The Ever-Loving Virgin Prince
Thursday, December 04, 2003
How Do You Know They Don’t Wear Black In Heaven?
God is dead. That’s right, God is dead. I’m not saying just another cliché line either. On September 12th, Johnny Cash died. That’s right. God was the man in black.
Now it’s a little known fact that roughly every 300 years God comes down to Earth and walks among us as a mortal. Why he does it, I don’t know, he’s God. Maybe it’s to get some human perspective, maybe it’s to take a break from omnipotency. Couldn’t say. But he does it pretty consistently and he generally has a decent run, usually getting a full hundred years. It’s not hard for him to pull off, assuming he’s not trapped in the middle of a war or harsh conditions wherever he may be living at the time. He never craves red meat, spirits, or tobacco, and he can zap the cholesterol out of anything he eats with his mind. He has no problem following a diet consisting of rice and cornmeal and he can control his own metabolism to stay fit. But his previous time around, he tried something different. The day before he died, a small girl gave him an apple. And you know what? He liked it.
And God died. And the girl grew up. And she always had apple trees in her yard everywhere she lived for the rest of her life. And God got to thinking, up in Heaven. Maybe he’d been going about things the wrong way. He’d been a blacksmith, a tailor, a monk, a soldier, but had he had the full human experience? He’d never kissed another. Gotten drunk. Eaten steak. Used harsh language. Had a kid (not the normal way, omnipotent man-gods created by thought don’t count.) So he got back to taking care of his Godly business for another 331 years.
He returned on the 26th of February, 1932. He popped out of a woman this time, instead of just appearing like he normally did. There was no need to be punctual, after all, people aren’t completely ordered. He grew up, for real this time, the son of cotton farmers. He spit and cussed and got smacked by his mother for it. He went to see Hank Williams play. He smoked, he drank, he did pills. He burned down half a forest when his truck caught fire. He was afraid of snakes. He played the best songs ever made about Jesus. He was a real man.
Anyway, he’s gone now. Died September 12th. He didn’t get the full hundred years. Living, really living, getting the full human experience, chewed him up pretty well. But he got 81 years. Not a bad run.
Now he’s back in Heaven, he’s got Godly duties to catch up on. There’s a lot that’s happened in the past 81 years and he’s not happy about all of it. I suspect we’ll see some changes. For now, I’m waiting to see George W. Bush get struck down by a guitar thrown from above.
Now it’s a little known fact that roughly every 300 years God comes down to Earth and walks among us as a mortal. Why he does it, I don’t know, he’s God. Maybe it’s to get some human perspective, maybe it’s to take a break from omnipotency. Couldn’t say. But he does it pretty consistently and he generally has a decent run, usually getting a full hundred years. It’s not hard for him to pull off, assuming he’s not trapped in the middle of a war or harsh conditions wherever he may be living at the time. He never craves red meat, spirits, or tobacco, and he can zap the cholesterol out of anything he eats with his mind. He has no problem following a diet consisting of rice and cornmeal and he can control his own metabolism to stay fit. But his previous time around, he tried something different. The day before he died, a small girl gave him an apple. And you know what? He liked it.
And God died. And the girl grew up. And she always had apple trees in her yard everywhere she lived for the rest of her life. And God got to thinking, up in Heaven. Maybe he’d been going about things the wrong way. He’d been a blacksmith, a tailor, a monk, a soldier, but had he had the full human experience? He’d never kissed another. Gotten drunk. Eaten steak. Used harsh language. Had a kid (not the normal way, omnipotent man-gods created by thought don’t count.) So he got back to taking care of his Godly business for another 331 years.
He returned on the 26th of February, 1932. He popped out of a woman this time, instead of just appearing like he normally did. There was no need to be punctual, after all, people aren’t completely ordered. He grew up, for real this time, the son of cotton farmers. He spit and cussed and got smacked by his mother for it. He went to see Hank Williams play. He smoked, he drank, he did pills. He burned down half a forest when his truck caught fire. He was afraid of snakes. He played the best songs ever made about Jesus. He was a real man.
Anyway, he’s gone now. Died September 12th. He didn’t get the full hundred years. Living, really living, getting the full human experience, chewed him up pretty well. But he got 81 years. Not a bad run.
Now he’s back in Heaven, he’s got Godly duties to catch up on. There’s a lot that’s happened in the past 81 years and he’s not happy about all of it. I suspect we’ll see some changes. For now, I’m waiting to see George W. Bush get struck down by a guitar thrown from above.
