Thursday, January 3, 2008


Every year before New Year’s, Pat Robertson caucuses privately with God and returns to give His message to the staffs of the Christian Broadcasting Network and Regent University. This year, according to Pat, God said He’s going to turn 250 million Chinese into Christians. Well, actually, I also just spoke to God and He says He never said that. And He’s a little pissed:

God: “Get it straight. I never spoke to Pat Roberson. Never. Not once. Pat Robertson is a deranged, blackhearted, greedy old bastard. He’s a poser. A fake. And seriously fucking nuts. I mean, where does this mofo get off claiming he goes to the shitter and comes back five minutes later with a message from Me saying I’m going to turn a quarter of a country’s population into Christians? Water into wine? Chinese into Christians? Just like that? Why? They’re fine the way they are. How about if I turn 250 million Christians into Chinese? How about that?

This asshole has been misquoting me for years and I’m sick of it. Really. I’m done. I mean, think, people! If I were going to pick a messenger to interpret Me, do you really think I’d pick some megalomaniacal, money hungry dipshit in a bad suit? And that stupid, fucking smile. I wouldn’t buy a side of fries from this asshole, let alone a way of life.

I speak through the wind. Through nature. Through the poor. Through love, however it expresses itself. Through kindness, compassion and selflessness. Oh, and I’ve been meaning to call Al Gore. Like what he’s been up to lately. My only message to the world is live and let live and be kind to other creatures. All religions are simply roads to Me. To suggest otherwise is the worst kind of arrogance and cultural chauvinism. Frankly, if all I had to go by was this schmuck’s take on life, I’d be an atheist, too. By the way, loved the Hitchens’ book. Very amusing. A little sketchy on the scholarship in parts but I dug the passion and wit. Gotta love the Brits when they get a few whiskeys and a ciggy in ‘em.

So, please, go forth and deliver My word to the multitudes. Pat Robertson DOES NOT speak for Me. I’d come down and deliver the message myself but I’m too busy roasting Jerry Falwell over an open firepit. Our version of a luau, only with a real pig. Actually, the only reason he’s up here at all is that we’ve had to evacuate Hell, as we’ve contracted with Disney to renovate it into a theme park called InfernoDisney. We’ve got a urine-filled wave pool (is there any other kind?), a Christian Rock version of “It’s a Small World” on a continuous loop, only five octaves higher, and 2 million TV channels with nothing but game shows and reality which, it seems, you’re working on down there as well. But the construction is taking forever. You try dealing with those Disney lawyers. But soon as it’s done you can tell Pat I will be voting his ass off the island pronto. Oh, and I’m sending Hitler back to Earth for a while. He’s pissing off everyone here and it seems he made a deal to write an Op Ed column for the Times.”

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