God, are you there?

It’s about time, people. You know how your car wouldn’t start yesterday and you had to take a cab because you’re sad and friendless? Or what about the time you sank into a 24-hour spiral of depression because your former lover deployed his Facebook status message as an emotional weapon, targeting you and only you, clearly with the intent to mock your undying love for him and tear these feelings into little, unrecognizable pieces and then laughing at you as you die inside. Ahem. So, anyway, bad shit happens, right? Well now, people, we have some relief.

I think we have by now all realized that Heaven is a bit behind in technology adoption, which is clearly a bullshit move to insulate God from all of his petulant children and their eternal bitching. But, finally, it’s nice to see some effort. A mere nine hundred thousand years after the phone was invented, Heaven now has a direct line to God’s voicemail. Just call the number and let big daddy know how you feel about those little two-minute injuries. Oh, and feel free to get all catty and mean like some sort of insane ex. I’m pretty sure they were counting on this.

There are plenty of topics here at LWM that should probably be forwarded on to God (hint hint, loyal readers). I think first and foremost we need to let him know we’re unhappy about is this whole Jesus thing. Really, God? What happened? I don’t really care what other losers were voted off in the early elimination rounds. But there at the end when you were trying (with shifty eyes and sweat running down your face) to decide between Jesus Christ and Kristy McNichol....well…I think we all know how that one turned out. God fucked us from the start.

Perhaps, people, if we raise enough shit on his voicemail, he’ll finally start to see my side. I can see it now…

Carrabba’s will be first to go. Ryanair jets will crash into all of them, and both will be destroyed in fiery explosions. The jets will be loaded with people who were on their way to work, but were inappropriately dressed. Fiery apostrophes will rain down and explode vehicles with stupid vanity plates. The explosions will kill nearby people embraced in superfluous hugs, while onlookers take pictures with their beeping cell phones. Oh, and all of this will take place in Beaumont, TX. Not so much the end of the world as a little wag of the finger from the big guy.

Really I hope God gets a Blackberry soon. I can’t rely on time-delayed messages to be effective. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I realize that this God voicemail thing is bullshit.