Sunday, January 30, 2011

Meet Me on Monday

On Mondays I do the above titled bloghop, which involves me (and all the other hoppers on their own blogs) answering a few light questions.  It's on my main page this week because #3 is just a serendipitous too-perfect lead-in to Saturday's post just beneath.

1.  What do you put on your hot dog?
Ketsup only.
2.  Do you play Sudoku?
No time for games.
3.  What is your favorite vegetable?
Sarah Palin
4.  Do you color your hair?
No
5.  What is your favorite brand of clothing?
Whomever makes sweatpants -so comfy!

Saturday, January 29, 2011

Palin, the Paris of Politics.


It's Super Smitin' Smackdown Saturday!


"I know you think Sarah Palin is at best a self-promoting ignoramus and at worst a shameless media troll who will abuse any platform to deliver dog whistle encouragement to a far-right base that may include possible insurrectionists." - Stephen Colbert

Stephen Colbert nailed it earlier this week; Sarah Palin has given up any pretense of being a potential office holder, after halfway through her only term as Governor of probably the easiest state to govern, she shamelesly became the same kind of ‘cut & runner’ she so enthusiastically mocked during her last, and probably final, legitimate run at public office .  

"I know you think Sarah Palin's reality show was pathetically unstatesmanlike and at the same time, I know you think it also represents the pinnacle of her potential." - Stephen Colbert's pep talk to Mike Brzezinski

Her Alaska show was earily reminiscent of Paris Hilton’s own ‘simple life’ series, wherein a pampered pretender shows how out of touch she is with the outside world and how comically inept with relatively simple tasks.  The difference of course is that Paris was intentionally cast as a classic 'fish out of water' and never pretended to be anything else.  That was the point.  "Palin's Alaska" hit the same notes, but completely unintentionally.  For the gun-toting outdoorswoman she purports to be, she managed to look like a clumsy rookie in every episode's new adventure.  It would be like watching "Rachel Ray's Kitchen" and every time her assistant handed her a different utensil or gadget Rachel would ask "What's this?  How is it used?  Can you go first?"  This would never happen of course; Rachel Ray knows her business.

There was of course her 'refudiate' tweet during the so-called gound zero mosque controversy.  Unable to tell the difference between 'refute' and 'repudiate', the Alaskan pagent runner-up believed they were the same word as she implored via tweet "Ground Zero Mosque supporters: doesn’t it stab you in the heart, as it does ours throughout the heartland? Peaceful Muslims, pls refudiate.” -either blissfully unaware that neither 'refute' nor 'repudiate' made sense in the context of the sentence, or sensing that neither real word fit, chose an imaginary word known only to herself would be more convincing to imigrant Muslims living in NYC.
Palin's ignorance knows no bounds.  During the recent wikileaks incident she called for Julian Assange to be charged with treason, apparently either unaware that his unmistakable English accent and British residency made it unlikely that he was an American, or that he'd have to be an American in order to be a traitor to America, or both.

So why the smack on America's favorite spokesmodel?  Because tolerating a harmless clown is only acceptable if they're actually harmless.  But Palin's attempts to govern by slogan ('drill baby drill') and her endless grandstanding with widely reported and endlessly discussed nonsensicals draws focus away from legitimate points of debate.  She is the silt that muddies the waters enough that many average Americans find it difficult to see the issues clearly and which make it that much more difficult for any bipartisan efforts to guide the country out of its problems.

And for that, America's favorite cut&runner goes over the knee

'Smack, baby, smack!'

As always, If I Were God appreciates comments, ad-clicks and sharing of His articles.  He sees all; disappoint Him not.

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Live each day like it COULD be your last

This may sound similar to, but is very different from the annoyingly often quoted "Live every day as IF it's your last".

