One year. 100 articles. So we're having a Reader's Party. Come along to Upsidecrown.
A Letter from God
5 July 2001
Everyone OK down there? Excellent. First off, apologies for interrupting your twice-weekly diet of thought-provoking nonsense; Jamie had composed a rather brilliant piece on thermodynamics in Hindu Germany, but that'll have to wait. The Lord wants a quick word in your collective shell-like.
But why now? Well, it's been almost 2000 years since my last mission statement from a quartet of ghost writers (no pun intended), and the one before that was written fuck knows when. Seeing as Michael Owen and Britney Spears have both had countless biographies while still in their teens, I think it's only right for someone who's been kicking around since time began to give you all a quick update.
I guess the main thing is, you shouldn't believe everything you read about me. Especially in the proverbial Good Book - who do you think wrote that? And as with any press release, the truth's going to be stretched a little here and there - that's why there's such a difference between the Old Testament and New Testament Gods, the I-will-fuck-you-up-if-you-step-out-of-line Big G and the forgiving, sent-his-only-son nice guy. I haven't changed - you've got to adapt your image to suit your audience. Scare them first time round, whip them into shape, then mellow out when they start to get critical. And yes, Peter Molyneux is a good friend of mine.
But I'm getting a bit tired of the masks, the lies (just wait, Blair's going to go through this phase as well). I want people to know the real me.
So, vengeful or compassionate? Well, neither really - I'm essentially a decent enough guy, but I'll readily admit to possessing a bit of a sick sense of humour. That's why you should never tempt fate while I'm around (and of course, I always am). See that guy speeding round the corner in front of your house, middle of the road, shades on and drum 'n' bass blaring? Mutter 'God, I hope he crashes', and I'll probably make sure he does - right into your best friend. Or when you wake up after a night on the tiles, mouth like a urinal full of fag butts, and you joke 'That's it, I'm never getting that drunk again', you know what I'll say? 'Too right Joe. You're dying tomorrow.'
But despite all that, I like you guys. I knew I was on a winner when I made the monkeys, but I never thought a little tweak here and there would make such a difference. [Yep, those Creationist dickheads have it all wrong - as if I'm going to make it all in seven days. Doesn't matter who you are, start small and work your way up.] And when I made that first woman - well, I have to say I was pretty chuffed with myself. I thank you.
Problem's always been building relationships, though. If you let someone get too chummy with you when you're God, they think they can get away with anything. That King David turned into a right twat once he knew I was on his side, all that naked dancing and nicking people's wives. And having a relationship with a girl is an absolute nightmare; it's funny, but from a woman's perspective, someone omniscient and omnipotent can turn out to be wrong a surprising amount of the time. My old rival Zeus used to get together with women by turning himself into animals, fucking them then legging it, but he was always a bit of a pervy bastard (and I don't know about swans, but you should never have penetrative sex with a goose). No, I just stick to virgins and leave it at that. Bit of an embarrassment when the old balloon bursts, though...
I soon found out directly talking to you guys just doesn't work. Either no one listens, or you get all carried away and proclaim yourselves as prophets, and it all ends in tears and fireballs. I've taken to just intervening at little moments, making my presence felt in the subtlest ways. Remember that essay you wrote between three and seven in the morning when you were completely pissed, and ended up getting an A? The flick over the last defender and half-volley into the top corner? That night when everything you said got a laugh and you had your pick of the birds? All me. All those times when you've felt like you were watching, out of control, from outside your body - it's called being touched by God.
Yes, I know. 'There are so many millions suffering from famine and war. How can a just and merciful God spend His time intervening in such trivialities when He could save dying people with His power?' Well, to tell the truth, that shit depresses the fuck out of me. I'd rather be playing football or out in the pub than struggling with drought in Africa. Would you rather watch the news or Match of the Day? [Sorry about ITV getting those rights - took my eye off the ball for a minute there.] A hard-hitting documentary or a pleasant sitcom? I'm sorry, but I can't be arsed any more. You care so much, you fix it. Bitch.
That's about it. I'm going for a non-interventionist approach for the next few hundred years. Just to let you know I'm still here, watching. I like that thing you do when you come out of the shower, Gloria. Keep up the good work.
ps Sorry about Michael Bolton. One of those jokes that just went a bit too far...