God Owes Me BIG TIME

November 15, 2000

Some people act like God owes them something... just because they were born! As if being given the gift of life entitles them to something other than each and every lucky breath they take. Nosiree Bob.

Look at my face! Now you know damn well somebody owes me something for that, people.

Nobody owes Claudia Schiffer jack shit. Miss pretty priss can bitch and moan all she wants about how rough it is being a supermodel and working all day in a swimsuit until the fabric cuts your pert little nipples, and okay, maybe the beaver teeth are a bit repugnant. But her case don't matter a hill o' beans to my having to cart this puss around for eternity.

Ain't nobody on earth done so wrong to deserve my gruesome hood ornament. If the Geneva Convention applied to my sadsack mug God would be up on some serious crimes against humanity charges, that's for sure. And I make no apologies--hell, with this creepy kisser nobody would stick around to listen to 'em anyway. I'm not a handsome man, that's something I and everybody I've ever encountered instantly knows. But what matters is... I'm damn ugly.

"Wait, Rok," you say, looking quite the fool while reading the commune and talking back, "I know where this is going." But you're wrong. This isn't about disproving the existence of God. If anything, my nasty neanderthal visage proves there is a God and he's one twisted bastard, He is.

I'm not pushing any unwarranted charges on Hisself, I'm just saying that all this can be cleared up nice and neatly with a blank check. His holiass can definitely afford it, just invent more gold or utarnium, the ultimate valuable metal or something. But it's quite clear I've been done wrong and it don't take no Judge Wapner to rule in my favor to prove it. I'll forget the whole thing if Our Lord Who Art Laughing His Ass Off Up In Heaven will just cut me some quick cash. And it better be soon, I've got a high school reunion to go to soon.

Milestones

1858: 26th president and idol of Red Bagel Teddy Roosevelt is born, only a month before Bagel's birth. We know technically this is impossible, but we didn't get cushy date-checking jobs by questioning the big man.

Now Hiring

Bounced Czech. Resume and references not necessary, any Czechoslovakian expatriate thrown out of a club will do. True, we don't really have any job for such a person to occupy, but wouldn't it be funny to say we have a bounced Czech on staff? Think about it.

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