The second, though wildly popular, is ridiculously dangerous.  There are a great many things one would do if one could know with godlike certainty that it was one's last day.  Barreling through your bucket list, especially on the last day, could bring huge amounts of satisfaction and personal triumph.  With years of pent-up frustration and unfulfilled yearnings suddenly unchained from their rational inhibitions, you would unlease yourself upon the earth like a methed-out viking Ferris Bueller at a virgins-only nunnery.

You might be only too willing to do things like

Emptying your bank account and
-hiring a private jet to Vegas.
-hiring Lindsey Lohan to be the stewardess
-putting it all on 7 Red for one spin

Going to to Texas to throw
-rocks
-eggs
-your shoes
at George Bush

Admitting to your spouse
-you have been faking it since '92
-it was you who got the babysitter pregnant
-you were more than just gay 'curious' in college

Approaching your boss
-with a profanity laced resignation letter
-a chainsaw
-a graphic video of you and their spouse

Admitting to your neighbor's wife
-her Fluffy didn't really run away
-you love her.  You've always loved her.  And only her.  And must have her now.
-it wasn't silk-addicted crows who took her thongs from the clothes line

What a rush of last-day satisfaction!  Once the adreneline fades, you can smile in final victory, lay back on the rumpled bed in the Rasputin room of your local russian mob controlled brothel and cozy into death's sweet embrace as it takes you like a deep sleep.  Perfect.  End.

Unless you wake up in the morning.  And realize it wasn't really your last day!  Now what?!

You already ran out of money at the Eurasian brothel down the block hours ago, and Irina is threatening to call Boris and Vlad in if you don't come up with the $1200 for 'the Czar and the 3 milkmaids' game you insisted on playing twice last night.

Even if you can make it out the window, outrun the rots and duck the AK-47 fire, you still have
-a price on your head (in rubbles)
-not a dime left to your name
-no job or references
-a furious soon-to-be-ex-spouse
-a murderous neighbor
-a litigious neighbor's wife
-an angry local PETA chapter
-warrents for your arrest (local and TX)
& worst/inescapable of all
-Lohan cooties (incurable as of this writing)

I think you'll agree, while it's great to live life to its fullest, it's not worth living like it's your last day unless you're really, really, really, really sure it is.

As always, If I Were God appreciates comments, ad-clicks and sharing of His articles.  He sees all; disappoint Him not.

This is a reprint of a post first run January 26, 2011.  I reran it today because not only is it a perfect fit for today's 30 days challenge, but it's sunny and I have the day off along with my wife.  So I'm not wasting any time with anything other than sun, sangria, and se- none of yer damn business.

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Wanna-Be Wednesday

Yes, would-be gods and goddesses, Wanna-Be Wednesday is back; your chance to pontificate like a deity on what you would do if you were indeed a deity.

Fred of TheFredEffect put forth "If I were God I would I would repair the gene that makes abnormal or non-functioning dystrophin levels in people like Tessa. Everybody with muscular dystrophy I know are some hard-working sons-a-bitches. They could pull us out of the recession."
-a fine but highly specific change understandably inspired by his own personal angel on earth, Tessa LeFae.  It also happens to be similar in tone and intention to a more inclusive "If" I wrote some time ago for my forthcoming book:


I see the same good intention in Fred's (minus the menacing threats of mangling); let everyone have the same fair chance at a normal existence.  There are plenty enough ways on the journey life to get creamed (tsunamis, mudslides, mine collapses, batshit crazy Arizonans with guns...) without damaging a person before they even get out the damn door.

Everyone should get to start factory fresh out of the box (take that any way you want) in full working order. Of course if they later choose to Lohan themselves with alcohol, Earnhart themselves racing cars or Cobain themselves with firearms then that's on them.  I'm not here to babysit.  Got a galaxy to run.

FOR NEXT WANNA-BE WEDNESDAY-

There's a healthy number of followers and visitors to this blog, and most of you have shown the wit and gumption to maintain your own blogs so I know there's a wealth of creativity at your command.

