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Tag Archives: Political Humor

PUTTING MY BODY WHERE MY MOUTH IS

“STOP THE RAIDS AND DEPORTATION.

IMMIGRANT LABOR BUILT THIS NATION!”

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“NO TRUMP.

NO KKK.

NO FASCIST USA!”

“DO YOU SING IN A CHOIR—CAUSE IF YOU DO, YOU’RE OUT OF TUNE!” shouted the cane-leaning old White man in a MAGA hat at the protesting Democrats, of which I was one.

“OH REALLY! IS THAT ALL YOU’VE GOT, OLD MAN”—THERE’S THREE OF YOU, AND HUNDREDS OF US!” I screamed back across the political and moral abyss that divided us. (I don’t know why I answered with that particular quip, but the phrase popped out of my mouth before I knew what I was saying—two septuagenarians shouting smack against each other—one White, one Black.  If the stakes weren’t so high—the soul of our country—I would have keeled over in laughter at the absurdity of two old farts verbally going at each other and bought the old man a drink after all was said and done.)

Author at Democrats’ Protest of Trump/Jamestown Beach 2019||Photo Credit: Eleanor Tomczyk

“GO BACK TO WHERE YOU CAME FROM YOU FUCKIN’ ASSHOLES,” yelled a Trump supporter from a pick-up truck as he whizzed past us.  All I could think to yell back at the ass of the truck of the foul-mouthed Trumpster was “YOU…YOU…YOU KISS YOUR MOTHER WITH THAT MOUTH?”

Looks like I’m going to have to up my game in the retort department if I’m going to continue in this public protest battle against stupidity, lies, racism, and craziness.  Just sayin’.

This week was a start though.  I’ve been protesting and resisting Trump via my blog since the first moment he came down the escalator in Trump Tower, but this week I got to join with others and tell this President to go back to the sewer in New York from which he sprung.

It felt good.  Encouraging.  The First Amendment at work—the first of many steps to bring this aberration down in 2020.  It was Democracy in action.

Democrats Protest Trump/Jamestown Beach 2019||Photo Credit: Elizabeth Wiley

I almost didn’t attend this protest.  I mean, for Pete’s sake, I’m an old woman.  I got no business putting myself in those types of volatile situations. (What if I had a stroke?) Besides, the temperature was supposed to be in the high 90’s, no bathrooms would be provided AT ALL within the protest area (which meant I couldn’t drink any water), and due to the high level of security for #45, we would be confined to a specific area until the buses returned to pick us up.  (What if I peed on myself and three other protesters? OMG!)  But I went anyway. (When I got home, I tried to write a blog about the experience, but I promptly fell asleep on top of my open laptop and slept that way the rest of the day until my husband came home from work. Looks like I need to go into training before the next protest.)

Democrats Protest Trump/Jamestown Beach 2019||Photo Credit: Eleanor Tomczyk

It was a conversation I had with an octogenarian Trump supporter in my Canasta group that really pushed me into action.  I had been toying with the idea of going but probably could have been easily talked out of it (due to my age and unpredictability of potential violence) when a cute little eighty year old learned that a couple of us were interested in attending the protest against #45 when he came to town.  I’ve always thought of this woman as adorable and kindhearted.  She is an ardent church goer, a tireless volunteer for the down-trodden, says “gee-williker-wiz” (instead of “oh, shit!” when she’s frustrated) and “gosh-darn-tootin’” (instead of “hot damn” when she’s won the lottery), and I’d be willing to bet butter doesn’t melt in her mouth—and her shit doesn’t stink.  But then she said the magic words that drop kicked me into the protest: “Oh no!  I just knew something like this would happen when the President came to speak! Why can’t you just support our President? He’s doing a great job.  The economy is fabulous, my taxes have gone down—I just need to understand why you dislike him so! I mean, I wish he’d stop tweeting, but other than that, look at all the good he’s done!”   

That is when I knew my sweet little octogenarian and others like her would be our country’s downfall because she was not horrified by the words and antics of Satan himselfone Donald J. Trump.

Democrats Protest Trump/Jamestown Beach 2019||Photo Credit: Eleanor Tomczyk

Our local newspaper reported some of Trump’s speech to the Jamestown General Assembly that caught my attention:

“In August 1619, the first enslaved Africans in the English colonies arrived in Virginia. It was the beginning of a barbaric trade in human lives. Today, we honor, we remember every sacred soul who suffered the horrors of slavery and the anguish of bondage. More than 150 years later, at America’s founding, our Declaration of Independence recognized the immortal truth that all men are created equal.

Yet, it would ultimately take a civil war, 85 years after that document was signed, to abolish the evil of slavery. It would take more than another century for our nation in the words of Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. to live out the true meaning of its creed and extend the blessings of freedom to all Americans.

In the face of grave oppression and grave injustice, African-Americans have built, strengthened, inspired, uplifted, protected, defended, and sustained our nation from its very earliest days…”

Two hours after returning from Jamestown where he gave his scripted speech on the history and virtues of African-Americans, Trump admitted that he’d pulled the previous racist attacks against the Congresswomen of Color, Cummings, and Baltimore out of his buttjust because! (Trump to reporters about racist statements: “I have no strategy. There’s zero strategy. It’s very simple.”)  In other words, it is even worse than I thoughthis racism is cynical, calculated, and cold, and he was just reading a script at Jamestown.

