I AM A GOD!

I sure admire people's searches for a higher meaning and wish them all the luck in the world! To all of you searchers out there I say: Way to go Buddhists! Nice job Christians! Kuddos Muslims! Party On Satanists!

I, personally, will not be joining you on your searches. At least, not at this point in my life anyway. I've longed believed (ever since some scalliwag priest tried to diddle my friends and I back in '81...ah yes, '81!) that whatever higher power that's out there probably doesn't have much time to deal with what's going on down here. Pardon the reference but, Christ, whomever it is would be way to busy!

I could never be a deity. I'm far too disorganized. I'd do something like send my only son down to earth to pay for the sins of mankind and forget to give him arms and legs. What would've the Romans done then, huh? "Okay Pontius, we can't nail him to the cross. Whadda ya say we just tickle him until he recants his heresy?"

Being any deity with the power to look down and see how the people you created have turned into total knobs would be frustrating and sad too. I'd be over to the god shrink faster than you can say Rorschach. "Tell me how you feel today, God." "Well, those people down there keep killing each other because of my book and just when I need family support, my kid is running around, hiding in grilled cheese sandwiches and window panes." No, definately not the life for me.

Being an Imp would be allright if it weren't for the gay name. Although most gay men I know are a bit impish. I like going to the local gay watering hole and watching those fiendishly well dressed guys being all catty and slippin' roofies into unsuspecting straight men's drinks, then when the guy passes out, they put his hand in warm lotion (he'll have to pee but his hands will be soft) then, instead of drawing a moustache on his lip, they'll make his lips look fuller with that make up pencil and groom his eyebrows (at least that's what happened to me in '81...ah yes, '81!). Then the poor bastard wakes up in the 360 degree mirror room and is being shit on for wearing Lee jeans and a camoflauged jacket and he can't take it so he pulls out his machete and chops people up like he was Paul Bunyan then he draws a pentagram on the floor with gay blood and sings Zeppelin songs... like me.

(* the addition of "like me" in the preceding sentence was an "in joke" for one person. Don't fret if you don't get it. Hell, I don't get it)

Anywhoo, mama don't let your babies grow up to be Gods.

K, bye for now.