If I Were God has a task for you;  Build me an arc, 300 cubits long...
OR
For those unskilled in carpentry or without rulers market in cubits, you can send in your own "If..." or a new "Reasons to believe / Reasons to doubt".  Your genius will be recognized, enshrined here, and linked to your own site.  (The dumb ones will be appropriately mocked, albeit privately)

Remember, they must be funny.  "If I Were God... I'd smite Sarah Palin" is not funny, despite being clearly necessary.  Much better would be "...I'd make low IQ'd politicians obvious to all by making them end every sentence with either 'duhhh', 'ummm', 'gurgle', or 'you betcha'.

So go write your little hearts out.  I'll be up here, enthroned and ready to judge. (We all have our bits to do)

As always, If I Were God appreciates comments, ad-clicks and sharing of His articles.  He sees all; disappoint Him not.

Saturday, January 22, 2011

Saturday Super Smitin' Smackdown

It has come to My attention (as if anything escapes it) that the former Governator of California has chosen the commute the sentence of Esteban Nunez, a teen attempted murderer whose father was a key political ally of the governator's.  Though deserving a good smack, this post is not about Arnold, (who left the statehouse with a dismal 20% approval rating as is likely done in politics). 

A little history; This attempted murderer became such after he and some friends were refused entrance to a party and they decided to retaliate by stabbing multiple victims, one of whom died.  Though deserving more than a good smack, this post is not about Estaban the stabber (who will spend years in prison and have the dark shadow of this episode follow him and hang over him the rest of his life). 

Let us continue; A guilty verdict at trial being a virtual certainty, Esteban agreed to a plea bargain for a 16 year sentence for manslaughter; a plea which was more than halved down to 7 by his father's close political ally Arnold on his last day in office, and which is being fought by the murder victim's family.  Again, this post is not about any of them.

The attempted murderer's defense attorney, Brad Patton, said to the press that the victim's family "wouldn't be satisfied with anything other than an unjust sentence, which was imposed on Esteban Nunez."  This post is about him.
View Image

Brad Patton, and by extension all criminal defense lawyers, are professional accessories after the fact.  Their business is not based on securing justice for their clients, it's in helping them in the evasion of justice.  The punk Nunez and his fellow punks stabbed several people over a party dispute.  The person Nunez actually stabbed himself did not die, one of the victims his friend stabbed died. 

The key fact here is they were all trying to kill.  The act is the same.  They stabbed to the chest and hoped for the best.  Whether their blade found the heart or artery or caused other fatal damage is a matter of angle, depth, physics, biology... ie luck.  Nunez's lawyer contends that because his client failed in his attempt to kill, his sentence is unjust and should be reduced.  Patton would have doubtless been more happy if he could have gotten this killer off completely; the ultimate score in the evasion of justice business.

The role Patton is playing seems no different in its goal than if he were driving a getaway car for the stabbers instead; trying to avoid paying for the crime.  Only the method is different.  At least the getaway driver is an 'honest' participant at the crime scene, putting himself at risk by throwing in with the murderers then and there. For any who may doubt my assessment of Patton's chosen role in life I offer you the copy from his ad:

Contact Brad Patton today at 800-EVIL-ASST, if you or a loved one needs professional and experienced legal representation for any of the following:
  • Sex Crimes
  • Domestic Violence
  • Alcohol/ Drug Related Crimes
  • Violent Crimes
  • Theft Crimes
  • DUI & Other Driving Related Offenses
  • Murder/ Homicide
  • Misdemeanor Probation Violations
  • Felony Probation Violations
  • Megan’s Law
  • Minor in Possession (MIP)
  • Juvenile Delinquency
  • Arrests & Warrants
  • Criminal Record Expungement
  • Criminal Law Certification
The only thing altered from his actual ad copy (shown above in doodie-brown) is his phone number.  I am not posting today to either get this worm more business or to aid any criminal scum that might need his services.  Notice his favorite people to help listed at the top?  Sex crimes and domestic violence.  For his passion to be a professional accessory after the fact, Patton and his ilk are the target of this week's Smackdown.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Wanna-Be Wednesday

