Helping You Get the Most Out of Your Misery






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Tuesday, August 23, 2005


Pat's Will Be Done

God is responsible for so very, very much.

He--that's right, "he"--created our planet, as well as putting those funny little dots of light in the sky. He designed us humans, and very intelligently, I might add (thanks for the penis, O Lord!) He's caused 40 day floods and plagues and famine and all sorts of other great stuff when we've pissed him off. He's guided football players to victory and singers to the Grammy podium to pick up their shiny metal maquettes. He's been there to carry people down beaches when the going gets tough and to forgive televangelists when they fuck underage Laotion transexual prostitutes. And now he's performing a new function.

God is apparently serving as Pat Robertson's hitman.

I'm sure everyone's seen Pat praying to the Almighty Mobster to shiv a Supreme Court justice (preferably that Jewish broad). Pat, you see, doesn't like the direction the court's taken over the past few decades, what with the reasoned debate and the thoughtful interpretation of the constitution and all. And now that Cooter's in the White House, it's a perfect time to load up on sensible people who'll put prayer back in schools, women back in the kitchen and fags back in the closet. The problem is, it's a tricky political process to get the right person on the court. ("Right person"? Get it? Huh?) And there's no guaranteeing that the opportunity will come up while the Grand Old Party has control of the White House and the legislature. Fortunately, Pat's got a major deity on the payroll , so I'm thinking one of those judicial lefties is goin' bye-bye.

Perhaps He'll see to it that John Paul Stevens chokes on a piece of popcorn shrimp. Or maybe Ruth Bader Ginsburg will overdose on heroin. Stephen Breyer could, possibly, choose this week to take a trip to Mosul and stroll around in assless chaps, a yarmulke and a "Fuck Allah" t-shirt. But however it's accomplished, you can bet that one of these judges is not long for this world.

Because Pat Robertson is powerful, man. He's in charge. Not only does God do what Pat tells him, but so does the U.S. military. This week, Pat decided he'd had enough of that Venezuelan asshole Hugo Chavez. This South American prick actually has the gall to go to Cuba, make kissy noises with Fidel Castro and badmouth the U.S. of A. He's just asking for it. Which is why Pat, in his infinite wisdom, has suggested that we need to take this bastard out. Pat has directed either the Army or the CIA to fit this fuck with cement shoes and take him fishing. Which means it's just a matter of time until it happens.

Pat Robertson, you see, is all-powerful. None can resist him. Last week, he told me to shave my nuts and then douse them in Aqua Velva. And I did it. Trust me, you do not want to say no to the P-Man.

Where will Pat go from here? Sky's the limit, baby. He could start telling the sun to shine just a little less harshly when people are tanning. He could tell time to go backwards so that none of us get old. He could tell gravity to stop so we could all fly around for awhile. There is just nothing Pat can't do.

Okay, well, he can't get me to watch American Idol, but other than that, he's solid.