Democrats Protest Trump/Jamestown Beach 2019||Photo Credit: Eleanor Tomczyk

It’s too bad Trump’s tweets, actions, and rallies speak of a different reality than his staged teleprompter speech at the Ceremony Commemorating the 400th Anniversary of Jamestown Colony.  If his words in front of the Assembly were matched by his actions, I would not have felt compelled to gather with 349 other people on a hot July day to protest his sorry-ass and would have stayed home to binge watch the final season of “Orange is the New Black” while sipping mimosas.  Since I know that speech was not written by Trump nor does it reflect his true feelings (“by their fruits you shall know them,” the Bible says), looks like I’m going to have to stock up on Geritol (which was extinct but somehow made a miraculous comeback) to help sustain me for the long protest marches ahead to 2020.

Until then I’ll keep fighting this battle for the Left side—the humane side—because right now, they are the only political group that seems to have a clear understanding of the evil in our midst cultivating darkness in our countrymen’s hearts and minds.  And that includes sweet, little old ladies who would rather go to their graves saying “Gosh darnit, gheez, son-of-a-gun” with blinders on their eyes rather than open their eyes and call a racist, lying, abusive, cheater of a President the son-of-a-bitch that he is and vote him out of office in 2020.  It’s up to those who can see the truth to keep protesting, to keep trying to wake up our sweet friends, neighbors, and relatives to the truth before it is too late.

Democrats Protest Trump/Jamestown Beach 2019||Photo Credit: Eleanor Tomczyk

WANT TO READ MORE ABOUT THE AUTHOR’S LIFE AMONG WHITE CHRISTIAN CONSERVATIVES FOR 45+ YEARS AND THE INSIGHTS GAINED:  Check out “Fleeing Oz”—on sale now at Amazon!

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WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THE AUTHOR?  Check out her website at http://www.eleanortomczyk.com

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 
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Posted by on July 31, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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LIVIN’ MY LIFE LIKE IT’S GOLDEN

ESSAY ON MINDFULNESS DURING THE REIGN OF TERROR BY TRUMP, EPISODE #2

Remember how I told you recently that The Donald had given me an Easter gift of mindfulness, and I will be eternally grateful to him for it?  How life was passing me by because I was so wrapped up in #45’s 10,000 lies that they were robbing my peace and joy? In fact, I was acting like God had died and bequeathed the United States to Donald J. Trump.  It was driving me INSANE!  Well, I got set free during the Easter season. No kidding! In order to not go crazy from his highness’ unrepentant evil, I’ve cut down the news to 2 hours a day (1 hour in the a.m. and 1 hour in late afternoon) to keep me abreast of whether Armageddon has started in case I have to move to my bomb shelter and start bartering the wine from my wine cabinet for food with my neighbors. The rest of my day is spent smelling the roses—being grateful for what I have at almost 71 years old (in June) and opening up my life to new experiences.  I am currently living in awakened, grateful mindfulness while engaging in the world around me.  It’s been absolutely awesome!  I’m so cool, calm, and collected these days.  I’m so happy and full of joy!

Cartoon used by permission: Bob Englehart, Middletown, CT

It isn’t just the antics of the toddler-king that cause me great anxiety, it is the entire 24/7 news of how badly we’re treating each other as human beings that is killing my spirit (from mass shootings in schools and houses of worship to individual meanness in our homes (some old fart in my town [75 years old] shot his wife of 54 years in front of his grown kid the other day and announced to the judge that he did it because “the bitch just wouldn’t shut up”. Oy!) 

The thing that really breaks my heart is every time I read or hear about Christians blatantly selling their souls to the altar of Donald Trump (yes, I’m talking to you Jerry Falwell, Jr. and Franklin Graham), I’m crushed in spirit, and the anguish of their deception overwhelms me.  (I’ve always wondered how those that fought evil in the past were able to keep their hearts and minds from exploding when they saw the majority of Germany’s Christians applauding Hitler and carrying out his instructions to annihilate the Jews, or South African Christians trampling on the rights of Black South Africans in the name of “divine” Apartheid, or Southerners preaching from the church pulpits that slavery of the Negro and the subsequent Jim Crow Laws were warranted and justified in Jesus’ name.  How did the minority who knew that the evil swirling around them in Jesus’ name had nothing to do with Jesus maintain their sanity?

It had to be mindfulness (dwelling in the moment on gratitude, hope, beauty, and love) that kept them holding on until the TRUTH showed up and out and set the enslaved free.


Cartoon used by permission: Bob Englehart, Middletown, CT

In my new state of mindfulness this week, I discovered that my home state of Virginia is celebrating 50 years of love.  Apparently, Virginia’s Tourism Board started the campaign that “Virginia is for Lovers” some 50 years ago, which is really ironic since Virginia is the state that was sued by the interracial couple, Mr. and Mrs. Loving (I know, talk about irony!) 52 years ago to allow them to live in Virginia as a married couple which broke the miscegenation laws at the time when they won the Supreme Court case.  Because of the Lovings, John and I can live in Virginia as an interracial married couple who have been married 40 years without the local sheriff dragging us out of our home in the middle of the night and throwing us into jail.  For 50 days, the Virginia Tourism Corporation has led an active campaign around the word “love”—“50 years of love—Virginia is for Lovers.”

