And which God are we talking about here?
Asked Marguerite. Your God or my God?
In this city it's Assur we worship.
Two is too many, one is too few,
Like Siamese twins connected from birth.
Although names differ, all Gods are one,
Are one and a fraction, a fracture, a split.
Call him Zeus, Allah, Baal or Jehovah.
They're all the same, and each will claim to hear
Petitions couched only in his own tongue,
But, in truth, they're all multilingual,
And any one of them can handle your call
If you're calling up to make a nice pledge.
And it was with just such a notion in mind
That I next addressed that arrogant fish.
So what does God desire of me, I asked,
In return for this divine appointment?
Exaltation and praises? I think not.
I take from your previous remarks it will be,
More likely, a cheque or money order
To assist him in his charitable works.
And with what shall you come before the Lord?
A myriad year-old, first-born rams?
Ten myriad rivers of olive oil?
A hundred myriad yards of sail cloth?
A thousand myriad flagons of ale?
Ten thousand myriad summer fruits?
A hundred thousand myriad leopards?
A thousand thousand myriad sacks
Of the rum-centered chocolate candies
That first caused Lucifer's legions to fall?
Dissolve your assets, empty your accounts,
Sacrifice wealth, health and self-respect,
Life, liberty and the pursuit of women:
Godhead really doesn't give a damn.
There is not much that the good Lord requires
That he doesn't already own or control,
Either directly or by means of proxies.
Bring forward forklifts bearing pallets
Laden with crates of oiled assault rifles,
Gold bullion, laser-guided nightscopes,
Rocket propelled grenades, and other gifts.
Heap before his throne the world's riches;
Only omnipolitness prevents yawns.
Nor does he need lots of adulation
Of the kind one gets from children and dogs,
Brain-damaged youths and servile toadies,
For he's secure enough in self image
That infantile desires for such are gone,
Although, true, he goes apeshit when crossed
Or when fawning seems less than sincere
Or when figs in baskets heaped on altars
Prove acrawl with larvae, overmature,
Or even, a worst case scenario,
Baskets only are half filled with fruit,
Whatever the age, however infested.
He does not even seek fame and glory;
The most fanatic atheist admits
His place in history is well-established.
There is only one thing that excites him.
And what excites the Godhead, Jonah,
Had better quickly excite everybody,
Since the excitement of almighty Godhead
Is itself a pleasure greater than paradise,
To say nothing of the penalties exacted
For neglecting to stir his enthusiasm.
Yea, there's just one thing that excites him.
And what's that, I said as the angel paused.
The Assyrian Gross Domestic Product.
The Assyrian Gross Domestic Product?
Liber Jonae Contents