Dear George,
Tonight, before you crawl into bed, I want you to drop to your knees and thank God for the craftiness with which He has prepared the masses for your Rule.
Yes, George, our Lord’s cleverness has increased with age. Once he sought control through fear fed by plagues and infanticide. Now he realizes that control is more efficient if exercised in a pervasive atmosphere of anxiety. Fear can spark rebellion; anxiety inspires complacency. Not plagues, but the fear of plagues control.
Look back over the last sixty years. It’s been the golden age of anxiety. Look at the gifts the Almighty has bestowed on them.
He gave them television. Through it they learned about ring around the collar, body odor, bad breath, dandruff, clogged pores, yellowed teeth and flatulence. Hygiene replaced Original Sin.
He gave them the Commies. What a boon for anxiety—an outward and visible threat of an inward and psychic decay.
Notice, George, this was about the time their germ phobia surfaced. It has divinity written all over it. The Commies were rotting their brains even as germs and bacteria ravaged their bodies. Deodorant sales peaked, antibiotics became their national candy. They became a fastidious people, scrubbing both body and soul. And fastidiousness, George, is the midwife of oppression.
But God wasn’t finished. Here’s where He really got subtle. Just as the Commies were starting to wane as a threat, Jim Crow died and morphed into the Rockefeller Drug Laws. Crime replaced Communism. The televised “perp” walk made the incarceration of young males of a minority persuasion a national priority.
But all of this, George, all of this was amateurish foreplay, a warm-up for the coup d’grace. For just as your star was rising in the East, God unleashed that lightening bolt of oppression—consumerism. I mean, hell George, whose going to rock the boat when there are payments left on the HDTV?
George, put a person behind the wheel of a BMW, Blackberry in hand, punk rock on the iPod, and you have that most pliable of creatures, the slave who thinks he’s a rebel.
And so the Lord hath decreed that there should appear that penultimate symbol of God’s will, that sublime sign of submission, the Swoosh. May they tattoo it on their collective buttocks—left, right and center.
Where is it all leading? That’s a no-brainer. We’ve known for years the Constitution sucks. Only you have had the wisdom and foresight to recognize 9/11 for what it is, the loaded revolver that would blow that mother away. And nobody will notice when you, “Just Do It!”
What a glorious age! Nothing personal, George, but the emperor is buck-assed naked, and the media, their eyes draped in gauze, see only Ralph Lauren.
It’s your New Age George. The Pepsi Generation is primed and ready.
Your admirer,
Belacqua Jones
7:52:12 AM 
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