Many people scoff at the idea that God can control the outcome of sporting events, or that He even cares. But those people are wrong. God does control the games, AND He cares a great deal. Today, He explains why He let the outcomes of Week 4 in the NFL happen as they did.

First of all, happy new year to all of my chosen people out there! Except for that one fucking yid. You know, the blowhard asshole on ESPN who is always making up crappy nicknames. Oh come on, you know the guy I’m talking about. Big fat lump of shit that’s always laughing at his own jokes, even though his shtick got old around the time those no good fuckers started penning that “new” testament. Me damn it, what the fuck is that asshole’s name?

Anyway, let’s move on to the other stories I’ve helped influence over the past week after the jump. Why the jump? BECAUSE IT IS MY WILL!

Read the rest of this entry »

Once teammates eons ago, Brett Favre and Kurt Warner will face off Sunday in what some wags are dubbing the Geriatric Bowl. Hey, way to be ageist, guys. Old people can do stuff. For instance, they’re bankrupting the country with Social Security! And they’re good at Wii Fit! Which superannuated quarterback can strike a blow for seniors’ rights? WHO YA GOT?

Many people scoff at the idea that God can control the outcome of sporting events, or that He even cares. But those people are wrong. God does control the games, AND He cares a great deal. Today, He explains why He let the outcomes of Week 3 in the NFL happen as they did.

I am mysterious. No one knows why I do the things I do. And frankly, I like it that way. It keeps people on their toes. I don’t want people relaxing around Me. I mean, shit. I’m fucking GOD, you know? Gotta keep the people trembling before Me. Ever have someone tremble before you? God, what a rush. Or should I say, “Me, what a rush”!

Take the Raiders of Oakland and the Bengals of Cincinnati, for instance. Both of these teams are an abomination in My eyes, filled with unrepentant sinners and disgraceful doers of Lucifer’s work, although I find Chris Henry charming in his own rakish manner (like Me, Chris knows puberty=consent). I do not like these teams. They do not fear Me as much as I would like. That’s why I gave both of them a real good cockblockin’ this week.

You see how both teams seemed on the verge of pulling near monumental upsets, only to have those victories cruelly pulled out from underneath them? That was all Me. I did that. See, you Raiders and Bengals fans might pray to me at night, asking that your undying loyalty to either inept team be repaid with some sort of karmic correction on my part. You’ve suffered greatly through the past few years. Surely, I can throw you a bone, yes?

See, that’s just what I want you to think. That is why I allowed Carson Palmer to hit TJ Houshmandzadeh on that late TD pass. I really wanted you fans to think I was gonna come through this time.

Then BAM! I fucked you right in the ass. Trademark God move, right there. I like to bring you to precipice, give ya just a little taste, and then yank the rug out from underneath you. Works every time. You should have seen the looks on your faces. God, I’m good. Oops, there I go talking in the third person again!

That’s where I really tend to excel. I make you humans suffer through calamity after calamity. And then, just when you think you’ve seen the light at the end of the tunnel, just when you think the heavy burden of your life will finally ease (what with all the war, and disease, and economic hardship), I give you a good, HARD reaming, like a Marine back for the weekend.

Why do I do it? Well, I could explain it to you. I could tell you My grand plan for everything, which may or may not involve rocket-powered skateboards. But it’s much more fun, frankly, to NOT tell you. To have you scurrying around trying to figure out the answer, like 6 billion little Scott Linehans. Me dammit, that is fun.

What else did I do this week? Oh, I miraculously healed Ronnie Brown’s knee. But, he hit South Beach after the game, so I think I’ll make that cartilage flare up again. I also made sure the Browns went 0-3. When Brady Quinn starts, I’ll see if I can make them go 0-542, because what he does in club bathrooms nauseates me. I made the Jaguars beat the Colts, because Greggy Easterbrook tells me the Colts don’t pray as forcefully as they used to. Oh, and I made New England lose. I’m sick of Bill Belichick trying to tempt my kid with bread and loose women.

Oh, did you not know he was Satan? You people are so naïve.

Thanks God! Stick around more divine analysis all year long!

I, God, allowed the Raiders of Oakland to conquer the Chiefs of Kansas City because Al Davis really wanted to fire that coach and I will do anything to get that guy upset. Why do you think I’ve allowed him to live this long? Do you know how much it hurts that guy to take a piss? My vengeance is all-powerful!

The noble Redskins of Washington were able to best the self-proclaimed “Saints” of New Sodom Orleans because thousands of Redskins fans killed themselves after last week. Sure it may not be such a loss to some of you down there, but it was like afterlife version of Art Monk and Darrell Green’s Hall of Fame induction up here.

Man, unlike Me, is fallible. This fact was exemplified on Sunday when referee Ed Hochuli’s subverted My will with an inadvertent blow of the whistle. This is not the first time I have had issues with this mortal. I made you in my image, Mr. Hochuli, do you now think you are better than me with your muscles of the damned? I banish thee to Hell! Not literally of course. I’ll just see to it that you are assigned to games in Baltimore for the rest of eternity!

