The Spam Project

The Holy Book of Spam, thought to have been lost, has been discovered. Written in crayon on the backs of matchbooks, some scholars initially suspected a forgery. However, carbon dating proved almost conclusively that the matchbooks were every bit as old as the Shroud of Turin.

I have come into possession of these books and have begun the arduous task of translation from the original Esperanto. Certain atheistic, pinko, commie loving libertarian child molesting aclu member whackos have questioned my methods, suggesting that Esperanto was not a language in the 5th millennium B.L.C (Before Last Christmas). I say to them "Prove It!", and "What's your Point?", which I think settles the matter.

Other scholars, with leftist pinko libertarian aclu leanings, have made a big fuss about the "fact" that none of the matchbooks contain a complete word, at most there being three to four letters, and sometimes only one. They also point out the complete lack of capitalization, and suggest that it is anyone's guess as to the proper order to arrange the books so as to spell out words. I hasten to point out that not one of these so-called scholars has an IQ of 3,987 as I do (proven by my taking over 50 separate intelligence tests, and adding the results). If they had half my smarts, they'd know how to arrange the matchbooks themselves, but they don't, so, jealous little pissants that they are, they attempt to smear *my* work.

I think results speak volumes. No person who isn't a sicko aclu baby-killing jew-lover queer sympathizing leftist pinko commie libertarian democrat free thinker atheist dirtbag fool can read the Holy Book of Spam and not immediately realize that this is a Divinely Inspired Work. The charges that I have copyrighted the material and intend to make money fleecing gullible religious morons are outrageous, laughable, sick, perverted and only partly true.

Her Holy Pinkness has spoken to us in the Book of Spam. The Secrets of the Universe are within for all to read (there is a small extra charge for certain secrets. Your credit card can be billed in six easy installments).

Universal Truths do not come among us often, and almost never combined with the opportunity to get in on the ground floor of a PROVEN multi-level marketing plan that is 100% legal in many of the countries this post will reach.

I have translated the first four volumes and will be publishing them here this week.

You *could* read the Books for free. However, if you, like most of us, are impressed and a bit stymied by big words and long sentences, you might just want to consider that the Holy IPU is just as pleased as punch that I'm about to put those books here OUT OF THE GOODNESS of my heart, where anyone can read them.  I'm sure you agree that anyone who had made the IPU happy deserves what they can get, so why don't you sit down RIGHT NOW and make out your first check for $59.95 and sent it along to me. Then, each and every month, you send me another check for $59.95 and if enough of you do that, I can translate Book V, and the Holy IPU will be even more joyous and perhaps she'll bless you in some unspecified way and change your life.

Seven Gods in Three, Yet One: The Trinity Explained

These simple words express the Mystery of the Trinity. But who are these Seven, and what is their purpose? Many have asked these questions, though generally not aloud. For those Seekers, the Holy Holy of the Holy Holies may help:

The Seven Gods of The Trinity

Gawd: a.k.a. Make Believe Buddy, The Grand Mufwic, Mister G.

Gawd is Omni-everything and Very Shiny. Gawd is the Creator, He who gave life to us all. Gawd is vengeful, petty, jealous, ignorant, vain, nasty, cruel and hateful. However, He is so full of boundless Love and Forgiveness that none of that matters as long as you spend your entire life worshipping Him. Gawd loves atheists even more than He loves those who worship him. The problem is that the worshippers get a guaranteed spot in Heaven, and guess who is responsible for the building and upkeep of Heaven? That's right, Gawd. That's why Gawd appreciates atheists, and instructs His worshippers to turn over all their worldly goods to the non-believers.

The Son: a.k.a. Jeezus, Stick-Boy, Jaycee, Jesus H., Savior on a Stick, etc.

The Son is the Abstinent Lesbian, redeemer of souls and answerer of all questions. The Son makes David Copperfield look like a birthday party clown. He (or She, it doesn't matter) walks on water, with or without Neil Diamond singing.

