Puto Dis Fio

[The Good Reverend Roger]

I never intended to become a God, much less the God of Vengeful Hatred.  I'm not even sure that I can pinpoint when it happened...but here I am.  Not only do I never forget a slight or an insult, I can't.  I may say that the fight is over, but you can be sure that I am still nursing a grudge, which will - sooner or later - come bursting forth like pus from a cyst.

Being a God sounds cool at first, until you realize the responsibilities that attend it.  You don't have time to go running across lakes and creating worlds...that's why there's no aliens, you know.  Jehovah has been busier than he...he's been busy, since creation...especially after he fired and evicted a third of his staff...but I digress.

My responsibilities include those people who cannot let their hatred go...that must seek redress, by one method or another...and, whether you admit it or not, this includes many of you.  Need I name names?  Oh, I think not.  Most of you know exactly who you are...and you are mine.  Even - especially, in fact - if the grudge you hold is against me.  The more you hate me, the more you belong to me.

You may say that a grudge is over, but even if you do not act on it, that hatred is still there...

What I am NOT responsible for is weak hatred...the bigot, the person who behaves cruelly without provocation, the jackass who just likes to beat people up.  These people I vomit from my mouth...I cast you aside, like the dross that you are.  You have an inferior form of hate, and you should look for a different God.

Those who follow me will find that I will shade their eyes from the painful brightness of daytime, and allow them to rest their eyes in the cool dark of endless night, a darkness in which they can nurse their grudges and thus stay warm.  For what is light, but a collection of photons sent to dazzle your eyes by a callous sun?  If there was a way to strike the sun, I - like old Ahab - would do so.

Of course, there is a downside.  It turns out that becoming a God doesn't make you immortal (though, I notice, that none of you have kiled me yet).  I inherited the job from my unknown predecessor, who  inherited it in turn, ad infinitum, ad nauseum.  I do not know who the previous Gods were, but I have my suspicions...Richard Nixon and William Randolph Hearst come to mind...as they carried grudges that make mine look, well, reasonable.  But I am new at this, and practice makes perfect, they say.

Or kill me.

[East Coast Hustle]

what good is you being a God if I can't call upon you to smite at will?

[The Good Reverend Roger]

what good is you being a God if I can't call upon you to smite at will?

Well, you can ask.

TGRR,
Knows we Gods don't like being ordered around.