Emails from Heaven
2009 Barrett Winner
2nd Place Dennis Rymarz
Just keep doing what you're doing. God thinks it's a hoot.
From: God <god123091@Gmail.com>
To: Recipient List: Heavenly Staff
RE: Weekly update
To all this may concern:
Peace be with you, everyone. I want to start by letting you know that I will be working from home for an indefinite period of time. Don’t worry, everything is fine (no need for your special soup, John…please don’t send over that soup!), but if you need something, the best way to contact me is via e-mail.
Also, as you all know by now, we have completely upgraded our computer network, and because we’ve changed to a new ISP, we all have new user accounts. While this change was necessary and long overdue, it may cause confusion at first, so I ask everyone to be patient though the transition.
On a more disturbing note, certain individuals saw fit to inexplicably take the username “god,” along with many of its variations, leaving Me with “god123091.” It is unclear whether these individuals acted innocently—though, placing “god” in your username obviously leads to confusion—or if this is someone’s idea of a prank. So you are aware, policy states:
If you decide not to use your real name, pick a username with which you and others
are comfortable, and which does not interfere with anyone else. A controversial
name may become disruptive and give a negative impression to other users.
Also, your username should not give the impression that your account has permissions to which it is not entitled. Thus, it should not contain the terms ‘administrator,’ ‘steward,’ ‘developer,’ ‘god,’ ‘lord,’ ‘omnipotent one,’ ‘supreme being,’ etc., or similar terms like ‘admin,’ ‘moderator,’ ‘sysop,’ ‘yahweh,’ ‘jehovah,’ ‘adonai,’ etc., or end with ‘almighty creator of all that is holy and good and the true source of everlasting life. This policy is fairly clear, folks, so if it was a mistake, let’s get it corrected, and if it was a joke, ha, ha, let’s get it corrected. Time and space may not technically exist up here, but My patience does and it’s wearing thin. I’d like this resolved immediately, or I will be forced to get tech support involved and that would be an unnecessary embarrassment.
Have a great day and keep the faith!
Your Host of Hosts,
god123091@Gmail.com (That is so irritating!)
I just wanted to take the time to congratulate you on the opening of your newest enterprise.
The place looks great. See, I told you I could make it happen. Prayers are answered. Now stop saying BAM! More than one BAM! per show gives me gas.
Anyway, you deserve a pat on the back, as well, Emeril. You've worked your tail off since day one, and have taken on all of your responsibilities beautifully. You wear so many hats around there…however, clearly the most adorable is the tall, puffy white one that says: "Lick me! I taste like frosting!"
The celebration menus you put together for this year's parties were brilliant, especially the wide variety of unique desserts. You truly are a creative genius. The cake for the Bris in the shape of a huge pair of scissors surrounded by tumbling penises…gorgeous. Crème brûlée cheesecake…delish! But, um…hamsicles? Really?
You may want to rethink that.
I am sending this e-mail in response to the letter you wrote to Jesus and Me in your recent Sunday school class (Jesus says, "Hey"). You write very well for an 8-year-old.
Your letter was clear, and your grammar and punctuation were almost perfect. Also, your penmanship is excellent. If I wasn't the one responsible, I would never have guessed you were born with no thumbs. Kudos!
I also think it's great that you say your prayers before going to sleep, Amy, but I have one small suggestion. You tend to include the same people in your requests for blessings night after night and I get the impression you are simply going through the motions. Frankly, I kind of tune you out. Spice it up a little bit, kiddo…change things around. Maybe pray for people who really don't deserve it, such as…well, maybe some sanctimonious individual burdened with a sense of entitlement who exploits the perception of suffering for public sympathy and financial gain. Think outside the box.
Lastly, in response to your question: your Grandma Rose is perfectly fine. She is truly a joy, and talks about you lovingly. She misses you very much, and looks forward to the time when you can be together again. Oh, I'm just kidding, Amy. She's not here.
Anyway, I have many other letters (prayers, thoughts, meditations, confessions, sacrileges,blasphemies, etc.) I must address, and my assistant, Sister Theresa, called off. Hunting & pecking at the rate of 25 wpm is hell (LOL) so I better scoot. Keep up the great work, Amy,
and stay in touch.
Your Loving Father,
From: God <god123091@Gmail.com>
To: Recipient List: Guardian Angels
RE: GA updates due
This is a reminder that GA Updates are due every Monday and, effective immediately, must be completed in full and forwarded directly to Me. Several of you have fallen into the habit of glazing over information and/or failing to fill
in the required fields—every field is required—and others seem to simply make stuff up (seriously, some of your reports are even less accurate than a Sylvia Browne book).
