(Tough) Love From God
Dear Created Being,
First, above all things, let me tell you that I love you: I have always loved you, and I will continue to love you until the stars fade from your planet’s horizon.
That being said, please clean your bathroom. It is gross. It is so, so gross. I am omnipresent. I can see all human bathrooms across the space-time continuum. Yours is pretty bad. It is worse than the bathroom in most Chipotle’s. There are a few porta potties that actually rise above the cleanliness of your studio apartment’s crusty loo. Please. Fix this immediately.
Let me reiterate: You are the object of my delight. I adore you and will clothe you with silken robes and fuzzy L.L. Bean moccasins. On your feet, I will pour out my finest perfumes of lavender and orange blossom. You will smell like a floral biscuit.
But again, I need to say, your bathroom is really icky. I know you are seeing Sarah, from work. She is nice. In other universes, you guys get married and have up to five children. Out of the millions of parallel universes in which you form a lifelong partnership with Sarah from work, there are only 2 in which you get divorced.
But Sarah from work will really not like your bathroom. She will walk into your bathroom and whisper to herself: “This is the nastiest thing I have seen in my entire life.” She will hold her pee, wait, then flush the toilet to deceive you. To make you think that she did pee, when, in reality, she didn’t.
Then, she will leave immediately. She will say: “I have to go.” She will not mince words. She will say: “See you later!” and you’ll believe her, but you will never see or hear or get a text from her ever again. She will not message you back on Instagram, Snapchat, LinkedIn, Facebook Messenger, Signal, or Tumblr. You will have no shot.
I know I’m being a bit harsh. A bit of a meanie. I don’t mean to verbally obliterate you, Sodom-style. You are great. I did a good job on you. I tried really hard when I was forming you from the clay of the Earth. You have many great characteristics. You are loving and kind, honest and loyal. You have a nice back. Your back is actually ripped. I mean that. It looks good.
But for the love of Me, God, please clean your Me-Forsaken bathroom, Me-Dammit.
I would give up my one and only son, Jesus — who is very nice! Who is nice and also funny. A rarity. Much like Pete Holmes — I would give up my son, Jesus AGAIN, just so that your bathroom might be washed of your metaphorical and physical sins.
Yours, now and forever,
God Almighty
