Tag: religion

Shuffling The Deck

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One by one, the head of every major religion has died.
Pope, Archbishop of Canterbury, Dalai Lama, Chief Rabbi, several of the Grand Muftis – all of them.
People think there’s a pattern, but nobody’s come up with an answer.
I have: God’s shuffling his deck.
The Dalai Lama’s reincarnated as the new Pope.
The Pope’s reincarnated as the Archbishop.
The Archbishop’s the head of the Mormon Church.
The Mormon Edler’s now the Chief Rabbi.
The Grand Muftis?
Have you heard what they’ve said about that woman and the teddy bear?
Well, God has.
They’re in the discard pile. Usually are.

Prayers Answered

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The simplest mistakes can have such disastrous consequences.
It’s true that God hears all prayers, but he’s gotten rather sloppy keeping them organized.
Every now and then, someone’s prayer gets answered for a complete stranger.
Maybe you prayed for a cure for your father’s cancer, but you wake up to a brand new bicycle?
That kind of thing.
It’s been happening more and more, which suggests that either God isn’t infallible or that people don’t know what they really want.
I, for one, really like this shiny new bicycle.
Actually, it’s kinda fun to ride to the cemetery with it.

Joe Christ

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It was a great costume idea.
Joe would dress up like Jesus and we’d strap him to a cross on our porch. He’d hand out candy and blessings to all the kids that were brave enough to ask him.
When the big day came, we were a little drunk, so instead of strapping him to the cross at the waist, we went ahead and nailed him to it.
It took us a while to realize that Joe couldn’t hand out candy in that condition.
So, we broke his legs, speared him in the gut, and shoved him behind a rock.

I Quit

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Yeah, my job sucks. It’s sucked for a very long time.
So, I put my two weeks notice in with the boss.
“You can’t quit,” said God.
“Why not?” I said.
“You’re Satan,” said God. “You’re The Devil.”
“Well, I quit,” I said.
“You can’t quit,” God said again. “You became The Devil when you quit being one of my angels.”
“I don’t want to be one of your angels,” I said. “And I don’t want to be The Devil any more, either.”
God isn’t sure what to do with me now. But I’ve got one Hell of a resume.

The Throne

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God’s away on a holiday again.
So, we angels take turns sitting in God’s Throne.
The problem is, the throne’s not designed for angels. The Heavenly Infirmary’s full of broken and bent wings.
Still, we sit in the throne. Michelangelo offers to paint us, but the line’s too long for paintings.
We’re also getting sloppy. The Guardian Division’s been dropping the ball, drinking on the job.
I heard one Guardian shoved a little old lady into the street that he was supposed to save from a bus.
He’s blaming it a bent wing.
Yeah, you’re right. Heaven’s going to Hell.

Ashes

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We place the new chief in a massive stone urn and pour the ashes in on top of him.
These are special, sacred ashes – the ashes of all chiefs, generations upon generations of tribal leaders that have come before.
This ceremony is supposed to pass along the wisdom of the ages, infusing our new leader with the strength and experience to guide us, but most times it just suffocates the dumb son of a bitch.
“Breathe in the knowledge!” commands the High Priest.
And the ceremony for New High Priests? They just paint their faces green and chant.
Go figure.

Aziz

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I watched as a kid named Aziz celebrated in the schoolyard, the teacher leading his classmates in praise for Aziz’s brother.
He’d blown himself up, killing twenty people. Four of them were from my unit.
I followed Aziz home. Two men gave him a package, and he put it in his schoolbag.
I stopped him, took the bag away, and looked in the package.
It was a bomb. He was going to deliver it to another of his brothers to go blow himself up.
Instead, Aziz exploded in his house, taking his whole family with him.
Accidents can be caused.

The Swarm

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Gigantic swarms of insects crawl the globe, disassembling buildings and erecting massive, looping cellulose towers.
We few survivors watch from Mars, peering through the spy satellites they hadn’t bothered to destroy.
Landmark after landmark, civilization swept away.
St. Basil’s… gone.
Manhattan… gone.
The Eiffel Tower… gone.
For a moment, yarmulke in hand, I get grim satisfaction as the Dome Of The Rock is crumbled to dust.
Maybe… just maybe… this time they’ll leave it clear?
I mumble a brief prayer.
Yes?
My smile fades as another brown tower takes shape.
Oy. If it isn’t one bunch of assholes, it’s another.

The Symbol

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I saw the eagle symbol on her wrist.
Eagle symbols are for good luck and strength, but usually the eagle’s got the beak pointing to the fingers.
Hers points to the elbow, so I know it’s a fake.
It’s got the right colors, and it’s very well done.
But it’s a fake. It’s covering up another symbol.
While she sleeps, I look closely at it… the outline of something is under that eagle.
Weasel? Owl? Snake?
It’s some kind of criminal brand, something she got from the Eagles before they threw her out of their camp.
What has she done?

The Playboy God

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In his penthouse apartment, God is drinking.
He does this every night.
One, two, three too many.
He wobbles and sways on his barstool, finally falling to the vast black marble floor.
In a final moment of clarity, he retches up the universe.
Then, he passes out.
In this vomit cosmos, we are born, and live, and love.
And die.
After eons of uneasy slumber, God comes to his senses.
Confused, clumsy, and disgusted with himself.
Ignoring our pleas for mercy, he looks for a mop.
Then, after cleaning up, he settles at the bar.
And begins the cycle again.