Tonight We (that's the royal 'we' bumped up a celestial notch) recognize Eve Gallant for her Wanna-Be submission:
"If I were God, chocolate and pizza would be recommended low calorie, anit-oxidant-rich diet foods!"
While it's not clear is Eve meant to create a new dinner choice 'Chocolate Pizza, please' or if she intended each to have these new properties separately, I'm sure either would be appreciated by the greatful masses who would pack the churches in appreciation, if (wait for it) Eve were God.

Thank you, Eve.

If anybody thinks they have a good "If I were God..." change they'd make to this world and wants it considered to be posted up here just submit via the comment button below.  I'll be only too happy to sit in judgement (kinda what I do).

As always, If I Were God appreciates comments, ad-clicks and sharing of His articles.  He sees all; disappoint Him not.

Sunday, January 16, 2011

AS IF -(Knucklehead's blogoff round 2)

Why do people ask Him for things they shouldn't have?  Why do they think they'll get them?




Thanks for coming by.  If you liked what you saw, please hit this link and cast your vote on the Knucklehead site's right sidebar.  If you did not like it ...are you sure?  Maybe you should look again ;-p  How could you not like it?  It's divine.

Please read the other entrants (found through the link) as well before voting. Thanks for stopping by!

As always, If I Were God appreciates comments, ad-clicks and sharing of His articles.  He sees all; disappoint Him not.

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Wanna-Be Wednesdays; your chance to play God

an exerpt from my coming book

Oh, the things I'd do...
Yes, I've got a lot of ideas, but Wanna-Be Wednesdays is about what you, the readers, would do if you were God.  If you could come up with your own "If..." for the blue box above and want to participate just send them in and the best will be put up.  So here's your chance to do a little world-shaping of your own.  I'll review what comes in and next Wednesday the Wanna-Be's will rule!

In a sense, we already have our first re-shaping.  Linda Medrano submitted an idea for a new "Reasons" a few days ago that was too good to pass up.  I went with my own tagline, because you know, I do that.  It will become part of the permanent rotation seen at the right.  So congratulations Linda, as promised you can put a short-topic post on this site if you'd like (or opt for paradise points instead, redeamable in the afterlife for a private cloud with a view or designer wings among other things)


As always, If I Were God appreciates comments, ad-clicks and sharing of His articles.  He sees all; disappoint Him not.

Sunday, January 9, 2011

When I was a young God [Knucklehead's blogoff 2011]



It was a very long time ago, even for me, when my parents gave me my first universe kit.  I was only four or five millenia at the time so naturally not yet possessed of all the skills or maturity I have today.  It really was a wonderful present for a developing deity; it came semi-assembled with 'gravity spray' already on all the matter, a vial of anti-matter labeled 'use with care', (an envelope of star seeds -just add neutrons) a fully stocked "bag o' planets" and two big jars of creation clay.  That clay was the best part; you just molded it into any creature you thought up, blew into it and voila!  You had a living breathing thing, dashing and leaping about, - and ready to be stomped on.

Of course to a 4 mil old it was more fun to chase and stomp on them right after animation (then remold, blow life back in...), but mother put a quick stop to that and warned me that she'd take the whole thing away if she caught me being cruel.  I was too young to recognize foreshadowing when I saw it, but in retrospect it seems things had to work out the way they did.

Believing (or pretending to believe, who can remember?) "no stomping" to be the only rule, I settled on other ways to smite things that displeased me; simple things I could handle at the time like fire or lightning.  I still had the desire to stomp, but fear of the rule's consequences prevented me.  Inevitably fear led to fascination.  And what began as a juvenile fascination with rules and consequences gradually progressed to obsession.  I opened the second jar of creation clay and started on a higher level creature than the reptiles and early mammals I had started with.  None of those had had the capacity to understand rules.  This new line would be smart enough to understand rules, make decisions, and most importantly be responsible.  Or more to the point, I could hold them responsible.