Before I am inundated with defensive e-mails, I will concede that some of you have
charges who do not yet understand that if they "keep doing what they're doing, they'll keep getting what they're getting"—Amy Winehouse and much of the American voting public immediately come to mind—so these particular reports will rarely, if ever, fluctuate.I get that.
Also, I've attached the new update forms. To facilitate the changeover, I will still accept the old forms for the next two weeks, but after that, anyone using the old forms will find them returned, unread, and those individuals will be banished immediately to Rosie O'Donnell's underpants. Okay, not really, but you will definitely be docked.
Come on, folks. You are My eyes and ears down there. Half of Heaven would gladly give their left wing for the opportunity you have, so if you won't take your job seriously, I'll find someone who will. It really is that simple.
god123091@Gmail.com (This e-mail address is only temporary.)
Good morning, Billy, and great question. The common perception is that since
masturbation frequently includes impure thoughts and, in the case of men, relegates glorious, life-giving seed to the significance of wadded-up tissue, it must be evil and therefore, a sin.
At the same time, man's undying spirit and eternal soul have been embodied—meaning, given physical form—in large part to experience life's many physical pleasures. This was not simply a cruel cosmic joke, like farting.
Obviously, the primary intention of the good feelings associated with sex was to encourage men and women to reproduce, and also as a way for humans to express unconditional love while communicating intimately on the highest level (I'm just kidding…it was to reproduce). However, since engaging in a sexual act with a partner is not always possible or desirable—say, for example, an individual is married—one must sometimes take matters into his or her own hands (pardon the pun).
That said, I believe both you and I can think of many more constructive ways for you to spend an average of…let Me check My notes…five hours a day. I mean, I realize you're 13, but at this rate there won't be anything left down there when you meet your future baby's momma.
For My sake, Billy, distract yourself occasionally! Life really is too short. Read a book once in a while; one including stories that don't all begin with: "I never thought something like this would happen to me…."
PS — Oh, uh…or you could read The Bible.
Did you read this e-mail from G yet? It's all about our update reports and how they look like crap. He says He's not putting up with it anymore, and I think He's serious.
I have that same sick feeling I get when I accidentally knock over a full beer.
I am so screwed. I know that dig about us making stuff up in our reports was aimed directly at me. He still won't let me forget how for years I reported that Drew Barrymore was retarded. You remember that? I kept saying that I genuinely admired her for overcoming her tremendous handicap and achieving such popularity. I mean, with so little talent, I thought for sure her fans just felt sorry for her. By the time I realized that's just the way she talks, it was too late to switch gears. I would've looked more foolish than the Holy Mother that time
she wore shorts.
Anyway, I'm way behind with my reports, and I don't know how I'm going to catch up. Is there any way you can help? Please? I've never been a huge Rosie O'Donnell fan.
PS — What's up with G's username? Weird.
Well, you certainly did a fine job over the course of your first presidential campaign, after you got over the initial shock of being selected as McCain's running mate anyway. We of course, never had a doubt, but for a minute your face had that same bewildered look as other Alaskans—the difference, I suppose, is that your expression seemed to ask: You really want me?, while the rest of Alaska wonders: I live here? Really?
If you were nervous, it didn't show. Anyone else would've been uneasy in your position, especially after inadvertently walking in on McCain lying on the floor in his office moving little green army men around while making "pew pew" sounds and shouting orders to General Grant (he was a high-ranking soldier during the American Civil War, by the way—Grant, that is…McCain was just a corporal).
I'd like to offer a bit of constructive criticism. Everyone understands that you had to
appear somewhat tough to overcome typical gender stereotypes, your tremendous lack of experience, and that painful Northern dialect. We get that, and for the most part your efforts were successful. But then you spent $150K on clothing and salons? Huh? Joe Biden, so you know, buys his underwear in packs of three for $8, never uses the words "bikini" and "wax" in the same conversation, and "does" his own nails with a pocketknife. I wonder who male voters can more easily relate to. Hmmm…and chances are very good that he can silently read the newspaper across the table from Obama without continually glancing over his cup of coffee and thinking, "I wonder if he's mad at me."
