Dear God,
I’m begging you to cut BYU out of our posse.
I know you’ve been trying this all-inclusive thing, but face it — your popularity is hurting, and winning over converts is a popularity contest. Just look at Allah. He promises 72 virgins at the after party and gets 1.3 billion souls overnight. If you don’t take the initiative to drop the deadweights, you’re going down with them.
And how am I supposed to feel like we have something special if chumps like the ones down south can have it too? Just look at these halfhearted sissies.
Sure, they can throw a party — like it’s 1852. You used to know how to party. You turned water into wine. Imagine if that wedding had a pool — best kegger in Jewish history! Last Supper, passing the goblet? You’d think if the BYU kids are really trying to be so Christ-like, they’d get on the wagon with the rest of us.
Even their ultra-reverent portraits sport you in a beard. Yet they religiously shave their facial hair off. Oh, except one thing. 1982 called, they want their pedostaches back. Seriously. Why are you letting these kids hang out with us? They don’t even want to look like you.
I’m not saying you should raise the bar on who gets to be a Christian — if the meth addicts and the prostitutes (speaking of which, how’s Cosmo doing?) want to join the fold — great! But if you don’t raise the standards to the ones who want to be more like you in every aspect instead of cherry picking what fits their agenda, Christianity’s going to lose what appeal it has left.
Yours truly,
Michael
P.S. I mean for Your sake, it’s not a rivalry if they’re not going to swear back at us. Swearing, for us, is our booming, passionate expression of our overwhelming belief and confidence in your ability to damn someone, to damn anyone. It’s frankly tantamount to a worship song. Goddamn BYU. God, damn them to hell.