I almost didn’t go for my six-mile walk the other day, because I had allowed some negative criticism of some MAGA hat Christians to seep into my thinking (why are they always so obstinate and mean-spirited?).  But I reminded myself that the “new Eleanor” was a slave to mindfulness now and needed to go about her day as an instrument of God’s peace.  So I prayed the prayer I’ve made up for myself and set off on my walk:

“I have no plans today for my life—only sketches.

Reveal to me your path—where I should go, who I should meet, what I should do.

May I be slow to anger, quick to listen, and slow to speak.

Grant me courage, wisdom, grace, mercy, and above all love for those I encounter along the way.”

Halfway through my walk as I meditated on what a fabulous man I’d ended up with to journey through this life (I call him “WW”—“White and Wonderful”), I came across a giant display of the word “love” in the central area of my community.  It was a manifestation of the Virginia Tourism’s “Love” campaign throughout the state.  And I knew exactly what my mindfulness action was supposed to be that day, and I hope the Lovings were looking down on us from heaven and grinning from ear to ear.

Photo credit: Marilyn Mason
Photo credit: Marilyn Mason

In keeping with the spirit of how mindful we should be for the love WW and I have been given (blessed with two children and one grandchild), we are not going to stop at the “love” sign.  We are going to go celebrate that love in Spain, Portugal, and England on a brand new cruise ship called the Celebrity Edge (I’ll also be celebrating my 71st birthday).  All of this is a month early (we were actually married in June on my birthday), but so what? I’m old—I can do just about anything I want.  For the entire time we’re traveling, we are going to ignore any and everything about Trump, his mayhem, and his minions’ chaos (no bad news will cross these eyeballs or infiltrate these ears).  Consequently, I will be taking a break from blogging and rolling from the spa to the dance floor, to the gourmet restaurants, and through the vineyards and cathedrals in each port on one of the loveliest ships I’ve ever seen.  I’m sure I’ll have plenty of stories to tickle your funny bones and lighten your hearts about mindfulness when I return because I plan to take my journal with me.

In the meantime, wallow in mindfulness while I’m gone—it will make your day!

Celebrity Edge Poster Photo

(They say that one of the five restaurants on this ship is one where you can build your meal via hologram—hot diggedy-dog!)

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WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THE AUTHOR?  Check out her website at www.eleanortomczyk.com

THE AUTHOR’S LATEST BOOKS:  Monsters’ Throwdown, Fleeing Oz, The Fetus Chronicles on sale now at Amazon!

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Photo credit: Marilyn Mason

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 
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Posted by on May 10, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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JESUS, GOD OF EASTER, HELP!

As you might imagine, given the events of this week, I am sitting Shiva with the rest of my liberal friends—or should I say, sitting Shiva with anybody who has a brain, a conscious, a heart, a soul, or eyes and ears.  According to Wikipedia, Shiva means “seven,” and “sitting Shiva” is described as: “the week-long mourning period in Judaism for first-degree relatives.”  In this case, my first-degree relatives are my country’s morality, constitution, and soul, and my religion’s core Truth.  I know I’m supposed to accept Barr’s assessment of the Mueller report and move on, but I just can’t.  In the words of George Conway (conservative lawyer and the husband of White House counselor Kellyanne Conway —talk about irony):

“TRUMP IS GUILTY—OF BEING UNFIT FOR OFFICE”

Cartoon used by permission: Milt Priggee, Oak Harbor, WA/Cagle Cartoons

The aftermath of Barr’s summary has been brutal against anyone who has opposed Trump—led by the mean-spirited bully Trump himself, as he takes his victory lap in the end zone.  Every time I hear him attacking someone who has uncovered his lies or stood up to his bullying, all I can do is pray that the God of Easter rescues us from this cretin—SOON.  Was it wrong to hope the Mueller Report would be an answer to that prayer of obvious corruption exposed?  And why did William Barr give us an interpretation of a potentially 300-plus page report rather than the report itself?  What is Barr hiding?  Instead, the White Right-Wing Christians who believe Trump was sent by God are hoarse from crowing Barr’s summation that God has protected their anointed one, and it makes me sick to my stomach—so sick, it sent me into intercessory prayer.  Below is my most recent prayer—prayed while sitting in sackcloth and ashes cataloged under the title: If Ever There was a God, Now is the Time to Show Up (Again).

Cartoon used by permission: Ed Wexler, PoliticalCartoons.com/Cagle Cartoons

DEAR GOD:

How are you?  The last time we spoke, I was praying for healing of a horrible respiratory disease, spring to arrive (sooner than later), and for the Mueller Report to be released, putting a stop to our current reign of terror. I’m very grateful that you completely healed my snot-generating, five-foot chubby-ass body, that spring has finally sprung revealing that not all my plants died over the winter (thank you very much), and the Mueller Report was finally released—kind of.