It was remarkably easy once I got the hang of it.  The first pair I made, who lived in the first garden I made, broke the first rule I made.  And so it came to pass, I handed down my first punishment and it felt good.  I can remember wanting badly to stomp them both for breaking the rule I held over them, but felt restrained by the rule held over me.  I was less confident as to whether or not fire or lightning counted as a form of stomping.  But I wasn't about to draw attention to it by asking or just firing away -not after so much work.  I settled on eviction.  They had to tough it out in an area I hadn't developed much and without any extra help from me.

They survived anyway and eventually prospered.  They were fruitful, as I originally asked them to be, and they did multiply.  But I was keen to make them prove themselves.  I started making rule after rule with the spirited creative whimsy of a child; don't eat this, don't dress like that, cover your head outside, don't say this, don't work on this day, worship me...only me...a whole day for me -no working on my day either!  I got very into the worship aspect for whatever reason.  At some point I started making different rules for different groups and they really took it to heart.  It was remarkable how they leaped at any chance to polarize themselves and exaggerate even minor differences.  Whole nations arose out of being different from the neighboring group, and each vied to be my favorite.  It really was a lot of fun for me, appearing in different forms here and there, demanding this or that and watching them scramble to please me. 

But a bubble was building, and as is the way with bubbles a bursting was inevitable.  Too many arbitrary rules led to a lot of shirking, and too many shirkers made individual punishing a chore.  It wasn't long before I began to suffer from a stiffness and swelling in my index digit later diagnosed as "lightning finger".  The forced hiatus from smiting only emboldened the shirkers, which only enraged me even more.  I warned them and sent signs, but they acted with an impunity and autonomy even I didn't enjoy.  That was infuriating.  Infuriating and intolerable.  I remember thinking "Stomping may have been banned, but nobody said anything about drowning."

I laid a flood on them gradually, over a period of days.  At the time I told myself it was to give them time to think about what they've done so I could watch them squirm, but it was really so I could try to pass it off as a natural occurrence if mother took notice.  Well, mother was of course omniscient.  She not only took notice -she took me to the therapist.

"But I deserve to be worshiped!  I made them!  They won't listen!" I pleaded my case "If I want them wearing funny hats and whittling pieces off the tips of their-"
"YES, but why would you even want that?" Dr Sidemigoge had a way of freezing you in place just long enough to hold a metaphysical mirror up so you could see yourself "Little God, at your age you should be orchestrating your first galaxies, not punishing primates on a mail-order planet."  I will always remember him for his patience and his preference for informality.  He let me call him Sid.

When Sid pointed out that my studying people so closely, and caring so much how they acted to the point that I took individual and destructive action on them was akin to one of them spending all day pulling boogers from their nose so they can chastise and then eat them -one at a time- It became obvious and effortless to give it all up.

In truth, it was a relief to let it all go.  Mother took the kit away anyhow, and donated it to a local school if I recall.  In any event I never bothered with it again after that.  I thought the whole episode was behind me, but I didn't know that Sid had decided to write a paper.  Apparently all one has to do to get published is call something a 'complex' and name it after the poor child whose parents over trusted in the assumed privacy of therapy.

I've long outgrown that need for worship and obedience.  I became a performance artist.  These days I coordinate intricate patterns of sequentially timed supernova explosions across dozens of galaxies as a form of art (commonly referred to as 'echo sculpting' but usually called 'echo orchastration' in formal reviews).  Each exploding supernova sends a pulse which echoes across the length of the universe in every direction like a ripple in a pond.  These echoes eventually cross each other in the center of the universe for a brief instant, and if the sources are timed and selected correctly the intersecting echoes can form a coherent image for an instant before continuing on through each other.  A really good supernova echo sculpture is breathtaking to behold.  I've recently taken to having mine move; an eagle landing or dolphin jumping.  They are of course insanely popular.  Mine have been called 'a stately maturation from the neo-angular puberty that had been dragging down the form' by more than one appreciative critic.

