Conversation With God

18 Aug
Me: Hey God. It’s me down here…Randi. Listen, I’ve got some stuff I’d really, really like to talk to you about. My birthday sucked. I don’t mean it was bad, I mean it totally, royally sucked donkey ass. And now because of it I’m fighting with my mother and I’m sinking down into a depression again. Come on, can’t you cut me some slack?

God: Oh stop your whining.

Me: Umm…did you just answer me or am I suddenly becoming schizophrenic?

God: I promise you’re not becoming schizophrenic. Trust me, I’d know.

Me: It’s just wierd. All the times I spoke to you and you never talked back, and this time, for whatever reason, you’re talking back.

God: It’s the pity…that, and I can’t stand listening to your whining anymore

Me: Is that why you talk to people, because you pity them? I guess that explains why usually only priests and convicted felons hear you.

God: Exactly!

Me: So explain to me, please, why I got such a raw deal this year?

God: What are you talking about?! You have two beautiful children who don’t beat on each other on a regular basis.

Me: True.

God: And you have a husband who doesn’t cheat on your or kick the crap outta you.

Me: True.
God: AND you have a house to live in and food in your belly. By the way, you might want to think about dieting…that belly is extending rapidly.

Me: Gee…thanks. Okay, I get that, really, and I DO appreciate it all, but I’ve been having such a difficult time lately. My birthday sucked, my kids need school clothes that I can’t afford, AND I’m one step away from missing a mortgage payment. What about that poem. You know, the Footprints one, where the person asks why there was only one set of footprints in the sand and you replied ‘because I was carrying you’. How come I see no footprints in the sand Lord?

God: Randi, you live in Vermont. There is no sand.

Me: So that means I’m exempt from the Footprints poem thingy?

God: Pretty much, yup.

Me: Great. Well, if you can’t solve my personal problems, can you at least explain how come idiots like George Bush and other idiot politicians can have such huge careers, make tons of money, and all the time bring the people of the US down?

God: I can’t speak for all politicians, but most of them, especially Bush, have sold their soul to Satan.

Me: So if I sell my soul to Satan, pretty much anything is possible?

God: More or less. Except that your soul will burn in hell for eternity.

Me: But your soul is really just a mystical extension of your body, right? It’s not like it’s flesh and blood that will feel the flames, just more the idea of it. And since there have been thousands upon thousands of famous people, I’m sure Hell will be full of interesting characters, right?

God: The soul part is true…but…hey…what are you doing?

Me: Sorry, but making a pact with the devil seems like a better offer right now. Maybe if I whine enough to him, he’ll answer and give me the deal of a lifetime. Thanks for the info!

God: Uhhhhhh….
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One Response to “Conversation With God”

  1. your August 19, 2006 at 12:39 am #

    phentermine nice 🙂

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