A Father-son chat
Hello, God? It's Me, Dubya
Lord? Bush here. I'm confused. Why won't you crush Kerry and smite the heathens? Hello?
- By Mark Morford, SF Gate Columnist
Wednesday, July 14, 2004
Are you there, God? It's me, George W. Come in, Almighty. Do you read me?
It's about 8:00 pm and it's just after my last bubble bath of the day and here I am again, kneeling here in the Oval Office all by myself in my most favoritest PJs, the funny ones with the little M-1 tanks and baseball players all over them. I gots some problems, Lord.
Look, I've done everything you asked. I've been good. Haven't I?
I take the message to the people, don't I? I spout that evangelical born-again crap in pisswater Podunk conservative churches across this burned-out fear-drunk nation like I was emceeing a freakin' rodeo in Crawford. And they eat it up, Lord. They eat that stuff up. Hell, I even believe a lot of that fire-breathin' Second Comin' evildoer-hatin' stuff myself.
And looky here! Look how much dough I induce those evangelical suckers to cough up into the coffers of the GOP (that's God's Own Party -- just for you, Lord!). Doesn't that cut me a little slack fer when I skip over the part where Jesus says "Blessed are the peacemakers?"
Or when he says to turn the other cheek? Or love thy enemies? Or when the Bible says, "The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control"? Or any of that other pointless pacifist hippie junk?
