A list of reasons why I could be God

- I know what you’re thinking right now: “This guy is full of shit.”
- I love everyone. Except that guy Steve. Steve’s the devil.
- One time, I made some people out of clay.
- I rest every seven days.
- People who don’t know me have written books about me, but they don’t know me, and they don't know they have written books about me, and they would deny any of these claims, but I’m infallible, so I’m right.
- Infallible. What more reason do you need?

GOD's Frequently Answered Questions

I know it’s obvious, but what’s it all mean? Meaning is subjective. But as you say, it’s obvious.

Are only some of us going to Heaven? Only the ones who are nice to me; I’m insecure.

Is there a heaven? Maybe. If I said there was, and that you could go, would you like me?

Can I wear whatever I want there? It’d be sexier not to wear anything.

Why is life so hard? Because you are taking yourself too seriously.

Is dying painful? Life is painful enough. Dying is like watching the end of Lord of the Rings. It feels like it will go on forever, but its not that bad.

Is there anything I can take for the pain? Take a number!

Do you like mean people? I love everyone… sort of. Imagine your uncle, drunk, at a pool party, and you fall in the pool. I love yah, but I’m not getting my Hawaiian print shirt wet.

Do you have cornrows? I’m not black. My son is though!

Do you like that band Godsmack? Ok, I don’t love everyone.

Will they go to Heaven? They smacked me, what do you think? Sorry, answering questions with questions isn’t my thing. That’s Buddhists. No, fuck Godsmack. And not in the good way.

If I kill myself, will you be mad? Only because you killed yourself! Why’d you do that??

Do I have to worry about your feelings too? No, I’ll just go cry in the corner.

Is there pot or beer in Heaven? *puffpuff* *gluglug* What?

Did you grow pot for a reason? Hell yah! That shit gets me fuuucked up.

Is it okay to be stoned when I die? I was.

Can you die from getting too stoned? No. I wouldn’t have made pot otherwise: any drug you can die from was made by your hands…Maybe you could laugh yourself to death? Have you ever seen that Monty Python sketch? Those guys are totally getting into Heaven.

Have you smoked pot? SOOOO MUCH. How do you think the Platypus came into existence?

Do strippers go to Heaven? Were they happy strippers? If so, yes. There’s nothing worse than crying strippers. Maybe strippers with diarrhea.

Are you happy with how mankind turned out? I’d be a lot happier if people would stop confusing me for someone else and not believing that it could also be me. I’m not a one trick pony! I am a dynamic multi-faceted creator. Like Salvador Dali, but everywhere. Oh, great, now people will probably start a Dali religion…Religion sucks.

Am I still worrying about your feelings? You’re a sick puppy, but I love you.

Will that ever stop? That’s the way I designed it, hence: no.

Is there room for everyone in Heaven? I hope you don’t mind sleeping on the floor. I have some blankets and a pillow though!

Is it really packed like China? Not as packed as you’d hope.

Does it smell? Smells like teen spirit. Or is it Holy Spirit?

Is the water okay to drink? If I say no, does that give up too much about the location?

Do we have to feed ourselves? Dude, gluttony?

Do angels help out? Angels are like Mexicans in California, they pretty much do everything, and their pay is terrible. And if they don’t like the way I run things, they can go to Hell.

Is there anything you can tell me about Hell? I went once. Wasn’t a big fan.

Were you friends with Lucifer? We had similar interests, but eventually the spark of the relationship diminished.

Will you ever forgive him? Only if he returns my Cranberry’s CD.

Does your grace end with him? I like to think I’m not a jaded lover. I’m still playing the field, I guess.

Do you want to be close with him? No comment.

Plan for tomorrow

Find a bus map.

Get directions to where you want to go.

Get product for your hair.

Tune on or off. There is too much going on here, either go with it and overwhelm yourself, or live blissfully ignorant in a barrel somewhere, because in between the two houses denial.

Decide which possessions you need.

Get rid of your unnecessary possessions.

Clean your room.

Write to A, tell her the name of the mix en route is: A Brief History of Good Love Songs.