The Holy Ghost, a.k.a Knock 'em Dead Fred, Holy Roller

The Ghost runs around knocking people over, making them twitch and roll around. He loves taking control of their tongues and having them babble even more incoherently than they otherwise would. Of all the Trinity, the Holy Ghost is the most fun at a party.

The Holy Mackerel

The Mackerel is responsible for pleasant surprises. This is the guy who gets the winning lottery ticket into your pocket. Don't pray to Him (always pray to Jeezuz), but if you Win Big, He's your man.. umm, God.

The Holy Shit

The opposite face of the Holy Mackerel. You know the kind of thing that comes from Him. You need not thank Him, though most people do.

Omigod

The God of Incredible Happenings. Very much like the Holy Mackerel, yet very different. Sometimes known as the Orgasm God. You'll understand when you are older. If you are older, and still don't understand, Omigod doesn't like you. Sorry.

Bob

Bob is a little dumb, and apparently useless, but in many ways is the sine non qua of the Trinity. Without Bob, all the Faces of The Trinity (except Gawd) are multi-syllabic. As the Trinity is Seven Gods in Three, Yet One, and begins monosyllabically, we would not have proper closure if it did not end in the same way. Thus there is Bob.

The Church of Fantome Scientists

The followers of the Church of Fantome Scientist are also known as the Shining Ones. This is because Gawd is Very Shiny and His followers constantly strive to be like Gawd by polishing their shoes, their jewelry, and even their own skin.

However, no matter how much they polish themselves, they will never be as Shiny as Gawd, and they will not be shiny enough to enter Heaven until they have renounced all earthly goods, placing said goods in the care of the atheists who are in charge of such things: the atheists have no need to be shiny, and thus can be soiled by the possession of worldly goods. Also, once we control the Guvmint, the atheists won't have to pay taxes, so it's easier for them to bear the responsibility.

All church functionaries and dignitaries are, of course, atheists. This is part of their incredible selflessness, their willingness to give up their own place in Heaven so that there will be room for others. Gawd appreciates their sacrifice, because it means less work for me (building Heavenly space is not easy. It took seven days to build this backwater orb called Earth, and it just about put me down for the count!).

Gawd himself does not believe in Gawds or Gods, because to do so would be hubris of the most extreme sort. Gawd recognizes that God is a dumb answer to any question, and that Gawd is an even dumber answer. This sounds like it might be one of the Mysteries, but it isn't, though the fact that it is not, is.

The Fantome Scientists, The Shiny Ones, Solving Tomorrow's Problems with Yesterday's Religious Thought, Someday.

Fantome not only died for your sins, but she gave up her place in Heaven for you (or somebody). Gawd loves the faithful, but He loves the faithless more, for the faithless require no Heavenly Real Estate.

Gawd also loves the IPU, even though She leaves Pink Shit all over His lawn. Gawd loves the followers of Her Holiness also, because the Pink Plains of Paradise are Her Problem, so more shoes covered with Pink Shit means less work for Gawd.

Gawd loves the Holy Pineapple and Ham, though He is also fond of Bertucci's Merengo. Unlike the Holy Ghost, Gawd has no strong feelings about beer, but does enjoy a J.D. or a Wild Turkey on the rocks now and then.

Gawd will not allow any other God before him, except the aforementioned Pink Unicorn and perhaps one or two others, but Gawd definitely does not cotton to that Jehovah guy and his Savior-on-a-Stick and will send all followers of that false prophet straight to the hell they deserve (Prizes are non-transferable. Winners may choose Eternity in the Mines of Misery as an alternate Damnation).

Gawd believes in Equality, Freedom, and Peace. Gawd dislikes professional sports, and especially can't stand professional sports newscasters. Gawd believes that Unix is the One True Operating System.