You see, Sarah, while it is true that men long for Rachael Ray in the kitchen and Paris Hilton in the bedroom (gay men, I suppose, will lean more toward Bobby Flay and Tom Cruise), when it's a question of who has access to The Button, they secretly crave someone like…well, Biden. Mankind, of course, will always have room for improvement, but you did a fine job overall, and should hope for bigger things down the road…though, it may be difficult to top your role on 30 Rock. That show is a freakin' hoot.
Lovingly from your top advisor,
From: God <god123091@Gmail.com>
To: John McCain <email@example.com>
RE: Presidential campaign
I wish to congratulate you on the tireless job you did during your run for president. Though at your age this was certainly your last opportunity, I believe you and your family will look back with pride on an illustrious career. Many people benefited from your efforts, and at the top of the list are the people who you ran against. I mean, I'm sure the winners were extremely grateful to have had you as an opponent.
Wait…that came out wrong.
Anyway, I was especially impressed with the way you refrained from slinging mud at Obama, even after he came at you hard about aligning with George W., and then wildly accused you of being responsible for all kinds of problems, such as unemployment, mortgage foreclosures, high insurance premiums, global warming, drug abuse, pornography, racism, obesity, bad movies, poor restaurant service, spontaneous combustion, low birth weight, Fran Drescher, cinnamon, erections that last for more than four hours, and string.
I mean, come on. Global warming? Whatever helps him sleep at night, eh, John?
Listen, I have to run, but I don't want you to let all those comments about your advanced age get to you. Yes, you're getting older (who isn't?) and yes, this was your last shot at being president. But Moses was in his prime when he was about your age, and at least we know that hidden beneath your waxy exterior is the vigor of youth balanced with the wisdom of experience. And beneath that, of course, is a tired war hero who wants little more than to pass his remaining days playing POW with his lovely captor, Sarah…er, I mean Cindy.
Peace and good luck,
This e-mail is in regard to the incident last week at your church when you were speaking to the Ladies' Auxiliary and your pants accidentally fell around your ankles just as you were coincidentally saying, "Ever seen one of these before?"
Even though you were referring to your cool, new Bible, Someone thinks you owe those surprised ladies—the two not named Mrs. Smith—an apology.
Keep your chin (and your pants) up,
LMAO @ Drew Barrymore being retarded! Ha. That's too funny. I never knew that. You know what's really sad? I saw her doing an interview on E! and I thought the same thing. I did. I thought she had a closed head injury or something, and I was like, "Good for you, Drew Barrymore. Aren't you the brave one. You definitely shouldn't be on TV like that, but you are so brave." Heh heh.
Turns out she just had her tongue pierced, and it swelled up, like, four times its normal size. Ha. What a goof.
Anyway, I wish I could help with your reports, but I'm slammed right now. I just got a new charge, and this one is gonna be a handful. She's a college professor, but she's not too bright. Her students totally mess with her. No matter what she asks this one kid, he always answers "your mom." She'll be like, "Who was the most influential political leader of the 16th century, Stephen?" And he goes, "Your mom." "Who did this leader influence, Stephen?"
Of course, he says, "Your mom."
One time she made the mistake of asking him what he did the previous night. Ha.
Plus, pretty much every day during her lectures a group of wiseacres thinks it's funny to pretend they are sneezing to cover up the fact that they are really saying "bullshit." Heh, heh. And apparently bullshit is contagious because, after a while, you can't even hear her lecture. All you hear are a bunch of "sneezing bullshits" coming from all around the room.
I want to help her. I really do, but watching people mess with her is way more fun. I even helped one of her students discreetly tape a sign to her back that said: Ask me about my rash! Ha. What a Drew Barrymore.
I love my job!
Well, I have to get back to work. I'll ask around to see if anyone can help you out.
PS —I guess someone took all the names with "God" in them, and that was all He was left with. If you ask me, He should talk to Judas. I'm just saying….
Dear Brother Byler,
I sincerely hope all is well with you and the rest of your extended family. The recent
barn-raising on the Ammann's farm seems to have gone exceedingly well. It is the talk of Lancaster County.
I am sending you this message to warn you of an impending disaster, and with the hope that you will be able to react in time, thereby saving your own life and the lives of virtually everyone you love.
In less than 30 days, a massive catastrophe—far more devastating than any the world has ever witnessed—will eliminate most of the state of Pennsylvania, causing irreparable damage and—oh, wait…you're Amish. Never mind.
*Note to "jakebro": The above e-mail was sent to you in error. Please disregard.
