God Told Me


… to tell you to continue reading my books.

Being a recovered Cath-a-holic, I often lie awake at night wondering if I’m wrong and the Creator actually exists. Then, I wonder if He (or She) is displeased with all of my penis talk and creative use of my favorite word, fuck. (Used in a sentence: What is up with all of this rampant fuckery?) So, last night I decided to eat fish tacos close to bedtime, and toss a heaven-bound query to see if the Lord thinks I’ve been naughty.

Guess what? He chuckled and encouraged me to “get dirtier” (His words; not mine). Oh, He also told me to tell you that you should buy lots of my books, and He promised that if you do, you’ll be rewarded with twenty-six virgins or men with abs who are quite adept at cunnilingus. If you do not buy more of my books, the Big Guy said I should warn you that punishment could include any combination of the following:

  • Two hours on a tarmac
  • A toilet paper roll with one, half-stuck-to-the-tube sheet
  • Every channel on your TV will show Ice Loves Coco reruns
  • Excessive nose and ear hair … in your soup
  • A splinter under a toenail

Serious shit, huh?

Man, I never knew God held me in such high regard. Fuck, I’m downright flattered. All this time I was expecting an afterlife of nothingness. Now, JC’s Pop informs me that, not only will I ascend into angel-banging heights, I can take a few readers with me. How cool is that? Buy my books and you might find the spiritual equivalent of a golden ticket to Wonka’s. I must insist that, to be qualified, you may not own any yappy dogs, crystal-studded jeans, needle bruises, arm cellulite, or a penis. Sorry, boys. Our Father said it was my call and, well, write your own fucking books.

His Holiness also gave me some great advice for future projects.

“You really should have your Fifty Shades parodies made into a movie. Do it before that British beast beats you to the punch.”

“The studio says they need to raise three-hundred grand to shoot it.”

“So? Have you not learned that through Me, all things are possible? Have you not seen Honey Doo Doo?”

“I think it’s Honey Boo Boo.”

“Whaevs. If that cousin-fucking clan can make it to video, who’s to say yours wouldn’t?”

“Good point. Still, I think most women are anxious to see a big, sexy rich dude knock the hymen out of a college chick, while forcing her to have a second helping of couscous.”

“Sure, some are. Those are the undesirables, my son. You’re going after the other women who won’t shy away from lunchtime margaritas and Tosh.0 marathons.”

“OK, you’re the Boss. I’ll let Your desires be known to my flock of fellow pervertites. But, I don’t know if I can take another one-star review.”

“First, don’t be a pussy. Second, let Me worry about the next one-star review. That person will have her nipples super-glued together while she sleeps. I may toss in a bunion, too.”

“Wow. All right. Thanks, Bro.”

“Good talk.”

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About the author

Author of humorous essays about relationships and lifestyles.