Monday, March 28, 2011
Biggie and Tupac meet at a bar in heaven
Dear God – wait. That’s not right. I think I used to say, Our Father, who art in heaven. You know, start with the Lord’s Prayer and then attempt to weave that elegant primordial verse into my own prosaic like, so it’s been a really long time since we’ve talked, but um…
Anyway, it’s been so long I can’t remember how I should begin. But I figure you know better than I do, being God and all. So I’ll skip to the heart of the matter.
Shit. Which is the heart of the matter? Sorry I said shit. Just gathering my thoughts, you know. Although I’m sure you know my thoughts already, which always makes this weirder for me.
I think I’d like to begin by saying that this time it’s for real. I’d really like to talk. Not just talk and then drift off to sleep mid-confession or grumble a few hasty words over the lasagna I’d rather be eating than blessing. No, I’m ready for that heart-to-heart if you are. I need some fatherly advice.
Yeah, I know. You don’t have all night and I’ve wasted your time many times over. Remember the night in the third grade, when I begged you to give me straight hair like the gringas in my class? Or the time in the seventh grade, when I whispered no less than one hundred Acts of Contrition after weeks of frequent pubescent…um… self-discovery? Or when I asked to meet Puff Daddy and become his next baby momma? Or when, like Cain with the porridge (Was it porridge? Can’t remember), I offered you my first born child in exchange for some momentary relief from menstrual cramps?
I still think it would have been cool if you had let me at least meet Puff Daddy, but whatever. You know best, I suppose. How’s Biggie doing, by the way? Does he ever bump into Tupac at the local bar up there? Right, dumb question. I'm rambling again.
Anyway, this isn’t one of those Give me a sign that he’s the one entreaties, or another of my infamous I know I fucked this one up but now you gotta help me get out of it appeals. Not exactly, anyway. You see, life is quite wonderful these days. I mean, I still haven’t met P-Diddy or anything, but generally I can’t complain.
Still – well, you know. I’m lonely. And I guess I’m just asking you to say something for once.
So say something already.