Pork Pony only saw a writer's ideas and enthusiasm. It was blind to age, race, and cool-factor. The latter worked well for me as I'm chronically uncool. The former worked for Chris Woodward, who was in high school at the time he wrote and we published this story. He's got great sensibilities, so we're really glad he decided to rejoin us here at Unloosen. This was his first story for Pork Pony. (CL)
Like most people who sulk around their dimly lit apartments hovering razor blades above their wrist, I too feel that God is surely dead, and probably has been for quite some time. Although, I don't hover the razor over my wrist waiting for my nerve to kick in, I hover it over my neck, but I digress.
The reason we don't notice the absence of our divine creator (if you believe in that sort of thing) is that I feel that St. Paul (when not acting as bouncer in front of the Pearly gates) and possibly Jesus (maybe even the Virgin Mary, depending on the time of the month) are stringing up the dead and bloated corpse of God up with wires to make it appear that He isn't dead, when in actuality He is.
They probably shake the wires and God does a morbid little half-jig which bamboozles all the heavenly creatures into thinking God is alive and kicking...well, alive and dancing like he's a white guy, at the least.
Jesus (because we all know that Jesus is the sneakiest of the bunch, up there) probably speaks into a megaphone to mask his voice in that all commanding tone, so as to make it appear to all the angels in the heaven that God is speaking to them, when we both know, my friend, that God is dead, and has been for some time now.
Since we know this information, it explains a lot of the bull that happens in our modern world. Given this new found information, why are certain people still crying for His interference in their meaningless and pitiful problems? The surprisingly small corpse of the Almighty cannot help you now. You should have asked him when he was open for business, say right around 1932. But now, he's gone forever to that big happy hunting ground for dead deities in the sky of heaven. So to the groups who waste their time wailing for God to get off his ego trip and help them, below I treat you to me yelling at you:
Quit your crying, nuns of the world. God is dead and he has been for a long time. Why else would Justin Timberlake not be struck down by celestial lightning bolts and God's own Mod Squad made up of Jesus, Lazarus, and that guy who condemned Jesus to die?
Quit your crying priests. God is dead and he has been for a very long time. Why else would you be allowed to touch little boys and derive satisfaction from it? Oh yeah, it's that whole pedophile disease or crap, right? My bad, but still...God is dead.
Quit your crying basketball playing street thugs. You definitely do not need a new soda from Mountain Dew, the same people who killed your offspring while still in your testicle. Code Red is just a repackaging of Shirley Temples (7UP and cherry juice and some sweet, sweet kiddie goodness). God must be dead to allow Mountain Dew: Code Red pose around in it's streetsmart attitude and a place on the shelves.
So in conclusion, when it seems there is no point in living and nothing seems to go right, and the only way this can end is a fiery car crash, or possibly eating a diseased hamburger, please do not turn to the vacant place in the sky were God once held rein and naively pronounce your need and want for his help. Instead, embrace the evil lord, Lucifer, and condemn your soul to eternal damnation and torment. It has to be better than heaven when Jesus is in charge (he's a sneaky bastard).
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