Gawd loves you all to pieces. Gawd loves you THIS much! Gawd gave you His Abstinent Lesbian for you to yell at, malign, hang on a cross, draw and quarter, trample and spit upon. Fantome was more than mildly inconvenienced for your sins! Saviour-on-a-Stick never had a hangnail for you, but Fantome did!

The Great Trolls

On matters of Religion, I am a liberal. I believe in Trolls, of course, for to do otherwise is to deny the evidence of our own senses: you may as well deny the very existence of the bridges under which the Great Trolls sleep.

But I do not subscribe to the fanatic beliefs concerning North Sleeping Trolls and South Sleeping Trolls. Trolls are quite invisible, as we all know, so who knows which way their Holy Beards are pointing? The Ancient Texts seem confused on this, sometimes seeming to be even contradictory. Perhaps Trolls do not care which way they sleep at all, but even if it is important, I am certain that no Troll would approve of the senseless bloodshed and horrible persecution that Northern Beards have suffered throughout history. The Ancient Texts tell us that the Great Trolls love all of us, and I simply cannot believe that having a different idea about the direction of their beards would change that. I am appalled and disgusted that such primitive religious thought exists in this modern age.

As to when the Great Trolls sleep, the Ancient Texts are completely silent, and it is my opinion that we should be also. That scholars argue this (and have argued for thousands of years), and write lengthy treatises expounding Morning Sleeping or denying Afternoon Naps, is, I think a tremendous waste of time. Trolls sleep when they sleep, I say, and if they wanted us to know when they are awake and when they are not, they would leave some sign. The hysterical rantings of impressionable people who think they have heard snoring at this time or that time have never been shown to be any more than mistakes, perhaps fueled by religious fervor and desire. The Great Trolls are invisible, and I believe that if they snore at all, our mortal ears cannot hear it.

I do observe many of the ancient rituals. When crossing a bridge on foot, I do pinch my nose shut, cup my groin, and close my eyes. I do this more out of respect for our shared beliefs than from any fear that I will offend a Troll sleeping below. When driving, I simply hold my nose across the bridge, for it is my opinion (and the opinion of many traffic experts) that the stupendous rate of accidents at and near our bridges has more to do with temporarily sightless drivers steering with their knees than any dislike of automobiles by the Great Trolls.

On Halloween, our family does enjoy the traditional reenactment of the Slaughter of the Lesser Trolls, and we joyfully smash pumpkins with our wooden bats, and if there is a horrid mess to clean up the next morning, it is a small price to pay for a religious experience the whole family can share. Indeed, the stains in our carpet and upon our walls bring back happy memories of past Halloweens.

I do agree that, as a Nation, we spend far too much money on unnecessary and redundant bridges. We do not know the Number of The Trolls, for the Ancient Texts say that we cannot know, at least not until the Day of Slaughter. I don't agree with the fundamentalists who say that we insult the Great Trolls with unnecessary bridges; but I do agree that my taxes could be better spent than by digging useless trenches through our roads just so another bridge can be built. And I am quite sympathetic to those who object to the gaudy decoration, the ostentatious statuary that we gild our bridges with. Again, I do not think the Great Trolls are offended, but I do think at least some of it, particularly the less aesthetically pleasing examples, would be better not done at all. The Great Trolls still slept under the crude wooden bridges our ancestors built, after all, so, in my opinion, this extreme decoration is unnecessary.

I am also liberal with regard to the A-Trollists. I know that for many, the Unbelievers are seen as a dangerous threat to the very stability of our society, as Anarchists, and worse. I assert, however, that an A-Trollist is simply a person who does not (or perhaps cannot, poor things) believe in Trolls. That in itself tells us nothing about their actions in our society, their political leanings, or, indeed, anything else. It simply means that they do not believe, and that (I think) should be a cause for pity, not vicious anger.