It looks like I needed to be a bit more specific in my prayers regarding the Mueller Report.  I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but I thought we had an understanding that the report would be released in its entirety and reveal the complete corruption of Donald J. Trump in such a way that his followers would flee in horror—especially the ones who claim to be your followers.  But instead of them repenting in sackcloth and ashes for propping up this egregious sack of sin, they are joining in his revenge victory lap claiming the Bible verse (Psalm 105:15) on Trump’s behalf:  “Don’t touch my chosen leaders or harm my prophets! “Just the other day I came across this billboard that was once posted near St. Louis, Missouri from a bunch of your Trump-loving Christian followers equating him with you, Jesus:

A billboard along route I-70 near St. Louis, Missouri in Nov. 2018

(OPEN LETTER TO GOD, CONT.)

I don’t know how I missed this billboard when it first appeared, but my God, doesn’t this just burn your cookies?  Seems as if that alone would cause you to make a personal appearance just to set the record straight.  Now, how does the Bible verse John 1:14 read again? 

“The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.

(The billboard was removed in 2018, but only after a great deal of hysteria from your “sane” peeps who rallied to confront this blasphemous stupidity.)

Insane, right?!

Cartoon used by permission: Pat Bagley, The Salt Lake Tribune, UT/Cagle Cartoons

(OPEN LETTER TO GOD, CONT.)

With all due respect, knowing what you must know, what’s up with letting Trump slide by on the Mueller Report and practically getting away with murder?  You of all deities know that he’s guilty.  He’s like a giant toddler, and he won’t stop until he’s caught red-handed. He needs a giant ass-kicking by you since I am now convinced that Trump was right—he could shoot someone on 5th Avenue and not lose his supporters—especially his Christian supporters because they believe you sent Trump to save America.

Not that I need to give you any parenting advice, but do you recall the “Great Toddler Candy Heist of 87” that was perpetrated by one of my children (no need to name names—you know who Baby-girl is)?  Bear with me here.

As you recall, in the beginning, I tried to raise my children in a sugar-free environment. However, one of my kids came to Earth dreaming of lollipops. If upon her arrival the Devil had presented himself to her and said, “I’ll give you all the candy in the world in exchange for your soul, your sister’s soul, and both your parents’ souls,” she would have said, “In a hot baby-poop minute—where do I stamp my baby paw print?”   My child had ways of getting candy that I knew not of.  All I know is that the minute I turned my back on her (with the specific instructions: “Don’t give this child any candy!”) and returned to pick her up from babysitters, Sunday school providers, mother-in-law, or friends’ homes, I’d find candy wrappers stuffed in her diapers and witness the vestiges of a tummy ache all over my new blouses when I snuggled with her.  But no one could ever catch her actually procuring and eating the sweets.  No matter how many times I asked her if she’d eaten candy and where she’d gotten it from, she’d look me straight in the eyes and lie through her cute little four-year-old baby teeth.  (I think I might have even tossed out a prayer or two to you to help me catch that little barbarian in her lies at one time or another.)

Internet Meme

One day, I think you answered my prayers.  I took said candy thief and her sister with me to a very brief business meeting. I noticed as we passed by a table in the lobby by the receptionist’s desk that a rather large bowl of grape Jolly Ranchers was prominently displayed on our way to the elevators.  Both girls asked if they could have some, but I told them “no,” because I was afraid it would spoil their lunch.

After the meeting was over, I strapped the kids into their respective car seats and proceeded back home for lunch.  About five minutes into the drive, I smelled a pungent grapey odor coming from the back seat.  In fact, the odor was overwhelming, as if someone had flooded the car with Welch’s Grape Juice. It was apparent that one of the kids had stolen candy from the office candy dish.  As I whipped my head around like a cobra to seek out the culprit, I demanded to know who was sucking on a Jolly Rancher. My older daughter said, “Not I, said the cat.” When I turned to Baby-girl, she violently shook her head in denial but refused to open her mouth.  Had I not pulled over to the side of the road, I would not have caught her in the act.  But as I stopped the car and looked into the back seat at my girls, streams of purple ooze poured out of Baby-girl’s mouth.  Apparently, she had stolen as many Jolly Ranchers as her little fat fingers could handle and squirrelled them away in her jumpsuit pockets.  My toddler thief had stuffed not one, not two, not three, but at least four grape Jolly Ranchers into her tiny toddler mouth which couldn’t contain the saliva overflow. Caught dead to rights, even as I asked Baby-girl if she had Jolly Ranchers in her mouth, she continued to shake her head in fierce denial while purple saliva stormed from both sides of her mouth as if she were an overheated Saint Bernard and consequently slimed both her sister and me in purple ooze.

Lord, the point of this story is that I nipped that little rascal’s lyin’ and stealin’ in the bud by catching her in the act, and today she is a fine upstanding citizen. I thought you were probably proud of me for that bit of parenting stealth, if the truth be known.So here’s the word: you created Donald Trump.  Essentially, you’re his first parent.  I don’t mean to be impertinent, but why didn’t you let the Mueller Report expose him in all his ill-gotten slime?  Instead, he has gotten away with his crimes (again!) and has become an even bigger jerk than ever—claiming to be a martyr on the level of messiahhood, creating a revenge list, and tormenting the sick, the poor, and anybody that crosses him.