The several prestigious awards I've won for them are common knowledge, of course.  And yet that old complex from my childhood is still named for me, a lingering embarrassment.  And if it comes up at a showing or dinner party, brought up by let's say a non-award winning rival "Didn't they name the God complex after you?", I usually resist the urge to just shrug and say something like "Yes, that was me, but c'mon I was only like five at the time.  And I did make living things in balanced self-sustaining ecosystems.  Didn't I hear you just ate the clay straight from the jar at that age?"  It's beneath me, so I don't.  Usually.

As always, If I Were God appreciates comments, ad-clicks and sharing of His articles.  He sees all; disappoint Him not.

Saturday, January 8, 2011

Super Smitin' Smackdown Saturday!

Forsaken Fillibusterers

After suffering debilitating health issues including many forms of deadly cancer, after waiting years for assistance while these issues mounted and began killing more and more of them, after hearing dozens of republican senators and congressmen invoke 9/11 imagery in nine years of speaches, the 1st responders got the most shameful and undeserved slap in the face ever seen in American politics in the form of a republican fillibuster holding the bill hostage for completely unrelated reasons (tax relief for the rich).


The bill itself was carefully kept clean of the usual so-called earmarks or other pork which politicians typically attach to bills like baricles on a boat.  This made the legislation solely about those dying men and women who dug through the wreckage at ground zero, and nothing else.  The 1st responder the bill was named for James Zadroga, who died in 2006 from respiratory failure after breathing in toxins at ground zero in 2001.  The republican leadership promptly mounted a fillibuster against it and prevented its passage before the new year. 

Their reason?  A hell-bent determination to preserve a 3% tax break for the wealthiest 1% of americans.  The elections are months behind them so they feel safe in ignoring the natural outrage this despicable move evokes. 

Their callous disregard for the suffering of heros they always claim to support but never do makes the republican fillibusterers the second ever target of If I Were God…’s Super Smitin’ Smackdown Saturday!

As always, If I Were God appreciates comments, ad-clicks and sharing of His articles.  He sees all; disappoint Him not.

Thursday, January 6, 2011

do My work, get 'paradise points'!

As you can imagine (and being the one who gave you imaginations in the first place, I know you can), I've got a lot of world to cover.  Though I do take time to dally with this blog when I can, other things needing attention are always popping up.  Right now for instance there's a boyscout leader downloading kiddie porn in the warmth and seclusion of his basement utilities room.  Boilers don't just explode on their own, you know.  And of course, Super Smitin' Smackdown Saturday (I haven't quite settled on the word order yet) is right around the corner, so as you can see, my plate is full.

Even so, I am growing a little bored with My "Reasons to Believe" rotation, seen at the right.  I could squeeze it in the schedule, or I could let some of you who are willing do some good works.  I'd like to hear some suggestions from the faithful.  Here's the current line-up as it stands. 









The recipe for these should be obvious, but for any Jersey Shore fans out there I will spell it out.  Two persons or things that share a name, concept, or rhyme but have values so opposite that the mere sight of one is enough to inspire the thought "there must be a god", while the other inspires such distain... you get it.

I believe in my very creative and lively readership, as they believe in Me, so I'm looking forward to some good ideas.  The best ones will be made a permanent part of the Reasons rotation and the (non)eternal reward will be some paradise points useable at the pearly gates (where I sometimes do nights as security), or a short guest blog spot -with links- here if that is preferred.  Alternatively, for any 'fundamentalist' readers -these poinst are redeamable for 72 Virgin-Atlantic* sky miles.

I see some of you smiling in anticipation already.  And it pleases Me.

