church patrons!
They're having a WTF moment!
Now, I despise the Catholic church as much as anyone. Any organization rooted in witch burning is a bent one and by God if you come to my front door with a torch I'm going to gun you down. But I don't hold it against anyone for being Catholic or anything else, just so long as, you know, you don't expect me to think it's important or anything.
This little group of Catholics gathered behind the counter protesters and were very cool and supportive, staying the whole time. It was a beautiful thing to see.
Although interaction with the Westboros was forbidden, this camera crew somehow managed to snag an interview. I asked them later if they were going to put it online and they said yes, at http://www.liberalmediafilms.com/.
This woman took serious issue with the presence of the counter protesters, asking the cop if he could do something about them. He explained that the church knew the Westboro picketers were coming (who stayed on the public sidewalk the whole time) and gave permission to the counter protesters to be on their property. He also explained about that pesky First Amendment. She reluctantly understood but left with a loud declaration of, "This country's going to...heck!" I could tell she really wanted to say "hell".
So who won and who lost this day? Nobody and everybody. The Westboros made fools of themselves but got the attention they wanted (though one suspects they were itching for verbal violence). Certainly the church acquitted itself well, allowing events to unfold and not be bottled up. The cops were professional and restrained. But most of all the counter protesters won the day, not responding to hate with hate (though a few of the signs went too far). The tone was happy and cheery, with chants and singing. You should have been there!!!
I leave you with a few of my favorite signs. You can see all the pics at my Flickr site.
"Dear God, it's me, your faithful servant in the Word. I love you with all my heart and all my mind and all my soul - so you better listen to me!"
God hated prayers that started with a demand - but most did anyway. "Dude, chill!"
"Wickedness has come to the land and I've come to smote Your enemies!"
"You moron, I'm God. What do I need you for to smite My enemies? Only My enemy would do such a thing!"
"Ha! I take it You are jesting with me so I'll conveniently gloss over that statement and stick to my belief I do holy work. But verily I say unto You, godless devils have overrun the land and we must stop them!"
"You're certainly providing me with evidence of that."
Shit! thought the Christian. Was that sarcasm? Can my Maker can see right through me? No, can't be! Not even God can see through me. Whew! "They have come, my Lord. Come to spread poison throughout the land in wild decadence. We must protect the children! Would You not agree?"
God chuckled. As usual, this was a Magic Christian, one who wished to distract with one hand from the speaker's evil while pointing out the alleged faults of others'. Strangely, everyone who used that tactic always thought they were the first and most compelling of all the perpetrators. God knew how to disarm such tactics. "Well, what's stopping you from protecting them?"
"Oh, well, nothing's stopping us, of course. We're doing it, we just need Your help is all because we know You would want to be on our side." Jesus, He almost found out I'm full of shit! But I think talking like the Bible really scores points for me.
"But I'm already on your side."
"Oh...," uttered the Christian involuntarily, disappointed with the knowledge and now with nowhere to go. But God's work is never done.
"I'm on everyone's side. A piece of Me resides in each of you. To be against you would be to be against Myself. I'm trusting you with My life."
So that explains all the fucking guilt! Oops! Sorry God for saying "Fuck"!
Like I give a fuck about that!
Shit! God can't read my mind. I must have imagined that response. But at least I have a way out now! "That's the problem, Sir. Among us are dirty spirits, unclean with the desire to poison our children and legalize drug use. They'd put them in vending machines if they could! We cannot tolerate such sin!"
I don't really believe they'd put them in vending machines but it makes for a great scare tactic. Hee-hee! I'll win God over yet!
"I'm not a sir."
"Oh sorry. It's just that, you know...well, OK, whatever you say, ma'am."
"I'm not a ma'am either!"
"What?" Aw fuck, He's bitching about protocol and not listening to me at all! What a touchy bitch! "Well, what are You then?"
"I am what I am."
I'm not exactly sure where I went wrong. I got my propaganda out like I wanted, but this sure doesn't feel right. I'm sinking here! What do I say? Shit, God, bail me out! This is unbearable! What do You want me to do? Admit I'm full of shit and that my crusading efforts are false and destructive? Fuck man, I'll never get to heaven that way! I can't just come clean, that'd be suicide! Please save me and tell me all pot smokers go to hell!!
That's when the Magic Christian smelled a clue. "Dear God! What's that smell? Smells like - "
"Skunk weed, yes! Hate to sound selfish but I do know where all the best stuff is."
"But that's illegal!" The Christian hoped fear of arrest would get God to repent.
"I'm using this hilarious Bart Simpson bong. Cracks me up every time I use it!"
"Oh my God! God's a stoner!"
"And a Righteous One at that!"
"This must be a nightmare, a trick. The devil is tricking me!"
"Believe what you want. I've always let you do that."
"I don't want to! I want to believe what You want me to believe!"
"I believe I gave you this easily grown ragweed called hemp you could use for everything from clothing to rope to paper. And what do I see? Your sorry asses are cutting down Redwoods instead! I love those Redwoods and they are a special treat for you. There's just no pleasing you fuckers!"
"Oh wait, you don't understand! Legalizing hemp would ruin the timber industry and many other companies. It would collapse the economy and put everyone out of work. We can't have that! It's God's law!"
"Out of work? Are you out of your mind? You've got a whole planet to clean up! You're using an unsustainable energy source for your life support and if you start right now it would take an entire generation to fix what's wrong! Don't talk to Me about no work to do, the pile grows higher every day!"
The bong of God!
Fuck, I could say something here but He, err She, err It, is pissed at me. I have a feeling no matter what I say I'm going to get my ass chewed off. No way I'm defending this crapped out world anyway. I've got only one card left to play: feeling sorry for myself.
"Well, fine! I guess You know everything. So be it! So I'm not worthy of Your love and when I die You're going to open the trap door and send me right to Hell where all the liberals are!"
God let out a long slow hit and smiled in self satisfaction. "Oh, baby!" The words were spoken to no one. "That was a good one. If I were incarnate I'd be munching on some Cheetos right now. Oh thank heaven for 7-11!"
Lovely. That tactic didn't work. I hate this! It's like dealing with a grown-up. I can't win here so I'm gettin' out while the gettin's good. Damn, this sucked... I'm really going to have lie about this later at church to make this come out right.
God spoke yet again. "Oh, and one more thing."
I can't take any more. I know this is going to hurt. This is where God finally sticks the knife in me. Oh Jesus, save me! The Christian dropped to holy knees. "Just kill me! I can't take it anymore. Go ahead and get it over with!"
"You know that tumor you were worried about? I just wanted to say I healed it."
"Oh, You do love me! You do! You do! You do! Thank You, God! Thank You for everything!"
"No problem. Just spread the word about Me if you would."
"Oh, certainly! I'll tell everyone I meet how You loved me so much You healed me!"
"And also how I loves me some skunk weed!"
Pause. "Yes, that too." Someday. And with that reluctance a new tumor formed, growing until the truth was set free.