Cartoon used by permission: Milt Priggee, Oak Harbor, WA/Cagle Cartoons

(OPEN LETTER TO GOD, CONT.)

Lord Jesus, I know you know everything none of us know and in due time, all will be revealed, and we’ll all know the truth whether we want to accept it or not. It’s just that William Barr’s assessment was not the truth.  It may have “technically” helped Trump escape collusion, but he’s got the stain of being a horrible human being in every fiber of his being and he’s sliming us all with his purple-tainted sins of lying and corruption.   

Anyway, see you on Easter.  I could use some hope and proof that you’re in control of this mess. Just sayin’. In the meantime, I’ll keep praying (like a mantra) in the words of Leslie Jones’ recent universal tweet:  #LORDHELPUSPLEASE


Cartoon used by permission: David Fitzsimmons, The Arizona Star Tucson, AZ/Cagle Cartoons

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WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THE AUTHOR?  Check out her website at www.eleanortomczyk.com

THE AUTHOR’S LATEST BOOKS:  Monsters’ Throwdown, Fleeing Oz, The Fetus Chronicles on sale now at Amazon!

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REFERENCE

https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/2019/03/27/michael-avenattis-downfall-would-be-great-thing-democrats/?utm_term=.b45c5010c518

https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/george-conway-trump-is-guilty–of-being-unfit-for-office/2019/03/26/0b5f851e-4ffd-11e9-88a1-ed346f0ec94f_story.html?utm_term=.b59e095fe99e

https://www.cnn.com/2019/03/27/politics/cnn-poll-mueller-reaction-exoneration/index.html

https://www.riverfronttimes.com/newsblog/2018/11/05/we-fixed-that-appalling-trump-billboard-just-outside-st-louis-for-you

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 
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Posted by on March 29, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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THANKSGIVING IN THE AGE OF THE APOCALYPSE

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, “WTFI 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

***

WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THE AUTHOR?  Check out her website at www.eleanortomczyk.com

THE AUTHOR’S LATEST BOOKS:  Monsters’ Throwdown, Fleeing Oz, The Fetus Chronicles on sale now at Amazon!

WANT TO HEAR THE AUTHOR’S LATEST PODCAST INTERVIEW? http://breadboxmedia.podbean.com/e/what-if-it-is-true-can-you-find-faith-in-darkness/

Cartoon used by permission: Daryl Cagle, CagleCartoons.com

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 
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Posted by on November 17, 2018 in Uncategorized

 

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SCARY TIMES

DEAR READERS:  Have you been in touch with God, lately?  I’ve left him a gazillion messages and haven’t heard a peep.  Just wanted to let him know that our world really needs him right now.  Also, if you do happen to chat with him, let him know that I’m trying to decide what costume to wear for Halloween, and I’d like to ask him to turn the tide in the election next week to curtail the Hater in Chief in the White House.   Let God know when you hear from him that he’ll (or she’ll) find my copious other “prayer” messages filed under: “Are you Listening (or paying attention) God?”  For your edification Dear Reader, what follows is the fourth installment of a “Voicemail Message to God” which is a short essay on another universal question I wish God would answer about life: “God, what is your end game?”

Scary Times John Darkow Columbia Missourian

Cartoon used by permission: John Darkow, Columbia Missourian

GOD’S VOICEMAIL GREETING:  “You’ve reached the voicemail box of GOD at 1-800-PRA-TOME.  As you might have guessed, if this call is from the United States, I’m sitting Shiva.  I will not be answering phone calls about anything first-world related while I’m in mourning with the city of Pittsburgh.  AMERICANS:  YOU WANT TO SAVE YOUR NATION:  GO OUT AND VOTE ON NOVEMBER 6TH!  DON’T BLOW IT AGAIN. I WON’T DO FOR YOU WHAT YOU REFUSE TO DO FOR YOURSELVES. Please leave a message after the tone.”

***

Hello GOD:  It’s Eleanor—again!  I don’t mean to become a pest, but I’ve been trying to get you to call me back for ages now.  I certainly understand why you are out-of-reach at the moment, but that is kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.

It’s getting scarier and scarier out here.  Halloween is here and who wants to wear a scary costume these days when our very own Victor Frankenstein in the White House has cooked up a Molotov cocktail of hated and division that is roaming our country seeking whom it may devour.

Hate It is Alive Rick McKee The Augusta Chronicle GA

Cartoon used by permission: Rick McKee, The Augusta Chronicle, GA

God, I don’t mean to tell you how to do your job, but you know the massacre in Pittsburgh could have all been prevented, don’t you?  You wouldn’t have to be sitting Shiva for the massacre at the Tree of Life Synagogue Congregation had you listened to my prayers.  Eleven people would still be alive and we’d have a lot more hope in our hearts if you had acknowledged my hysteria over the tiki-torch waving, khaki-trouser wearing White men in Charlottesville last year.  Remember in 2017 when the White supremacists hoisted the Nazi flags in Charlottesville as they marched around the Confederate statue and shouted, “Jews will not replace us?”  Instead of our Commander in Chief squishing this hateful monster like the giant demonic cockroach that it is, he said there were “good people on both sides.”  I had hoped you would have sent one of his many sycophantic Christian counselors to let him know that “good people” chanting “Jews will not replace us” is an oxymoron. Actually, I wished you had come to him in his sleep like the ghost of Bob Marley.

