Getting closer

Friends, we are getting closer to the rapture and some of you are getting nervous. You have to trust me on this. If our own Prime Minister is saying the same-sex-marriage debate is over, the sky is sure to open soon. If there's anything that can't be allowed to sully this beautiful earth, it's gay marriage. Six thousand years of perfection have made us arrogant. We think we're smarter than God. And I could not be happier about it, because it means that you heathens are going to burn and I am going to get to live on a cloud with Jesus. I will probably get my own unicorn. You, on the other hand, will be picking dead animals out of the sea after it turns to blood. That won't be a problem for me: I'll be drinking living water. Sucks to be you.

This brings me to the concerns my readers have expressed. I've already reassured you that I've made arrangements for someone to take over the blog after I've been taken up into heaven. Apparently, this is not good enough for some of you godless sodomites. When you're not busy worshipping demons, you're hassling me about the identity of the person who will be taking over the blog. Apparently, you don't like ghostwriters.

Now, I don't think you're taking your situation seriously enough. Believe me, when the locusts are stinging you, this will be the least of your worries. You are going to be tormented with burning sulfur, and I will get to watch. I know how this makes you feel: I myself could burst with excitement just at the thought of it. I wish the president would just drop an atomic bomb and hurry things along, but apparently this is not to be. It makes sense, because no man knows the hour of the rapture, and I suppose that would include the president. In the meantime, we are forced to wait hour after hour after hour until 10:30 AM, when Wheel of Fortune comes on. Then we start waiting again at 11:00.

I am trying SO HARD to make things easier for you, and this is the thanks I get? You are definitely the WORST sinners I have ever met. I would have thought that you would be grateful for the help I've offered to you. Just wait until someone writes MOTHER OF PROSTITUTES AND OF THE ABOMINATIONS OF THE EARTH on your forehead. You'll be happy to have anything else to read, ingrates.

No, I am not going to reveal his identity. He deserves his privacy. If I tell you who it is, he will probably not be able to leave his house without having to fight off paparazzi trying to get pictures of his personal regions. You should be focusing on the log in your own eye before you try to pick at the speck in my eye. And trust me, it's a VERY SMALL SPECK.