*Virgin-Atlantic will of course claim not to know what the hell you're talking about.  This is just cause to don your native land's traditional attire, rush down to the airport ticket counter in a rage, and begin waving your hands angrily while shouting in your native tongue for them to honor your points.  Cavity searches may be given in lieu of sky miles.

As always, If I Were God appreciates comments, ad-clicks and sharing of His articles.  He sees all; disappoint Him not.

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

So I'm in this blog contest...

beginning Sunday, about eight bloggers will launch a blogoff hosted by Chris of Knucklehead!
The other participants are in the following list:
The Fred Effect
I will post this list of links with each Sunday entry until I’m eliminated from the contest. Eliminated?
Not really.  More like 'shut out from their lives'.  I lament the lost lambs who would deny me -much like Judas did.  Whatever happened to him anyway... Yes, you might as well know it.  The decisions we make in this life have consequences in the next.  Vote as you see fit:
Everyone who reads these blogs for the next eight Sundays can vote for their favorite post (or the one most likely to keep safe your eternal soul, if that's important to you) at Knucklehead’s site. The blog receiving the fewest votes drops out that week, and the process continues until one remains.

So, on Sunday it begins.  Hope you decide to read and vote.

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Plea bargains? With God? Really?

No Flea bargains either

It's as if we think He's some sort of desperate vender at the miracles table in our local flea market, to judge by the way He's approached by some when they're in a jam and what paltry pickin's they offer in exhange for help.   Somewhere there's a guy trapped in a burning car after an accident he caused himself by drunk driving.  "LORD!!  <hic!> I'LL NEVER DRINK AND DRIVE AGAIN IF YOU <gurgle> GET ME OUT OF THIS!  <hic!> LORD!!!"

A) He won't drink & drive again if the Lord doesn't get him out either
B) He wants a miracle in exchange for following a simple rule he should have been anyway?
C) Never ever shout at the Lord in ALL CAPS.  Are you crazy?

Can you imagine trying this tactic in a court down here?
"Judge, if you let me off for robbing that bank and shooting that teller, that cop, and running over that one-legged orphan during the getaway I promise to stop robbing banks AND, are you listening judge; won't kill cops, tellers or gimpy orphans ever again either!"
The judge won't just throw the book at him; he'd beat him with it a while first.

Even in non-life-threatening situations miracles get requested in exchange for the lamest of offers.
"Lord, if you can see your way to letting me get that big promotion and corner office, I'll quit smoking."
If I Were God:
How 'bout you quit smoking anyway and I won't kill you one gooey chunk of lung coughed up at a time, before you're 40?  I didn't give you a temple so you could light chemical fires in it, dummy.
Oh, BTW, if you weren't so busy taking smoke breaks and looking at porn all day your statistics would've been good enough to get you that promotion last year.

"Lord, please help me find my spanks in time to get to haul them on and get to Leo's party, his cute cousin will be there.  I'll pick some flowers and bring them to church on Sunday!"
IIWG:
A) you're a bit beyond Spanks, hon.  You'd need a bigger miracle.
B) Leo's 'cousin' isn't really his cousin, unless you count 'kissing cousins'
C) You do realize I invented flowers, know where each one is, and prefer them alive?  How would you like it if I chopped off your toes, put them in a vase, and gave them to you as a gift?
D) And 'not for nothing', but I know which flowers you're planning on amputating from mother earth, they're not even from your yard, which makes it stealing, for which there's a commandment against, which you'd know if you ever made it to church outside of Christmas or Easter.
E) Finally, you're out of requests anyway, you used your last one yesterday for your Taco Bell squirts emergency when you were caught in traffic on the way home, remember?

Think before you dial the holy hotline, people.  "Do I absolutely need to?"  If you ever do you'll have your best chance if you're able to start with "Lord, I've never asked you for anything before..."

As always, If I Were God appreciates comments, ad-clicks and sharing of His articles.  He sees all; disappoint Him not.