Venom Nate Beeler The Columbus Dispatch OH

Cartoon used by permission: Nate Beeler, The Columbus Dispatch, OH

Anyway, dear God, besides getting a little input from you as to what Halloween costume I should wear, I was hoping I could ask you a question that is bugging the hell out of me: “What is your end game for us with this science experiment of a President?”  The scariest costume of all this year is the orange pumpkin with yellow hair which espouses venom toward his opponents and the media, as the whole world watches his followers take up Trump’s call to arms against all those he hates.

Trump inspired Hate Pat Bagley The Salt Lake Tribune UT

Cartoon used by permission: Pat Bagley, The Salt Lake Tribune, UT

Lord, have mercy on us.  I guess I’d like to know how much more of this vileness we must endure before you let the Great Pumpkin in the White House know that you’re God and he ain’t.  I have a suggestion:  How about sending him a message on blast on Nov. 6th?  The world will breathe a great sigh of relief.

Vote or Die

Celebrity Voting Campaign T-Shirts

Well Jesus, I would love to get your input and guidance after November 6th because I’m either going to want to do a shout-out of praises to you or I’m going to need a strait jacket costume for Halloween and beyond.

Talk soon.  Your devoted follower, ET

Halloween Political Scares Dave Granlund PoliticalCartoons com

Cartoon used by permission: Dave Granlund, PoliticalCartoons.com

***

WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THE AUTHOR?  Check out her website at www.eleanortomczyk.com

THE AUTHOR’S LATEST BOOKS:  Monsters’ Throwdown, Fleeing Oz, The Fetus Chronicles on sale now at Amazon!

WANT TO HEAR THE AUTHOR’S LATEST PODCAST INTERVIEW? http://breadboxmedia.podbean.com/e/what-if-it-is-true-can-you-find-faith-in-darkness/

***

Tree of Life Names Bruce Plante Tulsa World

Cartoon used by permission: Bruce Plante, Tulsa World

We also remember the two African-American victims in the recent fatal shooting at the Kroger’s in Louisville, KY which police have labeled a hate crime.

May they never be forgotten:  Maurice E. Stallard, 69, and Vickie Lee Jones, 67,

***

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 
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Posted by on October 30, 2018 in Uncategorized

 

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GOING, GOING, GONE…SOULS FOR SALE!

DEAR READERS:  Have you seen God?  He really seems to be AWOL!  I need to alert him to the fact that Americans are selling their souls in droves and at wholesale prices—increasingly so, and every damn day.  Do you think he’s aware of what is going on?  If you do hear from God, would you please pass on the phone message I just left for him.  It’s urgent!  Tell God when you see him that he’ll (or she’ll) find my copious other “prayer” messages filed under: “Are you Listening (or paying attention) God?”  What follows is the third installment of a “Voicemail Message to God” which is a very short essay on another universal question I wish God would answer about life: “What does it take to sell one’s soul?”

Souls for Sale Beachcombing Bizarre history blog

Courtesy of Beachcombing Bizarre History Blog

GOD’S VOICEMAIL GREETING:  “You’ve reached the voicemail box of Jehovah at 1-800-PRA-TOME.  Gone star-gazing in a galaxy far, far away where the beings operate in love and peace, truth and honor. Feel free to leave a message, but I have no idea when I’ll get back to you.  I am truly sick and tired of being sick and tired with the human species on Earth and need to clear my head before I do something drastic that I may regret (can you say, “Noah’s Ark?”). 

***

DEAR GOD:  It’s Eleanor. Oy vez mir!  Do I ever need to talk to you!

My God…did you know that the Anti-Christ has unveiled himself?  Right here in America!

Christians elect the anti christ meme

My Lord, I looked up the definition of “Anti-Christ,” and the online dictionary said:

A personal opponent of Christ expected to appear before the end of the world.

  A person or thing regarded as supremely evil or as a fundamental enemy or opponent.

A great antagonist expected to fill the world with wickedness but to be conquered forever by Christ at his second coming.”

You might ask why I suspect the President of the United States to be the anti-Christ.  I mean, after all, one could easily have said that about Hitler.  Well that is why I’m calling — I have proof Trump is the anti-Christ:  People are selling their souls to him left, right, and center.   Just last week, a famous Black rapper (Kanye West) ripped out his soul, barbecued it on the altar of Trump, and served it up as pâté on a cracker.  It was a sight to behold:  degrading, embarrassing, disgusting, and horrific. It was like watching a massive train wreck and not being able to turn away from the carnage.

Kanye West and Trump Vogue Meme

IMGFLIP.COM/Meme of 2014 Kayne West and Kim Kardashian Vogue cover

A couple weeks before that debacle with Kanye West and Trump, a man was confirmed to the Supreme Court (Brett Kavanaugh)—ushered onto the bench by the mocking laughter of the Anti-Christ in Chief who led hundreds of contemptuous supporters at a rally against the woman Kavanaugh allegedly assaulted.  As the crowd screamed “Lock her up,” all I could do was weep for myself and every woman who has tried to tell someone her story of assault, only not to be believed and ridiculed in the process.

