Michael Jackson and the Theophany

"You must be this high to ride Michael."
--Robin Williams

"Michael. It's me. God."

"Yes, Lord?"

"Michael, I'm not too happy with you right now."

"Is it the children, Lord? Has my special brand of love for the children turned you against me, too?"

"Listen, smartass. You're fuckin' 45 years old. You had the chance to bang Lisa Marie Presley, one of the finest asses I ever created, but like a complete shithead you dropped that white meat into the deep fat fryer after eighteen months. You're the King of Pop, you albino moron! You could line your Neverland with wall-to-wall tits, paint your bedroom with floor-to-ceiling pussy juice, be tonguing uteruses until you're 90. But no-- you have to pretend you're a Catholic priest."

"Now wait a second, Lord, I--"

"Oh, forsooth. You should consider yourself lucky that loyal friends, relatives, and fans are out there right now defending your sorry ass. Except for Kathy Griffin, but no one'll listen to her because she's an ugly bitch. Which is how I planned it."

"But, Jesus Christ, I'm only--"

"Do you still fuck chickens?"

"What??"

"I asked you a question, puny man, and you better not lie, because I always know when you're lying. Lord Voldemort always knows. He sees you when you're sleeping. He knows when you're awake. He knows when you've been fucking chickens, so answer the goddamn question."

"Lord, I-- OK, yes, maybe one or two."

"Say it straight up, Michael, or I swear to God I'll ram a splintery Roman cross right up your ass."

"Sigh... fine. Six or seven. A day."

"You know that your Neverland chickens have a pronounced waddle, right?"

"They... they do?"

"I gave you the huge schlong that caused it, fool! I didn't even have to use telepathy or X-ray vision to figure out that old habits die hard."

"I'm sorry, Lord. My father got me started on chickens when I was six."

"Yeah, blame everyone else. And I see you still prefer white meat."

"Lord, it doesn't matter if you're black or white."

"The fuck it doesn't. Did you forget what country you live in, bitch? Race is in the news all the time. Speaking of news-- when're you planning to come clean to the public about what's really going on with your nose?"

"It's... it's just too embarrassing."

"What, more embarrassing than voluntarily confirming to the Almighty God that you've sexually penetrated poultry?"

"I can't do it, Lord."

"Look, I asked Moses to demand freedom for his people, and he whined about his speech impediment, but he stepped up in the end. My boy Jesus got all wussy on me in Gethsemane, but swallowed his fear and faced his fate like a man. I asked the Buddha to-- no, wait, that wasn't me. Anyway, I'm telling you that you need to get out there and say to the crowds that your nose got bitten off by an angry gerbil just moments after it had struggled out of your anus."

"It never should've gotten out, Lord. I do Kegels."

"Yeah, and I miraculously loosened your anus at just the right moment to acquaint you with rodential fury."

"But why, Lord? Why do you do such evil things to the good and faithful? Do you know how much misery you've caused me? The pain, the embarrassment, the surgery, the facial CGI for my music videos?"

"Good and faithful? Your looks are a small price to pay for your kiddie fixation and chicken-fucking. Life's a bitch, Michael. Sometimes you get struck by lightning. Sometimes a hurricane wrecks your entire neighborhood and drowns your family. Sometimes an angry gerbil struggles out of your ass, leaps on your face, and chews off your nose. These things happen. Read Rabbi Harold Kushner."

"So what should I do, Lord?"

"Sit tight. Keep working on your Kegels. Get that asshole as puckered as possible."

"But why, Lord?"

"If you get tossed in the slammer, you'll see why soon enough. Trust me on this."
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