Congratulations on Moving the Mountain!

Most Christians would cry to the heavens, “Lord,” followed by a series of hymnal cries, followed by the statement “Don’t move that mountain.”

But not you. You believe that, as a Christ-tian, you have certain rights and privileges awarded to you by your faith. So you’re going to kneel down this morning and start praying your little cursed tits off.

You won’t be wishing for a better rack or a vagina unmarred by syphilis or better self-esteem. Instead you’ll simply ask God to bring a mountain to you.

You’ll ask persistently in a high pitched, whining voice, never changing your request: Lord, please move that mountain so that I have a better view of the Six Flags amusement park behind it.

God won’t want to acquiesce. He’s a busy man with lots of plans and he’ll be trying to work on solving that whole Darfur thing really hard for most of the day. But your incessant whining will eventually get his attention and he’ll bring his power to bear to move that mountain around six miles to the left, clearing up your view of the top of that one Six Flags flag in the water park. The really tall one. He’ll have done it not because he loves you, but because he felt like he wouldn’t be able to get any fucking work done unless he did.

“Thanks!” you’ll cry up at him, as his hand falls back into the clouds, flipping you the bird.

With the mountain moved you’ll unpack your high powered telescope and start gazing at the men who climb to the top of the slide, masturbating furiously whenever one of them that strikes your fancy comes along.

Congratulations on Moving the Mountain!