The Talk David Fitzsimmons The Arizona Star Tucson AZ

Cartoon used by permission:  David Fitzsimmons, The Arizona Star Tucson, AZ

God, I don’t know if you were watching, but Kavanaugh was not proven innocent. All those mockers at the rally, and the old angry White men in the Senate sold their souls to Trump and rushed through a man temperamentally unfit (at the very least) to sit on the Supreme Court.  The problem is that I prayed 24/7 for you to vindicate Dr. Ford.  Since you didn’t return my call, I’m now praying that you flush out the truth on this dude with irrefutable evidence, and that in doing so, you jettison his sorry ass off the bench. If he lied—if he’s hiding something—save us from him and all the other Republicans who sold their souls on Kavanaugh’s behalf.

Caving on Kav David Fitzsimmons The Arizona Star Tucson AZ

Cartoon used by permission: David Fitzsimmons,The Arizona Star Tucson, AZ

In the meantime, while the anti-Christ in the Oval Office cozies up to yet another brutal dictator, I’m watching to see which politicians and religious leaders carry the train of Saudi Arabia’s Mohammed bin Salman’s robe as they rush to sell their souls over the brutal murder of Jamal Khashoggi.  Pat Robertson (Head of the Christian Broadcasting Network) cashed his soul in yesterday when he said, “You’ve got one journalist — who knows? Was it an interrogation? Was he assassinated? Were there rogue elements? Who did it…? You’ve got $100 billion worth of arms sales…we cannot alienate our biggest player in the Middle East.” 

My question to Pat Robertson:  Who brings a bone saw to an interrogation?

Mitt Romney is in the process of relinquishing his soul as he tries to make his way back to the Senate.  Because you see all and hear all, I know you remember Romney being solidly in the never-Trump camp when he said:

“Dishonesty is Donald Trump’s hallmark … He’s not of the temperament of the kind of stable, thoughtful person we need as a leader. His imagination must not be married to real power … Donald Trump is a phony, a fraud. His promises are as worthless as a degree from Trump University. He’s playing the members of the American public for suckers … He has neither the temperament nor the judgment to be president.”

Oy, that was in 2016 when Romney had no power.  Now that he seems to be a shoe-in to the Senate and can sniff power like the intoxicating aroma of fresh brewed coffee, here’s the script he cashed in for his soul on Oct. 17th:  Trump’s policies “have been pretty effective, and I support a lot of those policies.”

Romney and Trump Pat Bagley The Salt Lake Tribune UT

Cartoon used by permission: Pat Bagley, The Salt Lake Tribune, UT

So here is my question sweet Jesus:  how much is a soul worth these days?  We Americans are a little confused, and I think we’re selling our souls much too cheaply since I hear the final cost is eternal damnation.  What say you, My Lord?

Looking forward to hearing from you…

Evangelicals and anti christ FB 1 David Fitzsimmons The Arizona Star Tucson AZ

WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THE AUTHOR?  Check out her website at www.eleanortomczyk.com

THE AUTHOR’S LATEST BOOKS:  Monsters’ Throwdown, Fleeing Oz, The Fetus Chronicles on sale now at Amazon!

WANT TO HEAR THE AUTHOR’S LATEST PODCAST INTERVIEW? http://breadboxmedia.podbean.com/e/what-if-it-is-true-can-you-find-faith-in-darkness/

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 

 

 
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Posted by on October 18, 2018 in Uncategorized

 

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WHAT’S PRAYER GOT TO DO WITH IT?

DEAR READERS:  These are desperate times, and because I increasingly wonder what or where God is in the mighty scheme of things (does he care, is he on vacation, or is he just late to the party?), I’ve decided to harangue God more than I usually do via persistent phone calls—so far my calls have gone straight to voicemail. What follows is the second installment of a “voicemail message to God” which is a very short essay on a universal question I wish God would answer about life: “What’s Prayer Got to Do with It?”

Praying for things Meme

GOD’S VOICEMAIL GREETING:  “You’ve reached the voicemail box of Jehovah at 1-800-PRA-TOME. I am experiencing a high call volume at this time—especially from the United States—but I will return your call as soon as is heavenly possible.  Please note that I operate on a triage system (‘the process of determining the priority of patients’ treatments based on the severity of their condition’). Leave your name, number, and your prayer request, and I will get back to you at some point.  May I bless you!”

***

HELLO, GOD.  IT’S ME, ELEANOR.  Looks like I’ve missed you again. Where are you, Jehovah-Jireh (my provider)?  I need to talk to you about something really, really important!   It’s about prayer and its efficacy—whose prayers you answer and why.  It’s about why conversational prayer always seems to be one way:  I talk, but you don’t say a word.  Oh, I know there are people who say you talk back to them (like you drop in for tea every Tuesday morning exactly at 10 o’clock), but have you noticed that they tend to be nuttier than a fruitcake?

