Category Archives: Message From God

God Reviews Song Titled “I need to wash my penis tonight”

I’m creaming in my God-pants with excitement this morning because Kevin Curtis of Canada has sent some song lyrics for me to review. The working title is “I need to wash my penis tonight.” Make sure to read my response at the end. Enjoy!

* * *

The pretty girl at work, well I finally asked her out
I thought she’d say no and I’d just cry and pout

She said “Sure, that’s cool, what will we do?”
I froze and thought “Well, I might be banging you.”

I said “We can do whatever, can just wait and see.
or maybe catch that Brad Cooper romantic comedy.”

She said “Great! Pick me up at around nine.”
I said “Sure, that’ll work out just fine.”

Now I’m home and starting to wonder.
How much cheese I’ll find from under.

Our date is Friday and you know what that means.
My penis needs to cease smelling like old beans.

Lord I need to wash my penis tonight
Gonna wash my big ol’ penis all right
Lord I need to wash my penis tonight
Gonna wash my big ol’ penis all right

Well, it’s been twelve hours since I last seen her,
and I’m still dealing with stinky wiener.

“Man this could be a goddam disaster
If I can’t get my soiled penis past her.”

In the store, I told ’em ’bout my wiener
They gave me a hard-core commercial cleaner

At home I rubbed on that thing all evening.
I yelled “I’m sick of all this dick cleaning!”

It’s brown and green and a tad bit musty.
Despite my scrubbing, it was still all crusty.

The date was going fine, it was time to “do it.”
I wanted to flee, but I said ” Oh screw it!”

I yanked off my pants and crud went flying.
She stared, stumbled, and then started crying.

She yelled “It’s dirty, green and small as a mole,
and it smells like a fresh ass casserole.

I asked her if I could have just one more chance.
She nodded and smiled and put on her pants.

You better wash your lil’ bitty penis tonight
Or I’ll slice off your penis all right
You better wash your lil’ bitty penis tonight
Or I’ll slice off your penis all right

* * *

Dear Kevin,

You are obviously a very talented lyricist. Your poetry captures the very essence of the anxieties of young lust and sub-optimal personal hygiene. It’s a common male human fear that the penis is not clean enough to suit the tastes of a female. I’m God and I still gave my penis a sniff after reading your beautiful words. Don’t change a thing. I have a list a mile long of people who can put music to your lyrics. I will contact you soon.



Blame the Egyptians for the Boston Marathon (or the Greeks)

I had a nice electronic conversation about terrestrial locomotion and explosives with a male human named Lou from Florida last night. I’m sharing it with all humans today because that’s how this God rolls!



Are atheists to blame for what happened at the Boston Marathon?


No, I think it would be silly to blame–are you sure the “e” comes first? That’s quite odd–atheists for the Boston Marathon. Non-believers, as a rule, hate to run. Most people don’t know that. Anyway, human running evolved, like, four and a half million years ago. You can start there with your blame or you can skip ahead to the damn Egyptians and Greeks who started the ridiculous practice of competitive running.

You don’t get many opportunities, so, Lou, let’s come up with better questions, okay?


Actually, I was referring to the BOMBING at the Boston Marathon on Monday. You took three people and hurt many others. It’s, like, the big news down here on Earth, especially in your United States. Or . . . did you not know about it? But that wouldn’t make sense, I mean, you’re  all-knowing and all-powerful, right?


Now that I look over my logbook I see what happened there down in . . . uh . . . Boatman. Or, no–Boston. Yes, Boston. Tragedy. Senseless, sad, tragedy. I was absolutely not involved in that; I was watching over New Zealand Monday afternoon. But yes, of course, it’s perfectly fine to blame atheists athiests poop flinging fuck nuggets non-believers. Humans who do not  believe in my existence are assholes–every damn one of them.

Death to Athiestes!

A Sign from Me on a Goldfish cracker? Hell No!


Patti Burke, a Florida resident, is claiming that I sent her some kind of “sign” on a Goldfish cracker.

Also see: 22 people who found Jesus in their food

Today I’m reaching out electronically to say that I no longer communicate by cracker.

In 1985 I rolled out the short-lived “God is in the cracker, God is in you” campaign using the Goldfish, which has been around since 1962, but I quickly realized that the cracker was immensely popular with kids who wouldn’t recognize a sign from Me if I slapped them across the face with it. Not that I would ever do that. Not myself, anyway.

My staff noticed the surging sales of the tasty cheddar snack before they realized that parents were mindlessly throwing them at their children to get them to shut up once in a while.

“Mommy, where does daddy go after work and why do you yell at him so much?”

“Um, how would you like a SpongeBob marathon and a giant bowl of Goldfish.


Amazingly, Patti Burke, a full-grown human, eats them one at a time–inspecting each one–on her way to consuming two to three pounds of Goldfish every week. (This is what happens when I allow humans just a tiny bit of freewill.)

“He is still in our life every day, and He wants to show that to His people,” Patti told a local radio station.

Well, not quite every day. I do take time off from running the world because, well, it’s a lot of goddam work. I screwed up the world centuries ago and it’s taking me, like, forever to get things back to an acceptable level of stability.

So, Patti, I’m not in your life every day and if I wanted to get in touch with you I wouldn’t send you a cracker-gram for chrissake.

I’d be all up in your face with a “I’m God, Beotch! Here I aaaam. Suck iiiiiiiiit!”