DO NOT FORWARD. And dress for rain.*
Today we salute you, Harriet Hubbard, longtime waitress at Howard Johnson. At 77-years young, you are the longest-working food server in the country. You were around when Old Grandad was in the husk. In 60 years of serving food to the public, you've worked at 10 different restaurants for 24 separate managers, rolled over 217,500 rolls of silverware, and lied about rolling at least that many.
You've stolen thousands of pounds of food, committed hundreds of scams—including "Bring-But-Don't-Ring" and credit card fraud—and watched countless fellow employees take the fall because management trusts your withered face.
You, Harriet Hubbard, have served over 522,000 meals, and many of them to the correct tables. At least in the early years.
Sure, your co-workers snicker behind your back because you squeak when you walk, spit when you talk, and lose control of your bowels during dinner rush. Of course they get annoyed when you reminisce about "how it used to be," forget the main ingredients in the Baked Chicken & Broccoli Pasta, and can't lift, bend, or stretch. But you, Harriet, started serving before there were trays. Sissies.
What do other servers do when they have an unruly child in their section? They call you, Grandma Harriet. You know how to soothe a baby's disposition. They don't need to know you fill the cranky toddler's bottle with a nip from your hip flask. It'll be our little secret.
Someone has a table of campers that threaten to stay all night? They just need to bring Old Mother Hubbard over to tell one of her timeless (never-ending) stories. That always does the trick.
Every shift working with you is a journey back in time; a time before waitresses asked young men and women for ID, a time before tips were reported to the government, and a time before all this politically correct nonsense took hold. It's not your fault the hostess doesn't remember who you won't wait on. Sorry, but that gay couple will simply have to be patient until another server is available.
Recognition for the effort you bring to your restaurant every day and the longevity you've sustained in the industry is long overdue. You've dedicated your life to serving others, Harriet Hubbard, and today Heaven salutes you…and your Real Life Achievement.
See you very soon,
I understand you've been thinking a lot about Purgatory lately—Does it exist? How long is the layover? Is this, in fact, where you're headed?—and I want to take a moment to clear a few things up for you.
To best understand Purgatory, I want you to imagine a room, roughly 20' x 20', which is carpeted and comfortably furnished. There is a Panasonic Viera 50" Plasma TV next to a Trivoli Audio Music System on one wall, and both are connected to an Aperion Intimus 4T Hybrid SD Home Theater Surround Speaker System.
I believe you know a bit about electronics, Bill, and as you are probably aware, the video quality of this television is flawless and the Intimus speakers really jump.
Since you're pretty much stuck in this room until—oh I don't know, as long as I say, you could do a lot worse in the area of time/entertainment value, right?
The thing is, when Steve Jobs gets this room before you (ironic?), he f@#*s up the buttons on all the equipment and totally misplaces the remotes, so not even you can change the channel on the television (non-stop action from The View) or the song ("Achy, Breaky Heart" by Billy Ray Cyrus), which continually loops on the stereo. No, William, it only seems like hell. But you can always listen to your iPod.
The point of Purgatory, you see, was to create a place where borderline souls (the actual term we use is "tweeners") would rather not be, but one that is still far more desirable than the alternative, if you get My meaning.
Take care and I bless,
As requested, I am reporting to you directly regarding Gandhi and his status since re-joining mankind.
We've got problems.
Gandhi, it seems, currently "lives" in a shopping mall just outside of Detroit, Michigan. So you know, this is more or less illegal (mostly more). While he is free to come and go and hang out in designated areas during business hours, Gandhi apparently hides in various places after the mall closes until he's sure everyone but security is gone, and then he stealthily picks his way around the many stores and restaurants.
He bathes in the large water fountain in the center of the mall (the same fountain from which he gathers coins for the vending machines), eats what he can find at any one of the various restaurants, and sleeps on a waterbed display in Sears.
While this is not great news, it actually gets worse. Gandhi, doing what he believes is
charitable work, spends a lot of time changing the size tags at the clothing store for big & tall women. Apparently, he gets tremendous joy from the expressions on the fatties' faces when they try on what they believe to be their correct size only to find the garments, the tags of which have been switched, from, say, a size 26 to an 18, literally falling off their plump bodies. These fools buffoons unsuspecting women genuinely believe they have lost this substantial weight (though, only Heaven knows by what means)…until, that is, they try on clothes at a normal people's store. Those tags have not been changed, you see, and the result is much like Dr. David Banner turning into the Incredible Hulk.
There's more, a lot more, but Gandhi appears to be up to something now—he is way slipperier than I ever imagined—and I have to go play safety net. I'll report back shortly.
With respect and reverence,
Guardian Angel Steve