The Seahawks of Seattle lost to the wicked gays of San Francisco, but this was My will. In fact, I will continue to cause loss after loss for the Seahawks in an effort to finally teach Mike Holmgren a lesson before he retires. Thou shalt not worship at the altar of another god, even if he is Bill Walsh.

I contemplated allowing the Falcons of Atlanta to win another game, if for no other reason than to confuse the crap out of you mortals. But then I went to one of those Home Depot places, and suddenly I’m not feeling so generous towards Arthur Blank. Good Me that place is frustrating. I’m all-seeing and all-knowing and I couldn’t find shit! All I wanted was one fucking shelf and I was there for eight hours! Mr. Blank, you know not the evil you have wrought on humanity.

Finally, the Colts of Indianapolis were able to get past the Vikings of Minnesota because that lumpy bag of cocks Drew Magary thinks he’s some kind of big deal. It was in everyone’s best interest to bring him down another notch. If he keeps acting this way I might have to make his family walk out on him. Hell, maybe I’ll make him my new Job.

That is all, be sure to tip your Angels and remember, let he who is without sin cast the first stone.

/chucks rock at Brady Quinn

Thanks, God!

Many people scoff at the idea that God can control the outcome of sporting events, or that He even cares. But those people are wrong. God does control the games, AND He cares a great deal. Today, He explains why He let the outcomes of Week 1 in the NFL happen as they did.

I made the Eagles of Philadelphia destroy the Rams of St. Louis because the people of St. Louis are not righteous, worshipful people. They are ugly, and dumb, and they overeat far too much for My tastes. I see these people late night, sneaking out of bed and going to snack on the birthday cake they have hidden away in the closet. They disgust me. I made man in My own image, and these people are ruining that fucking image.

I allowed the Saints of New Orleans to get by the Buccaneers of Tampa Bay because it felt right the right thing to do. I also made Reggie Bush score a TD, because I knew if he had a good game, his girlfriend Kim would do her Godly, girlfriendly duties and ride him like a chariot. That’s the one advantage of being all-seeing and all-knowing: You can watch people fuck ALL THE TIME.

I injured Tom Brady’s knee because Tom Brady has not been humble before Me. He has been lying in bed with lascivious women of ill repute. He has imbibed wine. He has eschewed his duties to his church in favor of jetting around the world with his tight-bodied little Brazilian strumpet. And frankly, it’s starting to get on my fucking nerves. No one should be having more fun than me, dammit. I’m fucking GOD. That is not right. So I snapped his leg like a little twig. Felt great.

I made the Raiders of Oakland lose because Al Davis is a filthy Jew.

Also, I have abandoned Oakland as a whole. It knows what it did.

I injured Vince Young’s knee and made him go bonkers because Vince Young does not lead the kind of lifestyle I approve of. He dances shirtless. He does not praise Me for his good fortune. Worst of all, he does not pray to Me for guidance, and there is no greater sin. I’ve been watching this game for 100 years. I think I know quite a bit about footwork. But does this little shit ever ask Me what I think about his mechanics? Fuck that guy.

I allowed the Panthers of Carolina to pull out that miracle win against the Chargers of Saint Diego. And don’t tell me it wasn’t a miracle. It WAS a fucking miracle. I made it happen, okay? I would know.

I made the Redskins lose against the spread because I made a bet against them with Helen Keller. She still doesn’t know I’m God. I told her I’m Warren Zevon. Easy money. I wish they had kept the point spreads in the back of the Bible, like I had originally commanded.

I made the Bengals of Cincinnati lose to the Ravens of Baltimore because the Bengals are unrepentant sinners. They have stolen. They have lied. They have coveted and known the wives of others. Also, one time, I saw Carson Palmer sneak into a back alley and give this really shifty-looking guy a handjob. Real vigorous one, too. Pretty gross. Had to sneak a peek at Brady taking Gisele to Poundtown to help get that image out of My brain.

I also made the Vikings of Minnesota lose, just because I like to screw with people.

Thanks God! Stick around more divine analysis all year long!

Oh hello. I’m Jesus of Nazareth. Son of God. Bringer of Light. Emissary of His will on Earth. And I’d like just to say that Brett Favre deserves to eat shit and burn in Hell.

Oh, you want to unretire now, shitdick? Well, I say TOUGH TITTY. Two thousand years ago, I was forced to choose between being a mortal man and being the son of God. And I had to make that choice while I was nailed to a fucking cross with crows snacking on my eyelids. Did I hem and haw like a little bitch? FUCK AND NO. I bit the bullet and went for Door number 2. Am I happy with my choice? Good God, no. I chose being the son of God because being a mortal man in 33 A.Me sucked. Everyone smelled. The food was awful. I slept on HAY, for shit’s sake.

But do you see me getting all whiny about the path I chose? No. Know why? CAUSE I’M A FUCKIN MAN.

So you wanna play for the Vikings now, asshole? Well, Daddy already picked a Chosen One on their squad. So get bent. If you do manage to go turn that team into a goddamn soap opera, I got a radical new throw for you. It’s called a pitch-out. Give the ball to that fucker in the backfield who can run through an ice floe.

Otherwise, you can suck my holy balls.