And yet the advent of this Internet has seemingly caused at least the appearance that there is more A-Trollist thought than there was when we were a younger Nation. I myself suspect that the A-Trollists have always been among us, but that this new medium of communication, safe from Pumpkin Bats, has caused people to speak more freely. In all honesty, though the A-Trollists disgust me, I think that open dissension is healthy. If the fundamentalists had their way, we would have to revert to a primitive agrarian existence, for such is the only way to avoid all the offenses these people believe we are giving to the Trolls, our Makers.

So I say, let the A-Trollists speak (within reason, of course: we should not allow blasphemy on the Internet any more than we'd allow it in the middle of a bridge!). A little skepticism is healthy, I think, and in some ways A-Trollism is perhaps even less dangerous than some of the extremes of fundamentalism.

May the Great Trolls bless you, keep you, and never suck the marrow from your bones.

The IPU Lives!

Poor Christians. We, the followers of Her Holy Pinkness, consumers of the Holy Pizza, deeply regret that you choose to defy the very Being who will save your soul from eternal misery. You have been misled by empty promises of a Savior who never comes, of a Heaven you will never attain unless you repent your ways now.

The EAC has said that we cannot proselytize, that it is beneath us, that it would fall on deaf ears. I think they are wrong! I think the Good News of your Salvation must be spread, so you can join us on the Pinkish Plains of Paradise. I therefor come to you in the Holy Spirit of Her Invisible Pinkness, and offer you Her Grace:

May the Invisible Pink Unicorn defecate upon your shoes, for it is written that only then may you enter the Kingdom of Heaven and ride the Holy Camel Beasts throughout all eternity.

May you fall upon your knees and scoop the Heavenly Pink Poop into your hands and spread it upon your face, in your hair, all over your body (technically, this procedure is not in the Holy Book of Spam and is not required for salvation, but it amuses the hell out of the rest of us, so we always mention it).

Her Holy Pinkness Shat for your Sins, that you, upon reaching Heaven, will never defecate again! This is the Seventh Mystery, and the other six are really strange and neat, too.

There is a Hoof Shaped Hole in your hearts, and you know it, though through your anger and your fear you refuse to admit it. You hold your noses and will not inhale the Glorious Stench of Pink Unicorn Poop. You are not ready, my brother, not ready to join with us in the Mystery of the Pineapple and Ham. I lament for you, and pray to Her Pinkness that your nostrils will be opened, as ours have been.

I want you to know the tartness of the Pineapple, to taste the sweet Ham in the Holy Romano, baked upon the crispy crust, to bring the Warmth into your mouth, to roll it upon your tongue, to inhale its Holy Fragrance. I want to share with you the mysteries of Her Pinkness, tell you of Her mighty Hooves, Her firey breath, Her majestic Tail.

I want you to join us in our nightly readings from the Holy Book of Spam, that you may learn of the Mysteries, and be confused and dumfounded.

Most of all, I want you to be enveloped in Her Invisible Pinkness, to know Her Love, to be one with Her spirit.

We of the IPU are told not to waste our breath upon those who Will Not Smell. Her Pinkness tells us that men either come unto Her Holy Hooves willingly, or not at all. She warns us that proselytizing is much as teaching pigs to sing: it wears you out, and annoys the pig.

But still, I fear for your soul, my brother. I do not want you to be cast into to the Mines of Misery to spend all eternity grubbing in the darkness. I do not want you to curse your bleeding stubs of fingers, to gaze forever at clean shoes, devoid of Pink Poop. Join us in worshipping Her Pinkness, and avoid your damnation.

You who mock Her Pinkness deny Her Everlasting Love, and thus earn Her Undying Contempt. The IPU wants you to accept Her as your Pink Unicorn. Her Holy Hooves wish to trample your sins, and She wants the hot breath of Her Holy Nostrils to cleanse you of unwanted facial hair.

You have nothing to lose, and everything to gain. If we are wrong, then you can convert back to your wimpy Christian God seconds before you die. But if we are right, you will hear the Heavenly Hoofbeats approaching as you slip away, as Her Righteous Pinkness comes to examine your shoes.

