Usually when I get drunk, I write a letter to a Hollywood celebrity, but last night, as it was on the eve of my birthday and I was almost immobilized by the crushing weight of my ever-accelerating mortality and the subsequent depression that caused, I decided to write a letter to the biggest celebrity there is.
Dear God:
I can’t figure you out.
I don’t know if you think you’re a really big deal or something, but you should really just get over yourself and come clean.
What’s up with all this aging crap?
Everybody seems to think I’m 15 years older than I am, and everybody, and I mean everybody now calls me “Sir.” This sucks.
The other day on the subway, a young woman, whom I thought was checking me out, asked if I’d like her seat. I was so embarrassed and freaked-out that I shouted, “NO WAY!! WHAT ARE YOU, STUPID IN THE HEAD?! I CAN DO PUSH-UPS!!!” And then I hit the floor to demonstrate. God, I think I put my hand is something bad when I did that, and it would seem that my scream from being grossed-out was misinterpreted by the passengers on the train as being a heart-attack scream. God, it was an entirely demoralizing and humiliating experience.
But you know all that, right? I mean, you’re God. This was, after all, your Grand Design.
Look, I just want you to know that I think it’s a really stupid Grand Design you have going, and if you think it’s “cool” or “funny” to make me throw-up after every floor hockey shift, well, you don’t have a clue what funny or cool is.
You suck as a deity.
Big time.
I would take Zeus over you in a second.
You’re probably ugly, too, which I bet is why you only want people to look at you through a glass, darkly, or whatever the hell it is you decreed.
Yeah. I said it.
You heard me.
You’re single, aren’t you, God?
Never hear about Mrs. God.
Interesting, that.
Maybe God doesn’t like girls?
Whatever, God, you can swing any way you want. I don’t’ care. I’m not judgmental, like certain deities, and just want everybody to be happy, healthy and in love, and so, if you wouldn’t mind backing off a bit and stopping with the degradations of age stuff, well, all would be forgiven.
Michael Murray
PS: Why did you have to go and make Jessica Simpson fat? You had a pretty good thing going there, you know.