Decide which habits you need.

Unlearn your unnecessary habits.

Eat.

Find a reason not to quit working, a reason such as: going to work.

Smile at the nice people.

Think about the future.

Decide if you’re missing out on everything, or joining in.

Deciphering what the hell that even means.

Look for a bus stop.

Someday I will be Grandma the Clown.

Would you rather be a vegetable? His father asked.

No. He said.

Then Sign it.

And that’s the way you kill yourself.

My mother says, I couldn’t commit suicide.

My mother says, Promise me you wouldn’t let me live like that.

I promise.

My father says, When I’m ready to die, I’ll swim out to the sea.

My father’s father says, I’m doing as good as I can, and I’m grateful for every day.

My mother’s father said, If I ever deteriorate beyond a point where I don’t want to live, I won’t continue on for someone else.

Montaigne said, When we learn to die, we unlearn how to be slaves.

I like vegetables.

I try to avoid rotten fruit.

I don’t eat the comatose.

I signed my living will when I got my wisdom teeth removed. I’m lying. It was my tonsils. And if I’m lying, I’m dying. So it was my wisdom teeth. It was 8 A.M. on a weekday, sixteen and stipulating my life to complete strangers. This is true. Then I handed away the form, my life as a medical form, handed it away. I’m assuming these stipulations filed, photocopied, maybe digitized. God, I hope digitized. If not, let this document I am writing stand for all authorities as my current testament from a sound mind.

Should any injuries put me in a coma (the bad kind, not the daytime soap opera type)

I do not want: life support, a tube in my throat, your pity.

I do want: daily updates on celebrity news, around the clock foot massages, a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia (not for eating, as I’m in a coma).

In the event that I lose any limbs, I do not want them sewn back on, donate them to lion trainers, but always save my middle finger, I’ll need that.

If I contract any terminal disease, I give permission to my caregiver to buy me a bottle of Irish whiskey and the biggest bag of marijuana they can find.

If/When I grow up, I’ll require a daily reminder as to why.

If I lose my memory, I prefer to be told that I am a transgender F to M, and that is why my penis is small.

In case of a national emergency or a reinstatement of the draft, you’ll know where to find me: Canada.

In case of national starvation due to misappropriated funds, ponzi schemes, and bank failures: eat me first. Go ahead, I’m gamy.

In case of emergency, pull handle.

If an albatross should dive at high altitudes beak first into my skull, don’t worry about it.

If I get held-up by Brad Pitt and Edward Norton behind a liquor store, I want my dignity to be kept stable through sponge baths and electro-shock therapy.

If I ever have an organ transplant and it’s rejected: tell the organ it’s stupid and my body didn’t like it anyway.

If struck by lightning: climb on the roof and put the metal rod back in my hand. I want to test this “doesn’t strike twice” theory.

If I quit my job at the butcher shop and become a vegetarian: don’t be surprised.

If/when I stop smiling, I give anyone permission to say “This too shall pass.”

If I ever become _______, I reserve the right to ______.

In the eventuality of my death:

Give my best to all my friends and enemies.

Remember who you are, not who I was.

Reread this list; then burn it.

Eat a s’more: they’re quite tasty.

To my friend, Ludafish, I leave all my records and a half eaten box of animal crackers (to be half-eaten at an undisclosed time).

To Adam Smith, I leave the rotting carcass of capitalism.

To my people, the world is yours. Whose world is this? The world is yours! The world is yours!

Whatever time I had left, use it wisely.

Conversation Ruiners

1. Religion.
2. Politics.
3. War.
4. Talk of Wills and Last Testaments.
5. Self-deprecating humility.
6. Bringing up how long the conversation has been going.
7. Saying something, then saying, “Nevermind.”
8. Commenting on appearances.
9. Asking, “What are you thinking?”
10. Asking, “What are you doing?”
11. Asking, “What is going on between us?”
12. Secrets.
13. The number 13.
14. Unknown favors, for example: “Will you do me a favor?”
15. Silence (unless you’re with the right people).
16. 
    
