“Thank God it’s Friday,” said Joe, sipping his coffee and walking into the office.
God was on the golf course, lining up an easy 3 foot putt on the 8th green in Heaven.
“You’re welcome,” he grumbled.
Millions of others thanked God that it was Friday, and by the time He got to the 18th tee, he had snapped most of his clubs in half and shanked a basket full of balls into the rough clouds.
“You okay, Dad?” asked Jesus.
God pulled off his gloves, threw them into the cart, and pondered a Horrid Monday To Beat All Mondays.
Category: Oh Jesus
Not yet written
My mother always said that “God has not yet written the future.”
And she was right.
God never writes shit down.
Oh, He may send an angel or a burning bush to harass someone, and they’ll freak out and tell a bunch of people about it. But, really, God doesn’t write anything down.
Ever wonder why?
It’s because His handwriting is awful. Like a child holding a crayon in their fist.
And he’s too cheap to buy a voice recorder, let alone think about starting a podcast or YouTube channel.
So, He created mankind. To write shit down for him.
Nativity
Every December, we drag the Nativity scene out from the basement and assemble it in the front yard.
Problem is, there’s always something missing from it, like Joseph or a camel.
It’s not worth it to buy a new Nativity scene, only being used once a year, so we scrounge for replacements.
Using Grampa Eldon’s old lawn jockey as a replacement Wise Man kinda pissed off the Clevelands next door, although in my defense I did wrap it in Little Janey’s bathrobe and try to paint the face white with Liquid Paper.
Next year, we’ll just make snowmen, okay kids?
In The Beginning
In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth, and then he called an insurance company to get a quote.
They hovered over the waters of the formless empty earth, came up with a figure within God’s budget, and they signed the policy.
Afterwards, when God separated night from day, land from water, and made all kinds of other things, He didn’t bother to update the policy.
That’s why he was so pissed about the apple and the Garden of Eden, although He did eventually manage to collect on His son’s life insurance policy.
Jesus took half, of course.
Three Little Gods
The first little pig built his god out of straw.
The second little pig built his god out of wood.
The third little pig built his god out of stone.
They fought amongst themselves as to which followed the true faith.
The wolf didn’t believe in any religious nonsense, but he was good at faking it.
One by one, he let the pigs “convert” him, taking all three of his would-be saviors captive.
The stone, he used for a roasting pit.
The wood made an excellent frame.
And the straw lit easily.
“By the gods, so delicious,” moaned the wolf.
Taco-Faced God
God talks to me.
Me!
People think you’re crazy if you say God’s talking to you.
And I agree with them, because, like, why me? What’s so special about me?
God says I’m special. When He talks to me.
Thing is, he doesn’t appear with the big white beard. Or like George Burns.
He talks to me through tacos.
Sure, you see lettuce, beef, cheese, and hot sauce. But I see God talking to me.
Maybe it’s just the Taco Bueno kitchen guy hitting on me.
If it is, well, it’s so not happening.
(I asked for NO jalapenos, kid!)
The Can
Preacher say you can’t put God in a bottle or a box.
Or packed inside a wrapper.
Bright colors, big letters.
That’s not where you’ll find God.
You have to put Him in a can.
Not a cheap Aluminum can.
Or a rusty tin can.
You have to put Him in a steel can.
A solid American steel can.
Bigger than a soup can.
But smaller than a barrel. Or a keg.
Like that tomato soup can for prisons and schools.
Or the one restaurants get olives in.
About that big.
Gimme that can opener.
Let’s get us some God.
Closing and Opening
Once, when I was young and foolish, I heard slamming noises coming from a church.
I walked in to see the bizarre sight of a priest running around, closing doors and windows.
And whenever the priest closed a door, a window opened.
Then, when the priest closed a window, a door opened.
He kept at this for a while until he fell down to the floor, panting.
“Whenever God closes a door, he opens a window?” I asked the priest.
“Yes,” he said. “But does he pay the heating bill in Winter or the cooling bill in Summer? Hell no!”
Creation
I stepped out of the time machine and tripped over a dead cougar.
A deep voice hissed “Who’s that?”
I got back up and rubbed my eyes, not quite sure I was seeing what I was seeing.
It was God, standing at a workbench, piled high with burnt and bloody animal parts.
Behind him, stacks of scorched trees and polluted rivers and other things.
“I went back in time to witness Creation?” I gasped.
“No, you went forward,” God growled. “After the nuclear war. I’m just trying to scrape something together.”
He pointed a lightning bolt at me. “Without humans.”
A Hard Lesson To Learn
The teacher held a globe near a bright light.
“Let’s say the light is the sun,” she said. “As we turn the globe, we see how the sunlight falls on different parts of the world, making night and day.”
She went on to demonstrate the earth’s axis, seasons, the earth’s orbit…
But Joshua had heard enough.
“This proves that there is no God, no Heaven, no angels,” he whispered to the angel standing next to his desk. “So go away.”
“Who do you think set all this up?” asked the angel.
Joshua sighed, and changed his milk to chocolate milk.