First off, I humbly want to say thanks for everything. And to apologize for not doing this more often. I should thank You every day. Ten times a day. A hundred. You are great. I shouldn't take You for granted. From now on, I'm going to try to change.
Secondly, I would humbly like to ask that children everywhere receive food to eat. I'm not asking You to make bread suddenly appear everywhere. You're God, not a street magician! (Heh heh.) But all humble kidding aside, I do want You to know that my priorities are straight here. My request is to end hunger. Nothing more.
So, anyways, that's about it. Just wanted You to know how grateful I am and... well, OK... one more thing, really minor.
I have a friend, won't mention names, who is the dumps, sad about the economy and the war and kids without food. Wait, who am I kidding? You know his name: SuperFrankenstein. Well, he would get a real boost if the Yankees won tonight. I would never ask this for me. But SuperFrankenstein needs somebody to throw him a bone. I'm not asking anyone to fix a game or shave points. Me? I just want the athletes for both teams to play hard and not be hurt. By the way, did you hear the blaspheme their closer said the other day, how they would sweep us at home? Mariano would never say that stuff. Never.
Anyways, when that fat guy's curveball is spinning toward home plate, I just hope You'll think of poor SuperFrankenstein, crouched over in his hovel, beside the radio, shivering - did I tell you I think the utility may have cut off his heat? He doesn't want food. He doesn't want clothing. He only wants one thing. Yankee victory. Like millions of others in New York City and around the world. Yankee victory.
Me? I couldn't care less. I want what You want. Which might be that maybe somebody shuts that fat closer's mouth, once and for all.
Anyways, You're the greatest! And go Yankees! (Just kidding.) Seacrest out. (That's a joke.) Amen!
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6 comments:
Here's how it's going to work out tonight:
Fister will pitch the game of his life. It will be an epic pitchers' duel, with the Yanks winning 1-0 in the ninth. At which point Joe Girardi, deciding to rest his bullpen for the ALCS, turns to Luis Ayala to get the final three outs.
With that in mind, I will spend the evening watching part 2 of the very fine HBO documentary on the life of George Harrison, and drinking Farmer's Small Batch Organic Gin until unconsciousness mercifully overtakes me.
Doug Price Pfister better not pitch the game of his life. Seems like that crap always happens. Another thing...I better not see Cory Wade, Scott Proctor, or some other schmuck this evening.
Off to church...see you all this evening.
I don't know about this God superstition ( I'd sooner rub two oval rocks together in a black cowboy hat to get my wishes fulfilled ), but I do know the Yankees have Jesus.
And Jesus has the power to go deep, for the faithful and good.
But for no one else.
Now that you mention it, a win tonight really would take the sting out of the economy and the war and the kids without food.
it's looking like there is no god.
dude....you are hilarious!
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