Will She find your shoes worthy of defecation? Only if you have accepted Her Holy Pinkness into your heart. Only if you have supped on the Holy Pineapple and Ham Pizza with your atheist brethren. If you have not done these things, She will leave you for the Trolls from the Mines of Misery, who will drag you in chains to your cruel fate.

The evidence is all around you. Have you never heard things go bump in the dark? That is Her Holiness bumping into furniture, something your supposed Christian God never does.

Have you never seen hoof prints in sand or dirt? Proof positive that Her Holy Pinkness has passed this way, perhaps disguised as an ordinary horse.

Have you never seen a Pink Unicorn? OF COURSE YOU HAVEN'T! The Holy IPU is INVISIBLE, she cannot be seen at all, which is the most marvelous proof of all!

Do not risk entering Eternity with unsoiled shoes. The Mines of Misery are dark and cold, and you will claw at frozen rock with your bare fingers in tight passageways, unable to stand, hidden from daylight, hearing only the moans of the other accursed for all eternity. There is no rest in the Mines of Misery, no holidays, no 401K, no paid leave. You will crawl on your miserable belly forever, cold, alone, blind, and worst of all, with no Holy Poop upon your shoes. There will be plenty of poop, of course, and you'll be crawling through that as well, because Eternity in the Mines of Misery is not defecation free.

Instead of that awful existence, you could ride Her Holiness to Heaven, where you will be given your own Camel Beast, your own Flaming Sword, and your own Sexy Outfit. You will play Polo on the Pinkish Plains of Paradise, drink nectar from Holy Pink Goblets, and have your every whim attended to by nubile young attendants (choice of gender and apparent age of attendants is up to individual worshipper. Gender may be mixed if desired, and exchanged as taste dictates. The management will accommodate any request for other life forms of any gender or species). All that, and no unpleasant or annoying bodily functions! The Holy IPU Shat for your sins, and you won't have to!

Most important of all, you will bask forever in the Pink Radiance of the Holy IPU.

Come, my brother. You who now pinch your nose and refuse to smell, un-pinch, and breathe deep. Sit with us, partake of the Holy Pineapple and Ham Pizza, and learn of Her Pinkness and all that She can do for you (common side effects include nausea, dizziness and stomach cramps. In most worshippers, these symptoms are mild. Consult your Doctor if you have a previous history of allergies to Unicorns, Invisible Beings, Peter Paul candies, or any song by the Carpenters).

My atheist brethren say that you will ignore this. I say if there is only one among you who will hear this news, only one soul saved from the Mines of Misery, then it is worthwhile to have annoyed the rest of you.

Her Holy Pinkness loves you. I love you. All Atheists love you, adore you, are simply head over heels fruity over you. That is, we are if you will accept Her Pinkness as your One True Unicorn. If you won't, if you continue to be angry at Her Pinkness, if you continue to defy Her, if you refuse to acknowledge the Hoof Shaped Hole in your heart, then we hate you, despise you, and will never, never be nice to you or give you half a Twix or even the time of day.

Yours in Her Pinkness, Taint Anthony the Astonished

She Shat for Your Sins!

Pink Truthiness - why you cannot delay acknowledging the IPU

I was very disturbed this morning after answering a technical question. The person thanked me and added "May God bless you".

Of course they think they are being nice, but they are in fact putting my immortal soul in danger. Her Holy Pinkness is a jealous sort. If She should happen to be reading that exchange and notices that I did not respond with righteous and vicious anger, She might very well decide to punish me!

I do not want to spend eternity crawling on my belly in the dark Mines of Misery!

Could this be a genuine Pink Hoof print? Scientists say no, but the Faithful believe none the less.

This is MY soul at risk, buddy!

We who have partaken of the Holy Pineapple and Ham Pizza are not required to witness our faith to the unbelievers and the worshippers of false gods. Her Holy Pinkness made that very clear when Obazekial the Third asked her if he should force the captured Cantinites to bend their knees in obeisance to Her Pinkness and she famously quipped "Who cares?"

