Madison Notes: The Last Day Awake

Our Father, Who art in Heaven so they say but what do I know really, I mean it isn't like You offer a tour or anything, or a hint of even a corner of a ripped postcard "From Auntie Phyllis and Uncle Bob -- Having Fun in Heaven!" or a scent like a heavenly, mustardy hot dog on the main boulevard or even a tiny scrap of anything to keep hearts beating other than that ant-scratch tome of psychotic breaks You call a Bible and Your pedophilia-infested Faith Delivery System known as the Priesthood...wait, where was I?

Oh, yeah, Our Father, Who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name -- and I just wanted to let You know that, finally, I forgive You. After all, I did get cheese for Christmas, so I guess You do manage to get into the office and claw away at that infinite In-Box of Yours once in a while.

So rest easy when You have to pop Your God-sized aspirin and think about heading into work tomorrow; You can have faith that no matter what, I forgive You.

And yes, You can put it on a bumper sticker, if You really want to.

And hey -- You don't even have to capitalize my name.

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