God Lives in America

I have long had a sneaking suspicion that God (or god, if you like) is not somewhere floating up in the stratosphere, but is a little nearer to home - to wit, living in America. Why America? - you ask. Well, when I was a kid, I grew accustomed to hearing frequent bouts of fervent prayer at church youth guild, and whenever this happened, the leaders (who always were the first to get smitten by the divine (or Divine, if you prefer) presence (or Presence - "now stop that!")) OK OK - divine presence -  and dive into prayer, always did so in American. Think about it - they are waffling on in a nice local accent then suddenly :

"Ar Laard , yes Laard, Ah kin feeel His presence movin' among uz, hallelujah Laard" & etc. You get the picture. Which made me think that the holy spirit at least might have spent some time growing up in America while the father and the son were footling around the middle east dropping tribesmen into holes for disobedience and getting crucified and resurrecting.

And then some years later, as a not-so-devout churchgoer, I noticed that whenever god (or Gaad, if you're American) was said to be doing a new thing in the church (I used to feel like a surfer having to keep getting out the spiritual surfboard so I could ride the new wave of whatever was going around every so often), it ALWAYS originated in the good ol' US of A. Which means god has a hotline to the spiritual head honcho in America (it doesn't matter which church it is - they tell all their mates about it in the other churches pretty quick, in the scramble for attendances and offerings).

And then America of course exports god's natty moves to the rest of the world on their continual quest to convert the infidel ("infidel (n) - anything not American").

However, I then wondered why God couldn't phone and tell us himself, rather than placing trust in the Americans to get the message right, what with line-loss etc., this might be preferable and definitely quicker. And it would be great for conservation of precious currency, not having to give it to visiting American preachers. And then it dawned on me. God doesn't call, because he doesn't have to - he's right in there with the Good Ol' Boys, doin' the thing in congress, or having congress or whatever they do in those august chambers. I bet in the off season he goes duck-hunting with them too - uses a bit of that divine will to plummet a few ducks out of the sky to stop the old codgers getting embarrassed about continually missing with large gauge shotguns.

However, there are many places in America where it's downright unhealthy to live - for example tornado alley, up through the gulf into Louisiana and the Carolinas and into the heart of Kansas. So God clearly doesn't actually stay there : he's probably there every so often twiddling the tornados so that they trash whoever has not been doing enough grovelling lately, and an extra quirk of ill-will in demolishing a few schools, kindergartens etc. He gets around - they don't call him omnipresent for nothing.

I bet he doesn't stay in New York or some other really cold parts in winter either - no self-respecting god would be seen rubbing his hands and blowing on them to keep warm - besides the gusts of breath may flatten the city - and that's never happened. God clearly winters in Florida where it's nice and warm, but then moves before tornado season gets underway.

In fact I think the most likely place for god to spend most of his time is in New Hampshire : the Scallion world maps indicate in the event of violent seismic upheaval, that New Hampshire is a safe place to be - certainly it seems many of the American politicians know this already, which is why they cluster there. And it certainly makes sense that God and the American supremos should mingle together after hours, so what makes more sense if you're intending to unleash a little death and destruction on the Earth, than to have a nice safe hidey-hole where you and "da boyz" can party on late into the night?

But remembering the earlier injunction? God gets around a lot - he may be there for a while, when there's a good party and everyone's getting pissed, but he'll move on as soon as there are a few new politician babies to kiss, or one of the televangelist's asses needs to be lit up during a religious rally. I mean - can one imagine not having Benny Hinn's backside lit up while rows of the devout are mown down by his waving jacket? It would be heresy!

Do you remember the US state that gave old George "Dubya" Bush the presidency? Yep - you're right - Florida. God needed Dubya in the Whitehouse so he could get him to be the puppet dumbass while the real matters of state were sorted out by the old boys club.

The Night Before Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas, there was nothing that stirred
And all through the house came the wafting of turd
It was laid on the hearth by Daisy the dog
The cat was outraged, and aghast and agog!

It crept from the lounge down the hall like a fog
In a large pungent cloud from that fertile wet log
It ran up the stairs like a trail of green light
Why didn't the gas spontaneously ignite?

The parents were sleeping, the kids were awake
Watching and waiting for Santa to make
The familiar sound when the sled came to rest
While blissfully quietly the fog killed the guest

In the third bedroom off the landing en-suite
Just a stone's throw away from the adults replete
From the day's preparations, exertions and stress
It came upon them in their state of undress

And outside the house in the snow on the roof
Santa had landed and to tell you the truth
The chimney looked narrow and still very hot
And Santa's big ass got burnt in the spot

Which he used to control his rate of descent
Past the fluepipe, the soot, his red suit was rent
In several pieces and fell on the fire
Raising smoke and some dust like a great funeral pyre

And gasping and coughing, the danger he spurned
Ensuring his chestnuts would not get too burnt
He bravely stepped down with cunning and guile
Right on top of the rich stinking wet Daisy pile

He was nothing if not a resourceful old gent
As he went on arranging the presents he bent
Down and thought he caught just a bit
Of a smell that resembled some wet reindeer shit

Shrugging his shoulders he finished the chore
Ascending the chimney to fly off once more
And each place he stopped he anointed the floor
Round the presents the children had long waited for

And all round the world wherever he went
Sharing the infamous wet excrement
When people awoke aghast they did find
Their boyfriends and budgies and aunties were blind

From the clinging disastrous odorous blight
What was to have been a heavenly night
Turned into a nightmare the very next day
Of cleansing and steaming and no time to play

Christmas that year - a disaster, they said
When the clumsy fat guy on the roof wearing red
From not looking at where it was carefully curled
Wiped out half of the modern civilized world!