[NOTE: my friend God promised to pay me a visit tonight, so that we could collaborate on writing an essay; but he is taking a long time to show up, so I’ve decided to deliver a mean lecture about him while waiting.]
Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Let me tell you about my current predicament:
Tonight, I made plans for the present hour to co-write an essay with Lord Jehovah, whom you know as God; but apparently he is just too busy, for I’ve been ghosted.
Earlier, he called me up — three times, in fact — and said the same thing in each instance:
“O Bryan Ray, beware: I will visit you at sundown, and we shall compose prophetic scriptures together; I myself will give the oracles, and you will be my scribe.”
However, so far, he has neither materialized nor sent so much as a message to explain his absence. I’m guessing that he’s out gambling again: He likes to play games with the Devil, whom we all know is a fucking wino. The two of them are probably in an alley somewhere talking about guitars and half-watching bad TV.
So I’ve already begun this present sermon alone, and I’ll probably end up preaching a few more lectures, solo and impromptu, if you all are willing to stick around and listen. I predict that God won’t arrive until way past midnight. He’s got the habits of a vampire. And that’s if he even shows up! For, rather than add to his holy books, he always tends to find something more urgent to partake in, like water-skiing behind a canoe, or tossing a fire-disc with that lowlife the Devil. (I hate the Devil — he’s good for nothing at all. That’s why I refer to him with the most offensive slang terms I can conjure.)
God needs to learn to keep appointments and stop fondling himself while spying on . . . Hey, wait: do you hear that? That’s the telephone ringing — it could be him!
Hello? Ah, hi. OK, bye.
That was my girlfriend. She always follows thru on plans — unlike the Lord, who’s likely lurking around the washroom and can’t even manage to keep the simplest schedule. He treats us believers like day-old bread. I swear, if he were a she, and we two were married, that strumpet would surely flirt with every woman we encounter during our nighttime walks on the street. God would always be lusting after all those other virgins, instead of remaining true to me, thus breaking the principal rule of our relationship: Thou shalt have no prophet beyond Bryan Ray, for he is the one that you can trust. — But, unfortunately, God is no respecter of persons.
[Loud laughter and cheers from the congregation.]
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