Did you hear what the Sibyl from Arkansas said last Thursday?
Yes, none other than Sarah Huckabee Sanders told the Christian Broadcasting Network that God “wanted Donald Trump to be president.”
Ouch! Now you tell me! Here I’ve been calling our president a psychotic moron for going on three years now! That’s at least a charge of blasphemy in the second degree and puts me smack dab in the hands of an angry God.
The Oracle from Hope also said “it’s very hard at this point to even take a lecture from Democrats on what is moral and what isn’t.” That hurts. Double ouch. I’m a Democrat. I like to think I’m moral...you know, within the generous bounds of 21st Century life. Just check out my rap sheet:
I never killed anybody.
I never stole anything...OK, so I shoplifted a Heddon River Runt fishing plug when I was 14, but paid the price when the treble hook went through my Levis and planted itself in my thigh. Quite painful, penance paid, lesson learned.
I don’t lie. And I’m so honest that I’ll tell you why I don’t lie—I’m no good at it; I tried a few times when I was young but the would-be recipients all told me I had guilt written all over my face. (Let me also admit that occasionally I can get away with what some call a little white lie...what I call a moral lie told out of kindness, Mrs. Sanders. You know, like telling Ann Coulter she’s beautiful.)
As for my language, I would characterize it as really rather refreshingly clean in an age when fashionable ladies casually drop F bombs as though they were flying Phantom Jets over Hanoi. My language seldom dips to such a crude low...except maybe when the UCLA Bruins are losing an athletic contest and my dogs run and hide from the salty expletives. But seldom does that happen more than once a week these days.
I never coveted my neighbor’s goods. Hell, I drive an eighteen-year-old Honda. If you need more proof than that check out the clutter in my garage that has survived a decade’s length of yard sales.
I never coveted my neighbor’s wife. Well, if I did it was only platonically. Let’s move on to another commandment.
The Sixth? Haven’t I already answered that one? Oh, I’ve addressed the Judaic Sixth, not to kill, not the Roman Catholic Sixth, which covers a wide range of...Hey! Got an idea! Let’s all of us take a mulligan on the Sixth. Agreed? I thought so.
I realize, now that my confession is made, that I still have even more cause to fear the coming Judgment Day than our president has to fear Special Counsel Robert Mueller’s final verdict. Why? Because Sister Sarah refers to God as “He,” with a capital H, and that means He’s a harsh, Old Testament macho guy short on mercy. (I would have preferred a She, because she’d be gentler on me, and...well...you know, I’ve got this special charm with the gentler sex...or is it gender? I do genuinely keep mixing them up.)
Whatever, however, Judgment Day cometh, and apparently I’m at greater risk than Roger Stone. What chance does a Social Christian stand in the afterlife? And just who is going to represent me in that heavenly jurisdiction?
Why of course! Rudy Giuliani! He’s a lawyer...or used to be. More than that, he’s counsel for our God-sent president himself! To top off all the good news, Rudy claims to have an in with Saint Peter. Remember when he said that his gravestone would read “He Lied for Trump,” but figured he could “explain it all to Saint Peter,” who “will be on [his] side”?
Sounds reassuring. But can Rudy get Sister Sarah to go along and have us all agree on a common story? Or has she already retired as promised, and returned to Hope, Arkansas, to take a post as Oracle of the Ozarks? And maybe I’d better check with Kellyanne to see if I’m still on our Dear Leader’s enemies list.
Damn! It’s so hard to be a good Christian these days.