The Lord also told me that everybody who re-posts this is going to Hell. I think I might have just messed up. The Lord appeared to me again last weekend. The place was a mess, as usual. I was torn between sponging it up a bit or just cracking my first coldie of the afternoon when suddenly He was sitting on my La-Z-Boy.
“Oh Lord,” I said, hoping I hadn’t left a pizza crust on that chair, which is something that can happen on weekends at my place.
“That's Me,” the CEO of the universe replied. “Hope you’re not too busy to do My will, because I need you to ring up Pat Robertson and tell him to back off making commitments in My name.”
“You mean when Pat promised you would rescue Trumpcare?”
“That’s right.”
“Why don’t You just appear to Pat Robertson?”
“He’s 87 years old. He might think I was coming to take him to Heaven, and I don’t want to give him the impression that he’s going there.”
“I understand that, My Lord, but why did Robertson think you were going to get involved in the healthcare debate anyway?”
“Well, I actually might have let slip to Pat that I was thinking about threatening the Freedom Caucus with a plague of boils and locusts if they didn’t get in line.”
“So, you were in favor of kicking 24 million people off their insurance?”
“Look at it from My point of view. I’m the one who sends people diseases and accidents, causing them to suffer and die. That’s all part of My plan. Doesn’t have jack shit to do with insurance, so why should I care?”
“But you changed your mind? Why?”
“Jesus.” I thought the Supreme Being was just using Christ’s name as an imprecation, but then he went on. “My Son is fed up with the Trumps. He spent His time on earth with whores, thieves and lepers, he says, but that family is all three. He's not touching any one of them with a ten-foot crucifix. All those Facebook memes which show him wrapping his arms around the President? Everyone who made or posted one of them is going straight to Hell.”
“But You created Trump.”
“I guess. I don’t know what I was thinking at the time, except that maybe this guy will eventually give Alec Baldwin a good reason to sober up at least once a week. But Jesus is another story. When He heard that Trump was going to eliminate maternity care from the bill, He actually stormed into My throne room and tossed a couple of My thunderbolts around, he was so pissed. You know how He feels about His Mother.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard.”
“But you know how it goes. A one-night stand 2000 years ago shouldn’t lead to a relationship for eternal life, is what I thought at first, but all of the counselors we ever saw told us We have to think of our Kid. It was a rough couple centuries in the beginning, but now we mostly we stay out of each other’s way Up Here. But I digress. Get on the horn to Pat and tell him STFU for me.”
Then He vanished, off to spin a couple quasars, I guess. And he didn’t leave Pat Robertson's private line, and I think it’s a sin to call the 700 Club number and not pledge any money.
So this is the only warning you're going to get, Pat. You’re welcome.
“Oh Lord,” I said, hoping I hadn’t left a pizza crust on that chair, which is something that can happen on weekends at my place.
“That's Me,” the CEO of the universe replied. “Hope you’re not too busy to do My will, because I need you to ring up Pat Robertson and tell him to back off making commitments in My name.”
“You mean when Pat promised you would rescue Trumpcare?”
“That’s right.”
“Why don’t You just appear to Pat Robertson?”
“He’s 87 years old. He might think I was coming to take him to Heaven, and I don’t want to give him the impression that he’s going there.”
“I understand that, My Lord, but why did Robertson think you were going to get involved in the healthcare debate anyway?”
“Well, I actually might have let slip to Pat that I was thinking about threatening the Freedom Caucus with a plague of boils and locusts if they didn’t get in line.”
“So, you were in favor of kicking 24 million people off their insurance?”
“Look at it from My point of view. I’m the one who sends people diseases and accidents, causing them to suffer and die. That’s all part of My plan. Doesn’t have jack shit to do with insurance, so why should I care?”
“But you changed your mind? Why?”
“Jesus.” I thought the Supreme Being was just using Christ’s name as an imprecation, but then he went on. “My Son is fed up with the Trumps. He spent His time on earth with whores, thieves and lepers, he says, but that family is all three. He's not touching any one of them with a ten-foot crucifix. All those Facebook memes which show him wrapping his arms around the President? Everyone who made or posted one of them is going straight to Hell.”
“But You created Trump.”
“I guess. I don’t know what I was thinking at the time, except that maybe this guy will eventually give Alec Baldwin a good reason to sober up at least once a week. But Jesus is another story. When He heard that Trump was going to eliminate maternity care from the bill, He actually stormed into My throne room and tossed a couple of My thunderbolts around, he was so pissed. You know how He feels about His Mother.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard.”
“But you know how it goes. A one-night stand 2000 years ago shouldn’t lead to a relationship for eternal life, is what I thought at first, but all of the counselors we ever saw told us We have to think of our Kid. It was a rough couple centuries in the beginning, but now we mostly we stay out of each other’s way Up Here. But I digress. Get on the horn to Pat and tell him STFU for me.”
Then He vanished, off to spin a couple quasars, I guess. And he didn’t leave Pat Robertson's private line, and I think it’s a sin to call the 700 Club number and not pledge any money.
So this is the only warning you're going to get, Pat. You’re welcome.
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