I'm driving down a mountain road and hit an icy patch. The car skids out of control, and I'm headed for certain doom. I know I am going to die. With my final fate racing towards me, I scream out "Help me, Jesus!" like any good atheist would do. The car suddenly rights itself. I'm going to live. I breath out a sigh of relief. I look over to the passenger side, and there's Jesus, sitting shotgun.
Oh, crap.
I know he’s going to want something in return, like for me to go help the blind in Calcutta. I give him $5 and let him out at the next gas station. I don’t have time for a holy crusade. I have too much to do. Rock of Love 3 ain't going to watch itself.
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I think you gave him more than most people do for saving their lives. Good work and hope you enjoyed the mess that was ROL 3.
I'm pulling for Beverly. She's hometown and seems the least insane.
I was also shocked by Taya, the penthouse pet who seems to be less insane than anyone else.
I start any prayer with, "Um, I know I don't really, um, 'speak' with you often and if I do it's because I need something but..." This probably means that my dying words will be a weak apology for not keeping in touch and I won't even be able to get out "Please save me!" in time.
Homer's "Jesus, Allah, Buddha, I love you all!" usually does the trick for me.
I like to tell God he's done well when I see a pretty lady, or at least give a knowing wink to the Heavens when a girl hugs me. That way, he can't say he was unappreciated.
I do the same thing, only I thank Satan.
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