I think most things I’ve been taught about prayer are all wrong.  I’ve had preachers tell me that you, God, are in control of all things, but I can change your mind by how specific my prayers are—the more specific I am, the more specific your answers will be to me.  (As if you are a divine waiter and I just need to bark: “Garçon! A raspberry LaCroix, straight up, with a splash of vodka and a twist of lime, mon dieu!”)   I used to know a preacher who prayed whether to put on shorts or long pants on any given day, whether to carry an umbrella that day, if he should part his hair on the left or the right, or if he should fast or gorge on the leftover pizza in the refrigerator.  (As if you hadn’t given us brains, weathermen, or the Keto Diet.)  I’ve known preachers who prayed for parishioners to win the lottery, just so long as they tithed 10% of their winnings, of course. (As if you were the Big Kahuna casino boss in the sky just waiting to “bless” your followers with ill-gotten gains.)

I can’t tell you how many fat-ass Christians I have known who prayed for a parking space up close to the front of the mall so that they wouldn’t have to engage in some much-needed exercise.  Can I say that if that is truly the level of prayers you’re answering these days, then I need a new God.  Just sayin’!

Jesus take the wheel prayer meme

Anyway, I know you answer my prayers (sometimes).  (Barack Obama didn’t get assassinated, served two terms, and had a scandal-free administration, didn’t he?  On the other hand, Hillary lost and Satan’s spawn became our President.  What happened there?  Wrong number?)  But recently, I’ve been hearing a lot of crazy people crowing about how great they are because you answered their prayers regarding Earth-shattering events that destroyed others.

Case in point:  Pat Robertson and Hurricane Florence.

In case you weren’t home at the time when Robertson did his warlock incantation in your name, he said:

“I don’t want that thing [Hurricane Florence] to come in,” Robertson said. “I don’t want it to hurt Regent [Robertson’s University], I don’t want it to hurt CBN [Robertson’s Television Network], I don’t want it to tear up the beautiful campus, I don’t want it to tear these trees down, I don’t want to see any damage, I don’t want a bunch of glass flowing, and I don’t want [damage] all over this area that is counting on us to pray for them.

“We declare in the name of the Lord that you shall go no farther, you shall do no damage in this area. We declare a shield of protection all over Tidewater and we declare a shield of protection over those innocent people in the path of this hurricane. In Jesus’ holy name, be out to sea!”

…and the next day, North Carolina and South Carolina said:  WTF, God—we prayed, too!?!

Florence Final Landing Dave Granlund PoliticalCartoons com

Cartoon used by permission: Dave Granlund, PoliticalCartoons.com

Then Pat Robertson said:

“We asked the Lord to take it [hurricane Florence] out of here [Virginia] and he did,” Robertson boasted. “It’s like a shield that God has put around us [the coastal region of Virginia].”

“God’s people prayed,” he opined. “This is a miracle, ladies and gentlemen.”

“We’ve had a hand of protection over this area, and when we pray, God does miracles.”

As a Christian I was horrified by Robertson’s claim to a prayer hotline to you, oh God, and that you would do what he had demanded at the expense of other human beings.   Then I thought I heard a faint word in the wind (“Bullshit!”) when I was walking yesterday, and wondered if that was a message from you, and I remembered a Mark Twain quote when thinking about eighty-eight-year-old Robertson that day:

“I’ve never wished a man dead,

But I’ve read some obituaries with great pleasure.”

Robertson sleep by God Meme

Of course, I remembered that you don’t like “ugly,” so I quickly asked forgiveness (did you get that text message?)  I turned my meditation from wishing an old man dead to how many so-called Christians don’t believe in science, climate change, global warming, and the fact that the sea level is rising along with a growing population along our coastlines which gave me a very unoriginal “aha” moment about the Earth:  We’re so screwed!

Extreme Weather Sites Paresh Nath The Khaleej Times UAE

Cartoon used by permission: Paresh Nath, The Khaleej Times, UAE

Anyway, I’ve got to run.  I’ve got a first-world problem that needs tending to:  The grass seed I put down several weeks ago is not germinating, and my lawn looks like a weed farm that is moonlighting as a swamp.  (I thought about praying and asking you to heal the soil in my yard and give me a putting-green lawn, but then I remembered prayer doesn’t work that way, and you’re not a divine Mexican gardener on my staff named “Jesús” who is at my beck and call.)

Please call me back about this prayer thing.  I know you know that you’re my G-O-D no matter what, and I’ll keep on praying even if you never answer me.  I tell anyone who will listen that “in you I live and breathe and have my being.”  However, it’s not me you have to worry about. It’s my atheist brothers and sisters.  They are really having a hard time with the concept of you, and this prayer thing is a huge stumbling block.  Especially when there are Neanderthals like Pat Robertson running around pretending to have a hotline to you and spewing all sorts of verbal chaos in your name.

Robertson on Do not call list Mike Keefe San Miguel de Allende Mexico

Cartoon used by permission: Mike Keefe, San Miguel de Allende, Mexico

***

WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THE AUTHOR?  Check out her website at www.eleanortomczyk.com

THE AUTHOR’S LATEST BOOKS:  Monsters’ Throwdown, Fleeing Oz, The Fetus Chronicles on sale now at Amazon!

WANT TO HEAR THE AUTHOR’S LATEST PODCAST INTERVIEW? http://breadboxmedia.podbean.com/e/what-if-it-is-true-can-you-find-faith-in-darkness/

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Eleanor Tomczyk and “How the Hell Did I End Up Here?” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 
3 Comments

Posted by on September 19, 2018 in Uncategorized

 

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