I spoke with God last night.

that WAS a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie.

She said: "What would you like to have, you white skinned, bald headed, skinny, pathetic piece of shit?"

"One more day?"

"I grant you that and use it well. I don't ordinarily make house calls." "Anything else?"

Out of a multitude of imaginings, I could not choose between a blowjob in an oriental massage parlor or a ham sandwich with cheese and pickles on fresh white bread.
Knowing I could not afford the cost of transportation back home from Bangkok, I opted for the sandwich.

"See ya later, shithead." She says, and vanishes.

There I was, alone again, holding a ham sandwich, standing at an open refrigerator door, realizing that I was out of mayonnaise.

Damnation to those penguins that live in the refrigerator.
They are always stealing.
Slowly, one piece at a time, they are stealing my keyboa

When I speak to god I generally use the porcelain telephone. I am afraid all our conversations have been quite jumbled. It might be the echo.

So I gets up one bright frosty December morn, leaving for work. and I sees my neighboor standing in his yard with a penguin.

"Hey Kowalski," says I, "whats you gonna do with the penguin?"

"I don't know," says he, "my wife hung her knickers out last night and this morning he was standing here, sniffing the air."

"Perhaps you should take him to the zoo," says I.

Later that day, when I returned home, there was Kowalski and the penguin. They were shuffeling around, bumping into each other as if they were playing some sort of arctic 'tag'.

"Hey Kowalski," says I, "I thought you going to take that thing to the zoo."

"I did," says Kowalski, "and we had so much fun, we're going to see some movies tomorrow!"

I bet that Aimless, if he had a mind to, could compose a poem about God, or perhaps Her mirror image; doG.

Mr. Waterfield, I suspect, could rally here, but I don't know him well enough to impose.

Mr. Fallaize is a poet but it has been reported that he bows his head when passing by the church.
There is a story about Matt that when he was a child, he was run over by a bus and walked away unharmed.
His mother, in tears, said "Matthew! That was a miracle! Did you praise the Lord and curse the Devil?"
"Well, Mum," says he, "I DID praise the Lord but under the circumstances, I thought it would be inappropriate to to agitate anyone."
I read Matt's blog. It makes no sense to me whatsoever. :-)
You know I'm kidding, Matt. I'm a Yank. We have no sense to begin with. We have defeated tyrants in the past only to spawn one of our own.

(CURB YOUR TONGUE, KNAVE, LEST LORD BUSH ORDERS IT REMOVED FROM YOUR BLASFHEMOUS MOUTH!}

*sigh*

*drops trousers*

*waves graciously*

When God spoke to Zen She said
"Your drunk. Go to bed."
"Your neighbours will be annoyed
if you don't turn off Pink Floyd"

Zen replied with a grin
"Look at the state I am in!"
"God, this is all your fault
For 'twas you who invented malt"

"Yes. I did." said She
With a certain ammount of glee
"But never did I think,
of how much you would drink"

Clap, clap, clap, clap, clap!

*smiles sheepishly*

Step away from the sheep, Zen. *Sheesh*

If I do that, M, who will comfort them, who will whisper sweet woolly nothings into their ears, who will protect them from the wolves...who will love them as I do...

*breaks into tears, unable to continue*

Ah, the smell of wet wool!

Are you sure you speaking to God? I do not make assumption but this internet forum is the known as "Ask A Drunk"? Maybe the vodka you were drinking, no? My Aunt, who was voted once as the HAIREST WOMAN IN ESTONIA, said she had been to be speaking to God only to finding out later that she had been drinking the Uncle's paint stripper!

oh shit wrong gimmick

no no, it's perfectly alright

You guys are all going to hell for this, you know that, right?

I can cope, I'm married! With kids!!

Hell doesn't scare me...

I've been married three times.

goodness ... and I thought it was Heck ... a place people go whom don't believe in Gosh ...

I hope I'm gramatically correct ... spell check and grammar check have saved many an essay on my account ... and for a change I am intoximicated whilst posting on this site ... celbebration much to be had !!!!

Think nothing of it, dear. REAL drunks are not concerned with grammar.

nor with grampar either

Zen, Zen, Zen

actual drunks may not be concerned with grammar, have they no roof or immediately apparent income

but you know damn well that here at AAD we like to at least attempt it, just for the look of the thing

now let's have no more of this sort of thing