Sunday Prayer

Oh God, which art so lazy,
thou gettest thy praises
a little too easily, in my opinion.
Thou shouldst have to work for thy
kudos, as do we who dwell on earth.

But where is thy incentive to do
good works if thou gettest thy
praises in any case? Should the
labourer be paid though he attendeth
not his place of work, nor hath any
intention of ever doing so?

Lord God, thou art within a
chicken's fart of getting the sack.
I fear not thy union, nor yet thy
solicitor, and will strive to ensure
that as thou workest, so shalt thou be
rewarded. Art thou some kind of banker?
Dost thou demand bonuses as a reward
for events in which thou had no hand?

Thou sayest that the dull-witted will
continue to praise thee in any case,
so thou hast no need to worry. But
the dull-witted can be bought with
promises of fame on the television.

They will be distracted by anything
that shines or glisters. They recite
the words yet think not what they say.
They believe that churches and bibles
are the work of God. I would spread
pizza on the road to prevent such people
following me. Dost thou want followers
or stalkers?

God, thou art a great disappointment.
Thou hast been corrupted by thine own
power. Try to have a little self-respect
and, if thou canst not behave honourably,
at least try to do no harm.

Amen.