Subject: [Insert 30 seconds of thinking up a vapid subject line.]
Yippee. The brownies are finally out of my system. Dear GOD, thank you. I'm feeling a little "iffy" today. Yeah, iffy. Kinda like, iffy you say one cross word to me, I might choke the shit out of you. K? OK.
I had this pretty crazy dream last night. (Not really, but I'm gonna make one up.) God spake — yes, spake — to me. Do you know what he said? "Sup, bitch? Wake your punk ass up, I got some brownies." To which I replied, "No, goddamnit, er, God. Why you gots ta fuck with me like that? Uncool. Really fuckin' uncool."
God: "Quit bein' a little bitch. Hey did you see Dubya's State of the Union speech?"
Me: "No. Since I can't help but vomit every time I watch or listen to him, I've cut down on my Bush take-in each day. Ya know what I mean?"
God: "No, I don't know what you mean, but I'm gonna nod in agreement and hope you won't bring that up again. He said he was gonna cut foreign imports of oil by 75 percent. Can you believe that shit? You better lose that freshman 15 you gained, 'cuz your punk ass is about to be walkin' every where."
Me: "Freshman 13, ass pirate. Anyway, there's no way he's gonna do that. It would cost HIM too much money. And besides, Dick Cheney wouldn't allow it. He'd bitch slap Bush until he drew blood and lick it off Bush's lips. He's gross like that."
God: "You're a sick fuck. Did you know that?
Me: "I've been told that before. Yes."
God: "OK, I'm out-ie. Here's a couple Vicodin. It'll take the edge off."
Me: "Thanks, God. You're the shit."
God: "You think that's good? Wait till you get to heaven. Beautiful girls. Everywhere. That actually like you."
Me: "Sweet. OK, my mind's getting a little cloudy. You gave me the big blue ones. Shit. The 'edge' is gone."
... And that was my made-up dream. Have a good day. I'll be back.