Every day I see another pathetic pseudo-Christian hate group spewing their crap all over the internet. I usually try to ignore it, but I often can’t help but wonder what God would think of them. I picture him sitting on his throne with his head in his hands, sick to death of what these idiots are saying…

God: *groans morosely* I don’t believe this.
Gabriel: What’s wrong?
God: More news about those insufferable humans who call themselves my children but hate everyone who disagrees with them. You know, the ones who say some sins are worse than others?
Gabriel: *snorts* Ah. The bigots again. They make my brain hurt.
God: They even have the nerve to decide who’s blessed by me and who isn’t! What is wrong with these people? Is that how I said they should act? That is not how I said they should act. For My sake, I gave them an instruction manual!
Gabriel: No offense, but no one reads a whole instruction manual. They just skim over it to get to the sections they need and then wonder why they’re having problems. Remember when Moses tried to hook up that new VCR?
God: How could anyone forget that? I had a headache for years. And he—what in the world are you doing?
Gabriel: *tugging on his crotch* Ugh. I think Michael dried my robes again. I specifically told him they need to drip dry. Now they’re too tight and giving me a wedgie. I swear he does it on purpose.
God: You could do your own laundry.
Gabriel: Did you forget about the last time I did the laundry?
God: Oh, right. You didn’t separate Lucifer’s underwear from the whites. Michael had to teach a divine justice class wearing bright pink robes.
Gabriel: *shyly* I thought the pink robes were a nice change.
God: Michael didn’t.
Gabriel: *stammers* Well… all right. Maybe pink isn’t exactly a good look on him, but that’s beside the point. Back to the instruction manual. Yours is long—really, really, really long. Most humans are too lazy to read an instruction leaflet, let alone a thousand-page book with the smallest font size known to man. And don’t even get me started on translations.
God: I have a feeling you’re about to start on translations.
Gabriel: So much gets lost in translation. Look how many times humans have messed with the Bible. They’ve translated it into nine frillion languages, illustrated it, annotated it, edited it—they’ve even deleted whole books! Remember that gospel Thomas worked so hard on? I proofread it. It was really good.
God: Yes, I re—
Gabriel: He even made his own papyrus. Do you know how long it takes to make a whole scroll of papyrus?
God: Let me guess. A really long time?
Gabriel: A really long time! He worked and slaved for months, only to have some self-righteous human pencil-pusher decide it wasn’t good enough for “their” book.
God: *nods sagely* Thomas is still bitter.
Gabriel: So if the manual isn’t working… what should we do with the bigots?
God: I’m still trying to figure out what went wrong. I wonder if I screwed up the recipe with some of them.
Gabriel: Did you use enough eggs? Or maybe the baking powder was stale? You’ll never get a good result if your baking powder is stale. Remember when Mary made Jesus that birthday cake?
God: Oh, Me. It was like a brick.
Gabriel: Stale baking powder.
God: We all had indigestion for a week.
Gabriel: Peter hung up “Happy Fartmas!” banners everywhere.
God: *snorts, clears throat* Yes, well. Stale ingredients and Fartmas notwithstanding, I still don’t know what to do with these jerks.
Gabriel: There has to be something we can do. How about… a plague! Toss a plague at them. Ooh, ooh! And do the frogs again. People were really freaking out about those frogs. That was flipping hilarious!
God: *wistfully* It was, wasn’t it? But where should I begin?
Gabriel: How about the Westboro Baptist Church? Their website address is literally “Godhatesfags”.
God: *grins maniacally* Excellent choice. Let’s do this.

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