A day with my Dad

Posted by Jesus on June 15, 2008

My Father is admittedly very different from yours. While I’m sure yours can fashion all sorts of neat things out of wood and probably makes what you feel to be the best peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the planet, mine created everything that is and controls every aspect of your destiny like so many pawns on His big chessboard. Plus no one has anything on His PB&J, not even Mom, and certainly not your dad. Still, today is a happy day. This is the one day out of the year that you all choose to oblige yourselves to the man who brought you into the world and somehow hasn’t gotten around to taking you out yet.

As it is on Earth, so it is in Heaven. The Holy Spirit and I did what so many of you did today - spent the afternoon with Dad. He’s been really busy lately in Kansas, where He says sinful lifestyles are growing at the fastest rate in the country right now. He and Joseph have been very dedicated to their Save & Repent operation, and it’s starting to show results. Church turnout has been astronomical in the hardest-wrathed areas, especially those where the community churches have actually been destroyed. Hitting a person in the emotions to get what you want is not a device employed only by actors and politicians. God Himself is quite capable of sending a message too. He told us all about His success so far over a light lunch of trout drizzled in manna served on chutney-stuffed peppers.

Of course the Holy Spirit got in His face about using floods again, which is becoming sort of an old argument. We all know that His promise about floods only contends that He won’t kill everyone, but the Holy Spirit always gets so technical about it. Sometimes I wonder if we really are from the same holy trinity. God took it well though, it being Father’s Day and all.

After lunch we all went for a play in His jungle. He turned me into a sleek, fast orangutan and the Holy Spirit into a bumbling chimpanzee, and we all proceeded to frolic and eat bananas with the rest of His monkey tribe. I always forget how fun it is to hang out with God in His natural monkey form. It’s something I always dread when faced with as an obligation, but still enjoy immensely once engaged. If you’re lucky enough to find your way to Heaven I highly suggest that you sign up for the God’s Monkey Jungle excursion as soon as you can get on the list. It is hands-down the single best part of Heaven.

W called about three-thirty and God spent a good two hours or so chatting with him, mostly about Pakistan and something the Holy Spirit calls “that 51 thing.” She and I stole off and ate some mushrooms with a few of God’s maids in the servant’s jungle while He talked to George, which was really fun. Solomon was there with his guitar; I had forgotten how well he can sing.

We met back up with Dad for dinner, tripping balls. I think we ate turtle soup with some sort of hash browns, or it might have been a green curry with tofu. The Holy Spirit says she remembers something with goat and cottage cheese, but you would think I would recall that. Either way it didn’t go so well. God got mad that we were tripping on Father’s Day, even calling George back and asking him if he was fried on mushrooms to make a point. Sometimes that guy makes me so mad, with his piety and his brown nosing.

Anyway, we got our butts chewed out again, and Dad revoked our access to the lake house for a month. After a few minutes of watching the Holy Spirit cry He agreed to reduce it to two weeks if we would promise not to get stoned with the maids anymore. Who knows how many times we’ve made that promise before.

All in all it wasn’t a terrible day. God’s a tough guy to hang out with even when He’s not conducting several wars and an election season. This year Father’s Day just happened to catch him in the middle of an enormous outpouring of wrath, and we were unlucky enough to catch a little crossfire. It happens, I guess. Some years are better than others. It certainly wasn’t nearly so bad as the one in 1898. God and the Holy Spirit didn’t talk for a good six or seven years after that one.

Finally, a note to all of you who are praying in to me today:

I am not the savior to whom you should be directing your prayers. If you want to pray to your Holy Father please address your prayers to God, not me. I’ve got enough on my mind right now, what with my now having to reschedule my annual summer lake house party at the last minute on a crapload of the best shrooms in Heaven. Better yet, don’t bother praying in at all. I’m sure George and Dad have already put together a raiding party and will be tied up for the next twelve hours or so.

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