Steve      Re: Police car still there.

Even after adjusting my rear view mirror to rid my reality of the police car, I didn’t like the new panorama. No problem, I’ll just readjust it again to find something more aesthetic. In my attempt to create a more palatable world view, I can see that that pig is still back there. And he’s got his flashing lights on! Move it again... Ahhh, there’s a beautiful forest framed by the colorful setting sun. How comfortable.

But I can’t quite shake that copmobile situation. It’s really bugging me. And even with my windows up and the air conditioner on, I swear I can hear a siren from time to time. Quick! I’ll duck into my office building parking lot and hustle into the building. Whew! There’s a bathroom. That’s better. What’s that? Rapid footsteps on the tile in the hallway? Into a stall and put my feet up on the bowl in case anyone is searching for me. Good, I’m safe. I’ll wash my hands ‘cause that’s what the sign says. I’m sure a man of high integrity. I’ll even use soap– nahh! What’s that– a zit on my nose? Ahhh! That cop is right behind me! To my cubicle. What’s the boss doing? I wish he’d stop looking over my shoulder. Leave, dammit, leave, pah-leez. Good– he didn’t catch my fudging in the report. Rats! I feel a little guilty. Stinkin’ conscience. Lunch! This little café has the greatest donuts. Mmmm! Oh, crap! Here comes my personal trainer! Quick– swallow and wipe the crumbs from your mouth. Grab that Perrier. Ok, ok, I’ll take the stairs up to the second floor rather than the elevator. Damn boss. I think that Schwartz has been spying and ratfinking on me, too. How’d he swing that supervisor’s job? Frickin’ brown nose. Oooo, that Doris is really hot. Short skirt, tight top. Ooof-dah. D’oh! Frannie caught me droolin’. She’s a friend of my wife. Home at last! Hi, dear. Yes, yes, no... (stop nagging, willya?) Check the mail, crud, another notice from the IRS. Newspaper– Darn! My DUI is listed in the Police Beat section. Get outta here, kid, can’t you see I’m takin’ a crap? There’s my Valium. (Stop nagging, honey!) I’ll do it tomorrow. Ahh– bed– who could be calling at this hour– stupid telemarketer! Arrghh! Nightmare... cop following... conspiracy to get me... Don’t they make an anti-angst drug? Stop nagging, dear. I’ll gladly do it Tuesday.

No wonder I hate God. I’m here just trying to live my own life, trying to mind my own business, but there he always is looking over my shoulder judging every thought, word, and action. (As though I am responsible to him) And I never measure up, ‘cause he’s got this thing about accepting only perfection when all men fall short. And there’s some bunk about Jesus Christ and his ability to save us from our deserved condemnation.

 
But, you know, I don’t want to be ‘saved’ and have to spend eternity bowing down, worshiping, glorifying, and singing hymns in praise to this god that I hate. What a drag. I don’t really feature going to what they call ‘hell’, but it will sure beat the heavenly alternative. I want to live my own life in my own way, to be my own god.

"La-la-la-la-la!" – Nietzsche

"Nietzsche is dead." – God