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Dear God, Have Mercy By Marc A. Lesser Dear God, In recent months I have been submerged in newsprint and telecast fully clad in runny frescos of you, your saints, those judged and those who want to be. Yes, I speak of the imminent Apocalypse and wanted to voice to you that I, like Saint Jerome, have beaten my chest with rocks in frustration. I am the voice of a voiceless generation whose identity has been ping-ponged between ad-campaigns and political agendas. Daily I swim the bowels of that free, public swimming pool that you call earth and in all honesty, some days goggles don't help worth shit. This letter is a cry for mercy. On many occasions I sit hunched over depictions of "The Last Judgement" that sit on my desk like spring break brochures from Cancun and gaze at them like a horny wide-eyed college student. In regards to the upcoming mayhem I beg of youÉ BRING IT ON. Yes, march us in our mass-produced crewnecks and v-necks and 48 different cuts of jeans through the gates of purgatory. See if anyone gives a shit. For the just, a heavenly Jerusalem with better cell-phone reception and lower sales tax. And for most of us, there is Long Island. But first, the Battle of Armageddon, and the answer to why our sorry leaders can't pass a ban on nuclear weapons. We'll know when it comes, states Jesus, a handsome Taurus, "look out for the signs of wars and famines and earthquakes". Eh-hemÉumÉI get the point. And not to piss you off or anything but, (whispering) we have gays in the military. But if you don't ask, they won't tell. Finally, in the end Jesus will defeat the Antichrist. If the Antichrist isn't too busy getting a blowjob from his intern. OK, if it isn't Willie we can stage it like a pin the tail on the donkey. There are plenty of names to choose from. How about these for startersÉ ¥Kenny G ¥Aaron Spelling ¥any of the Backstreet Boys (or any other 'Boy Band')
¥Pat Buchanan ¥Britney Spears Just pick one. Currently the world is a used car lot for antichrists, perhaps the real one is just a large fire-breathing conglomerate with horns called Microsoft. In recent years we've been labeled by brilliant ad minds, "Generation Next". If this isn't a cry for help, I just don't know what is. Rather than turning on and tuning in we've decided just to turn it up. Yes, our armies march in suped-up hatchbacks, our anthems are lyricless, and our shoes expensive. We're no longer booming babies, but when we roll up and do a drive-by on the gates of heaven you'll know we're "in da house". Bruce Springsteen is bald, and even disco has managed to make a comeback. What next? Rather than labeling us "Generation Next", pronounced as a statement, it should be Generation, "Next?", as if we were waiting on line for our numbers to be called. In response to the ensuing Apocalypse, many of my peers have raised questions that would be much better answered by you. If you wouldn't mind just taking a moment: ¥"I was going to get my wisdom teeth taken out, should
I even bother?" ¥"Do my father's frequent-flyer miles carry over?" ¥"What's my credit limit?" ¥"Will it make my hair likeÉyou knowÉFRIZZY?" ¥"Are the electrical outlets the same?" ¥"Is it Capri pants weather?" ¥"UmÉdo you guys sell batteries?" While you're at it, I was asked to issue you with a couple of special requests. One, Terry Smith asked to just be placed wherever Dave Matthews is, and secondly, there was a huge outcry that you not eliminate NASCAR. I know you can't please everybody all the time, but if you could just work them inÉ Another tip I thought you might get a kick out of has to do with the prophecies of John. As you know, in Revelation he predicts that the year 2000 will cater the end of the world. Of course. But with it there was also a little hint left about Christ making one last appearance. A "ONE NIGHT ONLY" type of thing. Now, you know there are going to be flocks of fundamentalists making their online reservations for flights and trains to Jerusalem. Think about bumping the "coming" up about a week. How great would it be to see so many people throwing down their bibles at once going, "FUCK! I missed it". Anyhow, I figured I would write and send kudos for perfect timing. There are certain things that I just can't take anymore. Mostly just water bottles and, "I'll just have a salad." (CRINGE) I figured I'd leave you with some notions from a conversation I with an acquaintance in passing. Surely he would agree with this letter. He stated that our generation just stands for nothing. That there's nothing left to fight for. Nothing going on. Nothing to stand for. So in parting, I'd just like to say can't wait, come quick, and thanks for the help. Sincerely, Marc A. Lesser |