We are, however, required to defend our faith, or at least that is my understanding of the Holy Hoofmarks. Yes, I know the story of the Ten Commandments as well as anyone, but it is my belief that all translations are in error. I am not going to waste my time going into the details of the ancient language here, but I will remind you that writing in clay tablets with Invisible Pink Hooves is clumsy work and it is therefore all too easy to get the wrong idea.

I have prayed on this, and while I did not speak to Her Pinkness directly, I feel that She did enter my heart and confirm that I am right: she is a jealous god who expects us to defend her honor, especially in these days when the Christians seem to get all the attention with their "Jesus loves you" guff.

Her Holy Pinkness may not love you, but you had better believe that Her Holy Hooves are sharp and THAT matters.

I really don't want to get trampled into a pile of bloody meat because YOU want to go around saying "May God Bless you".

Misidentified as mammoth footprints, these are actually impressions of Her Holy Hooves from thousands of years before the Bible!

Source:http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:MammothFootImpre...

"Never too late" is a lie

The Christians have quite the racket, don't they? You can do whatever you want your entire life but as long as you get around to begging Jesus for forgiveness before you die, you are fine.

If only that were true.

First, there is no Jesus. Remember that King Whassisface asked Her Holy Pinkness about Jesus at the Day of Seventeenth Slaughter as the Christian hordes were about to over run his castle gates and he was thinking about a quick conversion. He asked her outright and she said "Who?" as quick as that and disappeared in a puff of invisible pink smoke. King Whassisface's trampled bones are on display in the Christian Church at Witemount, so I think that alone ought to make the truth plain.

The fact is, if you've been evading your loan shark for six weeks and he catches you sneaking out the back door of the pub, he's not going to buy the "Oh, I have been looking for you" excuse and Her Pinkness isn't going to buy any last minute conversions either. When you hear her Holy Hooves a-galloping, it's too damn late: you are heading for the Mines of Misery. That's right after your Holy trampling, of course.

Don't bless me

I have no intention of cringing on the ground trying to reason with a homicidal Invisible Pink Unicorn. Even if we didn't have the Holy Hoofmarks to tell us, I think it's easy enough to see how that story ends.

I really could not care less about converting you. Sure, if you come to my house, I will offer you a slice of Pineapple and Ham and if the subject of Pink Truthiness interests you, we can talk about it - unless my wife tells me to keep quiet, which she sometimes does. In that case, we'll have to talk later because while the IPU's Holy Hooves are sharp and merciless, I don't mess with the missus either. I'm sure you understand.

Generally speaking, Her Pinkness is there for anyone to not quite see, so if you choose to ignore Her, well, it's not my belly that will be scraped raw crawling through the Mines of Misery, is it? That's your problem.

So don't make sharp Hooves my problem. Don't be blabbering about your Jesus or Allah or whatever god-thing is in favor this millenium. That crazy talk can land me in big trouble, especially in these days of stupid laws where I can't draw my sword and cut off your lying head. You are putting MY afterlife in danger and it's not right.

Apologies to Her Pinkness

If this worm has misread your Holy words, take mercy on me. I tire of having false gods bandied in front of my weary eyes while most of the world treats You as a joke. I know this is probably another one of your Trials and I hope that I have not failed the test.

Pink Truthiness is the only true Truthiness. Pineapple and Ham is the One True Pizza. Her Holiness has spoken and we must obey.

The Ten Commandments

The IPU shook her mane and stamped her feet impatiently. Her Holy Nostrils flared. "Any thing else?", she inquired of the Man who stood quivering in front of her.

"Um..". The Man was obviously nervous. He was not enjoying this conversation, and the IPU's growing impatience was not helping. "Um.., yes, we are, um, not..". The Man paused and then continued in a rush, "not supposed to covet our neighbor's wife!".