Saturday, January 1, 2011

Super Smitin' Saturday Smackdown!

It's time to kick off the New Year with a few changes.  The first is no more mister nice god.

There's just been too much leniency lately.  If I were God (just to remind you what blog you're reading) and I chanced a glance down upon the earth I so generously allowed you temporary use of as tenants (you only think you own it) I would not be pleased.  Although there's a lot of good to be seen, there's also too many obstacles you put in your own way and disturbing amount of misguided hero worship. 

This past year a lot of hypocrites got a lot of attention they didn't deserve.  Mind you, anybody can make a mistake or commit acts they aren't particularly proud of.  But to then turn around and make your name and your celebrity off of publicly fighting the very thing you yourself are privately guilty of is enough to drive any normally patient deity to dig up his box ‘o plagues for some leftover unused lightning bolts.

And the most smiteworthy hypocrite of the year?  Wikileaks founder Julian Assange.


Angling to be the patron saint of openness, Assange encourages people around the world with access to information they don’t own to pilfer (an effete word for steal, as in “Thou shalt not…”) it and send it to wikileaks where he will publish it to the world, ostensibly for all our benefit, and incidentally increasing his own fame and fortune.

One could claim the ends justify the means if the information exposed were critical to the public good, such as the Washington Post’s famous exposure of the Watergate break in.  That would serve justice.  However wikileaks released diplomatic cables with information such as the personal assessments US diplomats made of foreign leaders.  E.g. Berlusconi, the Italian prime minister, is weak and vain, Putin, the Russian prime minister is an alpha dog, Sarkozy, the French president is thin-skinned and vain etc.  This information does not serve a public need so much as a voyeuristic thirst for sensationalism. 

To bring it home, think for a moment of the important people in your life; spouses, children, siblings, parents, friends, co-workers, and employers.  Nobody is perfect, ergo everybody has flaws.  Being so close, you know what those people’s flaws are and probably have opinions on them; things you would never say to their face.  Can you imagine the shitstorm it would cause in your life if somebody put all those private opinions on Facebook for all to see?   Not only would your people be hurt knowing what your opinion was, they’d have the added humiliation of knowing that now everybody else now knows too.  Try cleaning that mess up.  And why?  Because J-Ass broke into your private info (journal/diary/emails) and uploaded it for the world to see.



One could take the position, as Assange does, that Truth Will Out.  That exposing the truth is an absolute imperative, regardless of whom is hurt.  As positions go, he could hardly have elevated himself more; His high-minded position sits high in the saddle on a high horse, which is standing on the high road.  You have to crane your neck and use binoculars just to see him.

The purity of principle he holds up is a rarity in today’s world.  Many hail him as a hero.  And he might qualify as such if his allegience to the unvarnished truth were only true itself.  But it is a faƧade.  J-Ass’s convictions on the sanctity of truth and transparency do not include himself.


He stands accused of rape in Sweden.  It's far too early at this writing to judge his guilt or innocence.  The relevance here is that some police papers pertaining to the case have been leaked and J-Ass and his lawyers are livid.  Far from celebrating their empostered 'Truth Will Out', Mr Wikileaks got wikipiqued when it became his turn.  His team is demanding a police investigation of the leak.  The irony is so frothy it’s damn near wikileaking off your screen right now.  (Go get a paper towel and wipe it off before it stains)  Apparently full unabridged disclosure is only for other people.  The titan of truth became the sultan of secrets in less time than it takes to say ‘Wikifraud!’.  -All after putting so many people and government officials through so many ordeals in his heretofore uncompromising crusade for transparency.  It makes him the worlds biggest hypocrite, and inaugural target of If I Were God…’s Super Smitin’ Saturday Smackdown!
The truth doesn't always set you free, Julian. 
Sometime it gets you .

As always, If I Were God appreciates comments, ad-clicks and sharing of His articles.  He sees all; disappoint Him not.