God's Office

Written by Baba O'Radar

Thursday, 13 August 2015


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God's Office (1-800-GR8 1)

Cherubic voices singing "We are the World," followed by . . .

You have reached the offices of God. Para continuar en Espanol, oprimes dos. Our office hours are from 0000 to infinity, Zulu time. After you hear the music of the spheres, please leave your message. No need to leave your name or contact information. We know it.

Before you leave your message, please listen carefully to the entire menu:

Requests for intercession involving serious illness or injury, sentence of execution, war, dementia, famine, imminent environmental disaster (real or hyped), dementia, pox, plague, pestilence, very young or very old people who have gone missing (but not including spouses or significant others who have walked out or are suspected of having entered a witness protection program), or dementia, please press 1.

Requests for assistance with a suspicious rash in a visible location, a final exam in a class you cut all semester but need for graduation, anxiety over a pending pregnancy test, repeated promises never to drink again (which includes, but is not limited to, similar problems with drugs, sex, food, etc.), wayward children in whom you are belatedly taking an interest, career choices that everyone knew would lead to the situation you're now calling Me about, and all other issues of the "How is this My problem?" variety, please press 2.

Requests for sainthood (third-party only), please press 3. If you think you have relevant information about the person being nominated that I am unaware of - which, you understand, is unlikely - please include it in your message. Limit of one nomination per call, and one call per lifetime.

Requests for eternal damnation (again, third-party only, though I assume that's all I'd get anyway), please press 4. You may include suggestions for the degree of suffering to be visited upon the damned, although, in this regard, you might also want to contact My former head of security, Lucy Fehr, at her offices. The number is 1-800-666-SINZ. I have sold this aspect of My business to her organization, which is now an unaffiliated corporate entity - a competitor, you might say.

For complaints about administration and management, doctrinal rules, contribution requirements (percentage kickbacks, weekly collection plate, special pledge drives, coins-for-candles, etc.), uniforms, dietary restrictions, sacred (or shunned) animals, and all other aspects of whatever organization you profess your "worship" through, please contact your local representative. I have no connection whatsoever to these groups. They neither speak for Me nor I through them.

To thank Me for your daily bread (which includes every possible variation you come up with depending on the guests you have and their status in your worldview), please know that it is not necessary, nor, to be blunt, is it welcome. I don't need the constant affirmation.

For requests such as, "Please help little Sally score the winning goal in her soccer game this afternoon!," please press Disconnect - and lose My number. (I thought I would stop getting this sort of nonsense when the nanny state came up with Participation Trophies.) And since I've mentioned sports, let Me take this opportunity to say "enough already" to all the athletes who make a big show of pointing in My direction every time they merely do exactly what it is they are paid sinful amounts of money to do in the first place. I assure you, I have no interest in your games. But if I do decide to take an interest, I assure you even more strongly that you won't like it when you fail to perform.

For situations not specifically covered by any of the preceding categories, but still of the sort that starts with "Why, God, why?," please press *E*E N-I-T-E (6483).

Oh yeah, one last thing. You know that phone number on our website: 1-800-GR8 1?? That was my publicist's idea of clever marketing. He's no longer with the organization, if you know what I mean. And if I get one more call asking for Wayne Gretzky, I swear to . . . well, I swear to Me, I will make hockey even more boring to watch than it already is.

Have a nice day.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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