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A Memo From God:
Okay, America, listen up because I’m only going to say this once. I’m getting just a little sick and tired of all the excuses. No matter what your walk of life, you keep giving me the same old song and dance, and frankly, it’s starting to annoy me. Day after day, I listen to you come up with the same tired rhetoric for why your behavior isn’t quite up to snuff; and every day, I roll my eyes and yawn, here we go again. Can’t you be a little original, at least? Here are some of the excuses I hear; some examples of why, at times, I’m tempted to pull the plug on your ventilator and end our little capitalistic social experiment:
If the Pope can do it, why can’t I? Sorry… ain’t gonna fly. Yes, the Pope has probably eaten more than 2,500 eucharistic wafers. No, he didn’t do it all in one sitting. Frankly, your little contest is pathetic… and take off that collar, too, it isn’t funny. Besides, you’re a woman… no one is going to believe you’re a priest.
I didn’t know it was a felony. This one I hear on a daily basis. Folks, it’s a very simple premise: If it involves depositing body parts in a dumpster, it’ll probably land you in the slammer… regardless of whether or not you were really, really drunk at the time. District attorneys tend to be less than permissive in these cases…
Nike is an evil giant who employs slave labor… and besides, they’ll never miss one pair of Air Jordan’s. While you’re technically correct on both points, your selection is very last year. Michael Jordan is simply no longer a major player in the world of sports’ footwear… do both of us a favor and pick up a copy of Sports Illustrated. Then, go steal something a little more appropriate. Hell, steal the Sports Illustrated, too, for that matter…
How was I supposed to know he was a serial killer? He left me a great tip, and I really liked his van. Yes, it’s true that we’re often tempted to accept rides home from forty-year-old bikers, and it is sometimes difficult to find a date on the bus, but just keep it in the back of your mind that you’re going to be dead for a long time…
Well, Bill Clinton did it… This one is just plain sad. First of all, you have no legacy at stake. Second, and more to the point, you don’t have a desk and Trixie isn’t an intern. Go inside, dude… just go inside… and put that cigar back in your pocket.
I’m fighting the war on terrorism. Another popular one, these days… I refer you to the district attorneys I mentioned earlier. Although… on second thought, you might look good in prison blues. There’s a nice little tropical spot down in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba with your name on it.
My parents were Hollywood celebrities. Oh, yeah? Lean over a little closer, and I’ll let you in on a secret: Unless your name is Edith Head, costume designers aren’t technically celebrities. Besides, Michael Jackson was raised by a show-business family and he turned out all— Never mind, I’ll accept this one.
It’s not my fault, I suffer from a biochemical imbalance. Quick… someone hand me a barf-bag, please.
I’m merely following scripture. Yea, so was Jim Jones, right before he and his three-hundred followers drank their Kool-aid… and let’s not forget Osama bin Laden and his madcap hi-jinx; I believe his holy book spoke to him, too.
At least come up with something a little more creative, will you please? Most of you have high school diplomas, for goodness sake, how about using those three active brain cells you have remaining and coming up with something I can be proud of?! I’m counting on you, now— don’t let me down.
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