Nov 2013

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<itemid>156029</itemid>

<eventtime>2013-11-11 17:19:00</eventtime>

<logtime>2013-11-11 22:19:11</logtime>

<subject>The Excuse Department</subject>

<event>

by Emmit Other In the vast mechanicus That are the heavens The wonders that are upon God's hands Are not Angels the most magnificent? Oh sure, humans have that whole in His image thing going on But really When you get down to it The monkeys are pretty boring most of the time No, tis those sparkling winged light bulbs That really hold MY attention. Immortal. Flaming Sword. Harp. Snazzy dressers. I mean, hello, how can you go wrong with togas? There ain't no party Like an angel party I'm just sayin'. But when you conceive Of the vast departments In the umptiously scrumptious celestial bureaucracy What must be the angelic equivalent of Brain Surgery? Now guarding monkeys might be slick Stopping them from killing themselves That's quite the trick. They do so many things to end their lives The lack of nuclear war Is one of God's more stellar accomplishments. But how much does God claim? Does He get all the bad things? Just some? There's this brilliant gray area Where a bad thing that has good results Was ultimately God's doing But still Satan's fault. That's a pretty impressive piece of logic there. And who do we thank? Why the Excuse Department. That's who. You must understand That the vast and unending hallways Are filled with the best and the brilliant If Lucifer was 6 seconds from creation These guys were 6.5. They don't miss a beat. Bureaucracy and order are their beck and call. They clean up the mess They make things make sense. A small gold plaque lies on their wall. "There is ALWAYS an excuse." 100% satisfaction is their guarantee. Their work is sheer brilliance. Their logistics sublime. How does it work? Let's show you. Joe Schmoe gives a prayer That flies up in the air And is caught by your angel true The messenger dude Takes desires crude And ascends the celestial stair. It must be pushed. It must be filed. It must be stamped. It must be indexed. It must be briefed. It must be debriefed. And above all God help us all if it is not Most sensationally Most inspirationally Most celebrationally Numbered. Once the prayer is cataloged It is lovingly tagged And sent to an Archangel Who determines the ROI (That's Return on Investment to you rubes) On the prayer in Question. What will God's press look like? Will people worship Him more? Has this person been good or bad? Has the person committed Enough sins to merit their sin threshold? Have they been cursed by enough countervailing prayers? Do they get a miraculous intervention? It depends on the Archangel really. Some are simply Monte Haul Giving out benefits Left and Right The Fortune of Heaven's Blessing. Others are practically stingy No more than a rubber nickle Spit down from a cloud On the unfortunate head Of the idiot foolish enough to ask That his poor wife might not die from cancer. I mean really. The presumption of it all. Granted prayers are boring. Some are sent Upstairs. Some straight to the appropriate department. And there are lots. Death. Birth. Romance. Love. Nature. Weather. Animals. Plants. Farts. Jobs. Bicycles. Puppies. Ponies. Presents. Secrets. Sex. Gigs. Fame. Fortune. Curses. Revenge. Magic. Discovery. Science. Revelation. Divination. True. Lies. The list goes on and on and on. No, but no my friend. What is interesting. What is really interesting. Is the Excuse Department. What happens to a prayer When the Archangel pulls the cord That says..."No." Down the toilet it flows. And through the plumbing And spins and spins And where it stops Somebody knows. Be assured Be comforted That no form letters No impersonal experiences Are here found. No, in HEAVEN, sirs And of course madames Be assuaged That every single prayer not answered Has a particularly crafted menidiction Of exculpatory masterpiece. Ahem. Weather balloon. You were not strong enough. You didn't pay your tithing. Didn't go to church. Didn't wish hard enough. Didn't fight hard enough. Didn't want it enough. God has a plan. God needed you in heaven. God wanted you to Learn. God wanted you to earn. The neighbor next door was too sinful And you should have moved. Now is not the time You'll get it in heaven. That was a sinful prayer You don't get to ask for something like that What were you thinking? Who are you to question God? Who are you not to Obey? Did you Obey? Well? What's the problem? What's YOUR problem? It isn't our fault It's yours. Get it right. Stop questioning. Shut up and do what you're told. With the Excuse department All other layers Of Heaven's Cake Can take a break Or perhaps even fake Their annual work reports. Those prayers that do get answered? Well they felt like it. But there is no accountability No discernability. For God is Mystery And the Mystery Accounting is the sole providence Of the Excuse Department.

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