The IPU snorted loudly. "That's rich!", she bellowed. "Now THAT ought to be an easy one for you insatiable little monkey spawn. I'll just bet!", she chortled.

The Man shuffled his feet and stared at the ground. A small slug was crawling slowly through the leaves at his feet. The Man wished he could crawl off somewhere else.

But the IPU was not finished with her interrogation. "You have missed one. I believe you said there were ten commandments, and you have only told me nine. What is the tenth, insignificant turd?"

The Man swallowed hard. Hands clenched, he gritted his teeth and raised his head. He stared into the flashing eyes of the Holy IPU. "We are tmf nthr ds for em".

"WHAT!" The Holy IPU fixed the Man in her regal stare. "Speak up, you ugly pink ape!"

The Man's hands were shaking and his tongue could not work. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. Finally, eyes winced against the inexorable results, he spoke: "We are to have no other gods before Him." He closed his eyes and waited for the Fiery Breath to consume him.

Nothing happened. Cautiously, the Man opened his eyes. The Holy IPU was simply standing in front of him, and actually she looked more amused than angry.

"No other gods?", she asked, "As in, no worshipping of the One True God, Her Incredible Pinkness? No worship of ME?

The Man again found the slug to be the focus of his concentration. Something about its slow progress through the field encouraged him. The slug would reach its destination, and he, the Man, would also survive this day. The Holy IPU would not reduce him to a pile of cinders to be blown away by the summer wind.

The IPU spoke again. "Where is this Mighty One who is so jealous of Me?", she asked. "Have you seen Him?"

The Man looked at her once again. "I have not, but Moses has. The Lord spoke to him from a burning bush."

"Cheap carnival trick", offered Her Pinkness. "I don't suppose you've seen any tangible evidence of this Dude's presence, then. How about intangibles? Healing of the sick, bountiful crops, that sort of thing? Actually, I thought the harvest was pretty poor this year. Shouldn't your Pal have prevented that?"

The Man's face plainly displayed anger. He was well aware of the IPU"s refusal to even listen to entreaties for assistance. She didn't care if his people lived or died, and made it well known. Pleas for assistance were greeted with nothing but insults and laughter, if they were even entertained at all.

"There has been sin."

The Holy IPU raised her eyebrows. "Sin? Oh, how handy. Let me guess: I bet there's been some coveting, and some bearing of false witness, and perhaps some harsh words by teenagers to their parents, so conveniently enough, your Invisible Pal doesn't have to shower you with bounty. How beautifully done: set you up for failure, then get you to blame yourselves. I love it!"

"God is not Invisible. God is everywhere!". The Man was sullen, but was also remembering a certain bit of coveting that he was guilty of. He hated to think that it might be his fault that the crops were bad, but..

The IPU shook her mane, and looked off across the field. "Go away, Man." She spoke softly, even kindly. Usually her words were caustic, full of sarcasm and disgust. But now she seemed almost tender. No fire was in her eyes, and her hooves were not pounding the earth. "Go away", she repeated. "Go and pray to your invisible friend. Chastize yourself, and praise him. Punish everyone who will not join you in your delusion. Feel good about that, and believe that your Make Believe Buddy will reward you for your cruelty. Take his commandments, and rule your life by their words. Do not question anything, do not use your pitiful mind; simply give yourself over to this pathetic dream."

The IPU now looked sad. "You know, in spite of the fact that you are all incredibly ugly and hopelessly stupid, I had some hope for you." She paused, and looked again at the Man who stood before her, still afraid, but now confused by her inexplicable reversal of attitude.

"Things could have been different", she said, and then vanished in a puff of Pinkness.

The Man stood alone in the field. The last rays of the sun lengthened his shadow to where the IPU had stood. The grass was even now straightening up from the imprint of her hooves, and soon there would be no remaining trace of her presence at all. The slug had managed to move an entire pace away from the Man's foot. He stepped forward, bent down, and popped it in his mouth.

Gods suck, he thought as he walked back to his village.