DEAR READERS: In case this is your first time stopping by my place, let me catch you up to speed. This is an ongoing blog about trying to reach God via phone because I can’t seem to get a face-to-face meeting with him during these chaotic times. When I was an Evangelical Christian, I used to think he chatted with me all the time—like eating lunch on a daily basis with a chummy, gossipy gay hairstylist. Then many years ago, I realized it probably wasn’t God—just my schizophrenic DNA mixed with false teachings by very silly preachers. Be that as it may, I still believe in God and need to get some answers before I truly lose my mind over the chaos-ridden, apocalyptic era currently turning our planet into a living hell. I mean, who else can I ask? This is my “Waiting for Godot” moment: “Is this all there is? Do you really care? Does God exist? If so, why have you abandoned us? Why are the liars, robber barons, and the NRA winning? Is Trump the Anti-Christ, and is this the Apocalypse? Will all of California have to completely burn to the ground before the Republicans acknowledge man-made climate change as a major culprit to our global instability?”
I’ve yet to hear from God. If you need to catch up on my anxiety-ridden train of thought, you’ll find my other “prayer” messages filed under: “Are you listening (or paying attention) God?” via a series of “Voicemail Messages to God” which are essays of fanciful (sometimes heartbreaking) queries in my past blog posts. This is my fifth installment: “God, is this the Zombie Apocalypse? You’d tell me, wouldn’t you? Should I cancel Thanksgiving? What’s there to be thankful for if the entire world’s going to hell in a hand basket at the speed of light? Jesus, you have my digits—please call me! Inquiring minds really need to know if this is the end!”
GOD’S VOICEMAIL GREETING: “You’ve reached the voicemail box of GOD at 1-800-PRA-TOME. So glad to hear from most of you with a few exceptions. If this phone call is from that pest, Eleanor Tomczyk, who has been nagging me day and night with the same prayer regarding Donald Trump (“Save us oh God, deliver us, oh God”), I called you the other day and you didn’t pick up the phone. (What’s that old saying: ‘If you snooze, you lose, Baby?’) Do you think you’re the only human I love who is panicked, horrified, and at their wits end regarding their circumstances? Next time—keep your phone on you. Right now, California is burning and needs my grace. In the meantime, Thanksgiving is coming and you should count your blessings and cut me some slack with your incessant complaints. As blessed lives go, you’re doing okay. For all others, please leave a message at the end of the Hallelujah Chorus and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Trust me…I’m God, and I’m on the job!”
Cartoon used by permission: Dave Granlund, PoliticalCartoons.com
HI GOD: This is Eleanor T. It’s just a few days before Thanksgiving and I need to know whether I should skip it this year. I mean…what’s the point.
By the way, I can’t believe you answered my calls the one time I wasn’t near my phone. You’re omnipresent—didn’t you see that I was in the hospital doing a procedure and there was no cell service there? Even if I could have gotten cell service, they made me leave my phone in a locker. You didn’t see that mortifying procedure I was having that my ass doctor dubbed a “small bowel follow-through”—a procedure the hospital warned me could take up to eight hours?! I was praying to you like crazy because I knew I was going to embarrass myself beyond all recovery.
Oh, the humiliation! They made me strip down to my under pants, socks and sneakers, and stuffed me into a hospital gown. They forced me to drink 32 ounces of a nasty white chalky liquid and walk in a loop through the hospital halls for ONE HOUR at a pace that resembled a mouse being chased by a feral cat. My tits were hanging down to my waist (you know I haven’t gone without a bra since I was ten years old—I even wear one to bed), and I could feel the breeze blowing up my ass as my hospital gown flapped slightly open at every turn.) Every once in a while, a Nurse Ratched-type would jog alongside me to make sure I wasn’t going to bite the dust or she’d snatch me into a room for a drive-by x-ray of my innards (“Get back out there, Kiddo…the dye has only gotten through half of your small intestine—you know it’s twenty-three-feet long, don’t you?!”), and then she’d put me back on the track before I could say, “WTF—I hate you!” Didn’t you see me zooming past bored doctors, horrified patients on their way to be operated on, and a not-too-bright security guard who wondered where in the hell I was going half naked and slightly crazed? (I told him I had escaped from the psyche ward and wanted to get in my morning constitutional before I blew that Popsicle stand. Ever notice how rent-a-cops never have a sense of humor?)
That was two days ago and the aftermath has not been pretty: I’m bloated, constantly farting, and have been popping out snow ball colored poops every other minute. I can’t leave the house. God, I think you hate me. What did I ever do to piss you off to garner such suffering and humiliation?
Anyway, enough about me. At least you answered my prayers about the mid-term elections—I think.
Cartoon used by permission: David Fitzsimmons, The Arizona Star-Tucson, AZ
The day after the mid-terms, it looked as if the Blue Wave all kind-hearted people had prayed for was barely a ripple, and that the Trump madness would continue to go unchecked. I was so disappointed and depressed that you hadn’t answered my prayers, which is when I called up my ass doctor and scheduled the bowel follow-through, an endoscopy, and a colonoscopy. I mean, what the hell. (I know it doesn’t make any sense, but it was my childish grown-up version of threatening to go sit in the dirt and eat worms since I didn’t get my way.) Did you get my voice-mail message that I was canceling Thanksgiving also because I didn’t feel there was much to be thankful for in our new-normal apocalyptic state?
But then things started to turn…and they are still turning. You showed up (or I should say, you answered my prayers by making the voters show up). Trump doesn’t know it yet, but your fist of righteousness mingled with our boots on the ground and “woke” crusades, will continue to expand the Blue Wave every day until he is undone. That dude’s going down. I can feel it in my bones. I just don’t know when or how.
Cartoon used by permission: Kevin Siers, The Charlotte Observer, NC
In the meantime, Dear God, I’m going to roll into Thanksgiving with my “praise on” because people are beginning to get “woke” and are figuring out how to handle that awareness. Bad things are still happening each and every day with Trump in office, but I do believe there is hope for us. I know that I’ve got a lot to be thankful for in my own life. I promise you that I’ll stop whining and lend my hands, heart, prayers, and resources to those who have less because that is what you’ve called us all to do for our fellowman in hard times. Besides, the thing I’m truly grateful for is my state of mind and the fact that I am no longer deceived by my religion or my politics because in the words of H.L. Mencken, what I’m most thankful for is:
“In this world of sin and sorrow there is always something to be thankful for; as for me, I rejoice that I am not a Republican.”
Oh, and God, hopefully we can have a real in-depth conversation soon. I just got a transcript of the message you left for me the day I was in the hospital for my ass procedure, and it is a tiny bit concerning. The message said: “Be grateful for what you’ve been given each and every day because things are going to get far worse before they get better for both your ass and the country.” Jesus, do you know something I don’t know? Is that a warning about my upcoming colonoscopy and endoscopy exams? Is Trump going to be re-elected in 2020? OH GOD, SAVE US (SAVE MY ASS); DELIVER US (DELIVER MY ASS)…
Cartoon used by permission: Rick McKee, The Augusta Chronicle, GA
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Cartoon used by permission: Daryl Cagle, CagleCartoons.com
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