Good Bye

I have a few things to say before I go. I'll try to keep it short. To doubters who ask why the resurrected Jesus only appeared to his disciples, maybe he didn't want to get crucified again. To those who think a loving God doesn't want us to suffer, loving has brought me my greatest suffering. To the shadowy group who killed the Kennedys and blew up the World Trade Centre, I can see why you might need to do those things: you're evil. But how could you let them steal all my songs? To all business people, I don't hate you. I only have a problem with the ones that ruined my life directly. To rich misers who think I'm making them unpopular, you have always been unpopular. Haven't you ever read A Christmas Carol? Haven't you ever seen It's A Wonderful Life? Haven't you ever watched The Simpsons? To anyone concerned about a nuclear war starting up, don't be. There are far more jobs in manufacturing conventional weapons. To people who think I shouldn't make waves, in a society as corrupt as ours, waves can only help. To people who hate me for being right, I'd rather be wrong. To people who want me to get a phone, I had one for years, but all I ever got were crank calls. To anyone climbing the stairway to fame and fortune, watch out for that last step. It's an elevator shaft filled with boiling oil. To folks who don't like my use of titles and honorifics, I'm just being polite when I say 'Your Majesty' or 'Your Excellency'. And I don't insist that anyone address me by my full title, Your Omnipotence. To would-be Facebook imposters, I have not used my Facebook account since June 2010 because I cannot remember my password and I am disconnected from my original email. To MySpace, the only online accounts I have are with Google and YouTube. To anyone who thinks I'm chasing stardom, I tell you, I only write my blogs and songs in self-defense. To anyone wondering about my sex life, don't worry. I have the most fantastic sex. It's fantastic because it all happens in my imagination. To people who eavesdrop on me when I grumble alone in my apartment or room, I often don't mean the things I say when I am possessed by the devil. If you think my insults are bad, you should hear them when my skin turns grey and I foam at the mouth, though you wouldn't understand them at such times because I say them in Latin. To the pastor who thinks I'm Satan, you have the wrong guy there. If I were Satan, I could play the fiddle at least as well as Charlie Daniels. To all those who thought a poet would not want to drive a forklift, what about one who writes poems about forklift driving? To the inventors of The Six Million Dollar Man, thanks a lot. If it wasn't for you making artificial limbs look so glamourous, I never would have consented to that knee surgery. To any women who feel bad for me that I'm still a virgin after all of this, thank you for your concern, but I'm sure I'll one day know how it feels to kiss a girl when she's only wearing a bathing suit. To my childhood priest: Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been thirty years since my last confession and these are my sins. I forgot to tell you that when they gave me my hearing test in Grade Five, I lied on one of my answers. I should have said 'higher' instead of 'lower.' I did it for attention. And, also, I'm afraid that I coveted my neighbour's dog. It was a really nice German Shepherd. To the school system, what did some of you teachers have against me? Didn't I keep your faces in proportion in all those drawings that circulated around the classroom? To anyone setting up a writing contest, let me guess: the prize money is a small portion of what you receive for cashing in all the other submissions in your own name. And to teachers of courses on 'how to be a writer', if you taught your course honestly, your classroom would be vacant before the end of the first lesson. To the U.S. Federal Reserve: time to change the motto on your currency from In God We Trust to Don't Get Caught!. To the mother of the beautiful red-haired child from two years ago, why did you look at me with such horror when I told you that the gene for red hair gives her a higher tolerance for pain? I was just sharing what I read in the news. Ideas for the next few television seasons? Here's a horrible one, how about Vikings? Still haven't seen them produce anything with Vikings. Great comic potential there. Differences between the Vikings. You know, the British Vikings halt their burning and looting to go back to their longboat for a spot of tea, while the French Vikings...etc. And how about a sketch or cartoon about the Talent Thief: 'Larry, what happened to your jump shot?' 'I don't know, coach. There was a suspicious looking person in the hallway last night, just before I went to sleep...' How do you spot a talent thief? He's the only one playing the bagpipes with one hand, rolling a joint with the other, while figure skating on his head. To any fans who may have lost faith in me after I took down my first account, couldn't you tell from songs like Son, the World's a Shithole that I was also the author of Size? To Jesus, who said, 'Consider the ravens. They neither sow nor reap, they have no barn, yet God feeds them...', did you take a close look at what God feeds them, Lord? Puke and breadcrumbs. To the nice lady who felt sorry about my losing my king-size bed, grieve not. At least I have a king-size room. To the government, you cannot end unemployment by calling the Welfare Office The Ministry of Employment and Income Assistance any more than you can reform criminals by calling the prison system The Ministry of Corrections. The only job you create in both instances is for a bureaucrat with an active imagination. To manufacturers of plastic toy machine guns, why can't you make one that doesn't break when you use it to rifle-whip a stone gargoyle? And, while I'm at it, you could also take a few lessons in realism from the manufacturers of plastic explosives. To deep thinkers, you were never in heaven if it ends in hell. Good memories only add to one's hell. True heaven is for keeps. To people who mock how I say the word, question, I'm working on that: quesssssschun, quesssssssssssssssschun, quessssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssschun... To anti-computer-virus software designers, how do you know how to kill those viruses when no one else does?
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© 2011. Scripts by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.