American Idol

When did accepting Jesus as my savior mean I had to have the devil as my president?

Someone who thinks the road to paradise is paved in actual gold and wants to pocket the bricks. Someone who, when he tells you he won’t make it to Heaven, you can take him at his word. For once.

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I’ve been on the lookout for this God of Love you keep talking about. The one that says the meek will inherit the Earth. The one that says to love your neighbor as yourself. What closet do you hide that god in when you vote to take away healthcare from the poor or rip the food out of children’s mouths?

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Where is that God, as you break his first commandment every time you bow down and bend over for your Idol?

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Your Idol, the pickpocket who’d steal your wallet and then sue you for not having enough cash to buy him a goddamned cheesburger. Maybe we can countersue for the pain and suffering, the mental anguish of just having to know he’s still alive.

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Your Idol, the Godfather of lies. He ejaculates them all over our screens and asks us to lap it up like the whores he thinks we are. Then make us pay him for the depraved services he needs. And the hotel room.

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Your Idol, the patron saint of failed businesses. Leaving everyone else to hold the bag of shit he filled up on his golden toilet. And expecting us to be grateful for it.

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Your Idol, who never met a vow he wouldn’t break. Who treats the seven deadly sins like a checklist he marked off long ago. You could say he’s working through the 10 commandments, but that’s only if you think the press of a button is a long enough distance from Thou Shalt Not Kill.

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If the God you claim to follow sent a daughter this time to sacrifice herself, like so many of our daughters are asked to do every day, your Idol would grab her by the pussy on her way to be crucified. Nailed to a cross branded with his name. Gold Plated. Made in China.

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I walked away from the God you claim to follow. Someone pulls your string so the platitudes fall out, you say “he never walked away from you, he loves you no matter what.”

But love doesn’t mean He agrees with you. Doesn’t mean He wants to spend another moment listening to you twist His words. There is only so much water that can be turned into wine to drown out your disengenuous whining.

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Just because He loves you doesn’t mean He has to like you. Trust me. I’m a parent.

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