17. Gossip.
18. Proselytizing.
19. Yelling.
20. “So-and-so died.”
21. “I’m pregnant.”
22. “I’ve got cancer/AIDS/herpes/nanobots.”
23. “I’m George Dubbya Bush.”
24. “Bring in the clowns.”
25. Prejudice or any “-ism.”
26. Assholes (literally and figuratively).
27. Talking like Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh.
28. Apologizing during sex.
29. Talking about sex with dolls. This includes talking to dolls about sex or talking about having sex with dolls.
30. Stupidity or ignorance (refer to #12, #19, #21, #23, #26…fuck it, the whole list).

Don’t be a ruiner.

when the listless become listless and the pun never stops

searching for lists...this blagcomic isnot funny. get it? snot! that's funny. i'm a riot.

the ultimate end

according to microsoft, creating a list is a simple as this.
according to mcsweeney's, it is okay to post a list of lists.
according to me, a list is your child asking if you ever remember why you were careless enough to put energy into its consummation.

Things I've Learned Recently (and remain obvious)

I trust myself. Sort of.

Ganja improves my mood substantially. This is decidedly good and learned.

If you want to volunteer to go to war for God, GO TO WAR, for God’s sake! War is sustainable! More war means less people. On a similar note: If you want to have a baby, please don’t! Babies are not sustainable. And they are likely to go to war.

If your cat demands a massage, tell it to shutup.

If your dad asks you to cosign a bail to get him out of jail, tell him to shutup.

I have a lot of respect for myself currently. This too shall pass.

When the flash goes off, be photogenic. That is to say, be suitable for being photographed; or be produced, precipitated by light.

I’m more motivated to cut dairy out of my diet than I am to quit smoking,

I’m good in the sack! Somehow, this contributes to me trusting myself.

I have a love/hate relationship with work, and this relationship is actually a stoned/sober relationship.

I like Pale Hoarse and Temple Bell Song. Nice enchanting people with nice enchanting songs.

I’m repressing things I want to talk about in an effort to keep this list what it is meant to be: a list of random things that are coming to mind.

I’m worried that I could be falling in love…again. With a girl I don’t know, who lives elsewhere…again.

I’m stupid. I trust that.

I have some fucked up issues with intimate relationships, perhaps related again to stoned versus sober. Perhaps related to relatives. Perhaps related to me being stupid.

I should probably seek therapy.

I want therapy to seek me.

I need water.

Walter is the name of a man on my street who a woman yells at when I am typing and fireworks pop off on a block in the distance like faraway gunshots in my imagination.

The last link I made was a terrible tribute to Jens. Something better.

Sometimes I prefer to block out the noise with headphones. Listen. Listen. Listen.listen liste list.

Whiskey improves my mood substantially. Whether this is good or bad I have yet to learn.

Mission Statement

A list of things I like about list making

- I like list making.

- List making is productive and fun.

- Poetry is similar to making lists, the words carefully ordered and dedicated to accomplishing something worthwhile, however mundane.

- Accomplishing all the tasks on my list.

- Sometimes, I’m the only person who reads my list before it gets thrown in the trash.

-Thinking about lists makes me want to laugh.

- Things seem easier with lists, easier or not, I don’t know for sure. Maybe I’ll make a list.

- Lists create a schedule, routine, and routines are comforting.

A list of things I don’t like about list making

- Sometimes I don’t want to deal with lists.

- My boss gives me lists of things I need to do.

- Lists remind me of things that conflict with other things, like flying away when I’d rather not.

- Not living up to the lists I make, and throwing away goals.

- A list about lists is nothing original. It’s possible that everyone who makes lists may have made a list that was exactly the same as someone else’s list in the past, present, or future. This possibility is frightening and beautiful at the same time, which is like meeting God, whom I do not believe in. Hence, I do not like the dilemma that lists present.

- Thinking about lists makes me want to cry.

- Where did the time go, writing this list? I could’ve done some of the things on this list!

- Lists create a schedule, routine, and routines lead to monotony and a slow degradation of the soul.