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Hello, America, It's Me, God
by Bob Iozzia

Actually, I prefer Lenny, but call Me anything you’d like; just don’t call Me late to the Apocalypse. LOL.

Every few thousand years, there seems to be enough of you hounding Me to stop one form of suffering or another for Me to get off My otherworldly ass and reply. But before I start addressing some specific requests, some fact-checking is in order.
Where any of your ancestors got the idea that I created “man” in My image is beyond Me, and I’m omniscient, for chrissakes. Have any of you looked in the mirror lately? Do you think you’re the best a Supreme Being can conjure up? Only two legs and one head? Really? You people are so full of yourselves, I almost want to vomit, but I’m way too supreme for that and My vomit would be another biblical flood, only stinkier.

Contrary to all the depictions of Me, I’m not an old dude with long white hair and a beard. That’s a more accurate description of one of the Oak Ridge Boys (the deep-voiced one who quit the group for a few years before returning). BTW, “Elvira” is one of My favorite human songs, especially the part that goes “Ooom papa ooom papa ooom papa mau mau,” or whatever the hell it is (even I have trouble understanding hill people). What I look like is none of your business; Me Almighty is entitled to some privacy, too. I’ll also keep you in the dark about if I’m a He, She or It. I like surprises—not for Me; for you. Remember the 2016 presidential election? SURPRISE!

I work in mysterious ways because, truth be told, I’m sneaky and have stuff to hide. So whenever someone asks any of you something like, “Why did God let hackers fuck up my computer?” you have my permission to say, “Because He, She or It is sneaky and has something to hide. And you need to update your malware protection.” Hey, maybe I am the virus. Coo coo ca choo.

Catholics, stop saying Catholicism is “the one true religion.” For one thing, no religion is true. For another, your faith is a new kid on the block of the major ones, so quit being so high and mighty. Not for nothin’, but I liked your so-called masses a lot better when they were in Latin —it’s fairly easy to fool people and keep them in the flock when they have no idea what the hell you’re saying but it sounds mysteriously official. And just a suggestion in the interest of reality: your services shouldn’t be called “masses” since that word denotes “many,” as in many people show up, which we know is a crock. Maybe you’d attract more customers if you renamed the services “Wafer, Wine & Whatnot.” Also, purging the criminal sexual perverts couldn’t hurt.

Another correction before I start addressing your FPR (frequently prayed requests). Fable has it that I created the world in six days and rested on the seventh. Think about it logically: why would I, Lenny Almighty, the Supreme Being, the Ultimate Overachiever, need a break from any activity? And why would I need more than the time it takes to wiggle My omnipotent, omnipresent nose to create anything?

Okay, that’s enough of that. On to the FPR.

GOD BLESS AMERICA. I know this is technically not an FPR because it’s usually spewed by a politician who wants to appear to be righteously patriotic, but I consider it a biggie. My reply: “Why? Did America sneeze?” ROFL.

PLEASE MAKE (fill in blank) BETTER. I don’t work that way. For those of you who pray for the recovery of a loved one or somebody who owes you a substantial amount of money, I refuse to play favorites. And BTW, explaining to survivors of a deceased that, “I guess God needed Grandma in Heaven” is so personally insulting and preposterous that I want to bang— PARTIAL SPOILER ALERT—one of My heads against a wall (metaphoric or actual) … and you don’t want that, trust Me. First of all, I don’t need any help with anything. Ever. Did you forget that I’m those three omni words? And if I did need help, what use would an old lady be? Would I ask her advice: “Excuse Me, Gram, do you think I should reconsider unleashing another deadly flood on the Midwest?”

Gram: “That would be nice, Dear.”

PLEASE LET ME GET OFF WITH JUST A WARNING AND I PROMISE I’LL NEVER FIREBOMB ANOTHER POST OFFICE AGAIN. Okay, you got it. Just kidding, moron. You’ll wait in a sinfully-long line at Christmastime like everyone else and like it. That is, if you’re ever released from prison.
SHOW ME A SIGN. . Really. Stop.
Well, I don’t know about you (actually, I do), but I’m glad I got that off My presumed chest. We should do this again in another few thousand years, assuming you trigger-happy hotheads haven’t nuked yourselves to kingdom come (get it?).

Lenny, over and out.