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Elmer’s GodGram


My grandfather believes he’s hearing the voice of the Christian god. As far as I can tell, he isn’t insane, so I agreed to help him disseminate what he calls “GodGrams.” (Hey, he asked me nice, okay? Besides, he’s my gramps. And he’s tossing a twenty my way.) Here’s his first “submission,” warts and all.

GodGram 1

Hey out there. My name’s Elmer. I’m 64 and been raising cattle in South Dakota all my life. I don’t hardly know squat about this blog business or the internets so I want to thank my grandson for helping me. He’s one smart cookie.

I aint never wrote much. Letters home when I was in the Navy is about it. So I’m real sorry if this don’t read as good as the Sioux Falls Argus Leader. I’d tell you more about myself, but I aint the point here.

See, I been hearing His voice lately—not all the time of course. Just once in a while. (No matter what Gladys says, I aint crazy and I aint gonna go see no talking doctors, OK?) I cant really explain it. All I’m doing is sticking a pen in my hand and it goes by itself seems like. The words aint mine. Tell the truth, I don’t hardly know what some of them mean. I get it, though, mostly. I hope you do too.

I know this: He wants me to share His thoughts with you all. I cant put down everything He says all to once, so I’ll add more as it comes to me and when I can make time. Any mistakes is mine. Here goes:

It seems problems have arisen since I began my little experiment here in your remote corner of the universe. A few "issues," as it were. Let us first dispense with some misconceptions.

You call me God, Allah, Yahweh, myriad other names. You may call me what you wish; however, please jettison your illusions. I am much more than the petty, jealous, egotistical tyrants of your myths. Although I am to you as you are to protozoa, I am not a genocidal maniac. I have never harmed a single living creature.

At present, you cannot conceive of me. (Us, really, but more on that later.) In time, a very long time, if your species corrects its course, you might reach a point at which you could grasp the barest glimmering of understanding about me, the universe, and your place within it.

You hold significant various "holy" books: the Bible, the Koran, the Talmud, a thousand others. These are mistranslations of misinterpretations of hallucinations of febrile primitives, compounded by the haze of millennia and the smoke and mirrors of innumerable charlatans. If you insist on revering these books, please have the good sense to ignore the passages inciting you to bloodshed and cruelty. Follow only those calling you to love and understanding.

I am utterly indifferent to your flattery. Do you care if ants worship at your feet? Please do not squander your time and effort in abject displays of fealty and prayer. I will neither hear nor help you. Prayer is sleight of mind, an embarrassment, even for creatures such as you, who have reached only the lowest rungs of development on the scale commonly used throughout the universe. There is no magic. Only you can help you. Get off your knees and put yourselves to the task of helping your fellow human beings. In this way, you may yet survive.

Well, that’s it for now. I don’t know what to make of some of it, and I don’t know why God picked me to help Him spread the New Word. I guess I been as good a Christian as the next man. I done a few bad things in my life, and I like a couple shots a Beam now and again. But I aint a drunk and never cheated no man nor on Gladys. Now Gladys, she says what I put down is blaspheme and if Emil—that’s my son—finds out I’m paying R. Allen to help with this nonsense there’ll be trouble. She says the Devil’s working in my head, but she been saying that since we got hitched some 40 years back. And she’s still here with me! Aint that a hoot? Anyway, them cattle aint looking after thereselves. I’ll be back soon with more New Word.

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