Literal myth and legend G-d of the Old Testament, here.
Seems a lot of people seem to have a problem with my style. The fashionable thing is to wear tight pants and decry my book as past-it while some have nerve to claim that I’m not bloody relevant anymore! Fancy that!
It’s not just the heathens at The Guardian, either. Virgins, women, the gays, victims of rape, the compassionate; everyone seems to have it in for little old the creator of the known universe.
The pack of pansies in charge has let things slide and I thought a guiding hand might do some good. So, having just celebrated the anniversary of the brutal murder of my son self, I reckon it’s fitting to commit everyone’s attention to an issue that’s a teensy bit spiritual. And you’re all gonna like it.
Now, I can cop a bit of flack, just as much as the next deity, but the amount I’ve been getting lately proves that I’ve gotta do some legwork before I’m taken seriously as a loving tyrant again. So here it is. Four pages of soul cleansing.
So I’ll demonstrate my benevolence (once again) by forcibly taking editorial control of a media outlet, demanding that it generate content that exalts my glorious works AND THE WORK OF NO OTHER, and making sure it’s the stuff you want to read. The Garter Press, once the beautiful, worldly conduit for good content, will become the conduit for my word. Check yourself.
If you don’t heed this plea for your love and attention, I will make pillars of salt of all of you. You don’t need the fruit of knowledge to know that this is going to be a ripper edition!