Wednesday, June 25, 2014


                                Heaven, LLC
         “Where You Go When You’re Good To Go!”

TO: People of Earth 
RE: Miracles

My Chief of Staff, St. Peter, has informed me that another one of you has given me credit for something I didn't do. This time, it was David Brat, who claimed that his win over Eric Cantor in the recent Virginia primary was "a miracle from God."

Even though it should be obvious, I feel compelled to set the record straight, especially to Mr. Brat. Do you really think that in a world where violence, disease, corruption, and madness are rampant, I should choose to show my all-mighty power by being a ward heeler? Talk about using my name in vain. No, Mr. Cantor's loss can be chalked up to  "throwing the bums out." By the way, this isn't just an earthly phenomenon, as Lucifer will testify.

Despite what you've might have heard from pulpits, or read in the National Enquirer or a certain "good book," I don't do miracles any more. Now, that's probably a shock to many of you, but consider: Do you think if I was in the miracle business, you'd be getting junk mail every week from charities begging for money to help children with cleft palates? Or junk mail, period?

I got out of the miracle business a long time ago (by your earth years) after a bunch of self-styled holy ghostwriters first published my alleged autobiography. Just to back up, I really was responsible for some doozies. I mean, it doesn't get much more miracle than a virgin birth, although I'm still proud of that Red Sea stunt. (Today, they'd probably call it "further proof of global warming," LOL!) But once you believed that I was really as petty and mean-spirited as those writers made me out to be, I washed my hands of you. For the love of me, think!

For example, I created the world in less than a week, right? So why would I be so petty as to condemn the wearing of mixed fabrics? I admit, wool and linen seems to be a weird combo, but who do I look like, Tim Gunn? (Well, maybe a little.) You want to eat shellfish, pork, or any animal with cloven hooves? To quote my favorite pope, who am I to judge? You wouldn't believe what kind of stuff I get a craving for. Fortunately, calories don't mean much when you're an almighty kind of a guy. And yes, for the zillionth time, I'm a man. Women only think they're God. (Like me, that joke never gets old!)

I mean, look at all the things I could have stopped if I were still in the miracle business. Wars. Pestilence. Disease. Yoko Ono. But I'm going to pull strings for politicians? Or sports teams? Your kid's beauty pageant? Wake up, people! If I really did everything you wanted, nobody would die, you'd all have your dream job, be a billionaire, never age, and have hot sex 24/7.  You might as well hear it now: it ain't happening. As the song says, that's life. 

Oh, sometimes I do what I call "reverse miracles," just to mess with you. Did you know that Adam Sandler has lived five years longer (so far) than Ernie Kovacks did? You can thank me! Martin Scorsese losing the Oscar to Robert Redford and Kevin Costner? Let me take a bow.  

To reiterate: I have nothing to do with your joys and sorrows, wins and losses. Like Dr. Oz, I don't do endorsements. Now, If you want to thank me for the good stuff, I can't stop you, but you're wasting your breath. You see, I'm just a spectator. Talk about guilty pleasures -- forget Duck Dynasty or the Kardashians, you're the biggest reality show in town. 


PS: Speaking of reverse miracles, wait 'til you get a load of what I've got planned for the USA/Germany match at the World Cup tomorrow!


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