Unsettling Things I Write When I Get Pompous, Delusional, And Vaguely Omnipotent

Back again back again. I've been away and I've been busy, kids. Blogger, I have neglected you (you know, I've started every other post for the past couple of months with something like that) but I'm back at the moment. I've been away, being that overhyped insolent demi-god of the intarweb you know, fiendishly worshipped and vigorously mocked.

Let me tell you crazy kids, being a demi-god ain't all it's cracked up to be.

Sure, you get some snazzy powers, and there's the whole immortality and prescience and resilience thing brought on board, but you know, I used to be a Messiah (of the Working-Class stature), and that was fine with me. Though I worried about the retirement clause in the dark hours of the night. Things happen. Things involving nails and martyrdom, and as much as I like you guys, you're not worth getting pinned like an especially mouthy butterfly to a cross just so you can feel guilt-free or some shit like that. It happens. I've seen the pictures.

So I upgraded. It's not so bad. The ascension, all in all, was a pretty entertaining process. Sacrifices, lots of chanting, people who don't have any idea watching through the windows, probably wondering why there's guys writing things in blood on the walls. It's like the antithesis of a Mormon funeral. Acolytes are a fucking dreary bunch, if I do say so myself. Always with the black robes, and the chanting, and the standing around looking all mysterious and arcane and shit. You know why they're so dour? Eunuchs! So fucking boring. "What's the score?" "They took my balls." Like a broken bloody record, they are. Ask them any damn question and they're always like "They took my balls". It's like a malfunctioning oracle, only less likely to make some dumbass hero all puffed up on himself go charging into a maze looking for a baby and a three eyed bull. I never pay attention to the legends anyways.

And the gods, the full-fledged ones, oh how they look down on you. Just because, you know, there's a demi in front of my godly title doesn't make me any less of a god than you, you self-righteous pricks! Okay...maybe it does, but, that's beside the point. Always with the proclamations of "Thou shalt fetch me some more salt for my popcorn" when you're in the theatre. They don't even need to go to the theatre. It's all for show, just so they can order us demi-gods around. Then there's God, and you just can't spell His name without self-righteous. Thinks because He made the entirety of the cosmos He has the right to be a sanctimonious prick. Well, for sure, but there was stuff around before Him. Okay, there wasn't stuff around before Him, but there were conceptualizations of the..you know what, when you ascend to demi-godhood, I'll take you to a coffeeshop that doesn't exist, so you can get over your metaphysical hang-ups. Unfortunately, all dieties are obligated by divine right to report in to Omniscience, LLC. It's this big bloody company that keeps track of all the gods, goddesses, demi-gods, godlings, semi-gods (don't you dare make a trucker joke, I will have you garroted) messiahs, saviors, that whole lot. It's fairly well put-together, if you can get used to the paperwork. Dear sweet fancy Moses, the paper. A piece of advice -- never smite anyone right before review. You have to file in triplicate, why you were smiting, who got smoted, what form of heresy, who witnessed said heresy, what the heresy entailed. Everyone's so uptight about heresy. And then you have to do it in Latin.

You'd think, after years of seeing it all over the place, mostly in stand-up comedy, they'd be less of a bunch of pricks about it, and do what Buddha did, and eat a lot of Mexican food and hang out in techno clubs. You won't find the Buddha on the road, but you will find him at The Eidolon Studio getting down with his fat shiny golden boogie. It's not a pretty sight. Speaking of not a pretty sight, you wouldn't believe the things that Inhuman Resources makes you do. I'd tell you, but then you wouldn't be able to eat for a month and a half. And then you wouldn't get to partake in any of the real ambrosia.

All right, I've got to go. Allah found out they were serving bacon sandwiches in the employee cafeteria and now we have to go to some sort of empowerment lecture and tolerance and all the good new age crap.

- the infamous ms grace