I was flipping channels at 3 am the other night
(televangelism is the cream of the crop, Lord) and
Kirk Cameron tried to save my soul.
He must be the authority to turn to,
he certainly knows a lot about the human soul,
what with his Christian movie series,
appearances on the Christian networks,
and his family of six kids spawned with his
co-star from Growing Pains, Chelsea Noble,
and the organization they founded to take
terminally ill children and their families on camping trips.
This man is a fucking saint,
and therefore clearly has a
direct phone-line to you.
Unfortunately, I regret to inform you and Kirk
that I will not be able to attend
the opening of the pearly-white gates
on the event of my imminent death
because I already RSVPed to the
party in the center of the earth
when I lied about being sick to get out of work
and then laid in bed to read filthy feminist magazines
and listen to sinful rock music.
I’ll be happier there anyway, Lord.
You understand.
Give Kirk my best.
Sara Waalkes
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/thanks-but-no-thanks/
