Friday, April 1, 2011

11-year-old, Noah Fagalosi, talks to God.

Hey God,
it’s me Noah Fagalosi.
I hope all is well with you, and you worked out that issue you were telling me about.
My mom tells me bacne is common among active men as they get older,
it really has nothing to do with cleanliness,
more with your gene pool,
and yours is divine,
so it is strange that your back is littered like a page of connect the dots.
I wouldn’t worry about pockmarks though,
you’ll probably heal as fast as Wolverine.

When I told my mom about your problem she said:
“Tell God to use benzoyl peroxide” then a bottle of it showed up on my bed.
She must be confused,
what’s your mailing address?

The other day I heard her shouting on the phone
“How in God’s name did I get herpes?”
Was she talking to you? How did she get your number?

She wont let me sleep in her bed anymore.
She said she had a “flare up” and didn’t want to pass it on.
I try not to be a jealous person but why would you give her something
and not me?
I decided to start taking the pills on her nightstand.
She said they’re only for her,
but I know that you left them there for both of us.

She was shouting your name really loudly the other day
when she brought
Doctor Solomon from temple
home after their date.
She calls him “Jackpot” and “Matzoh balls” to her friends.
I don’t like the way he twirls his long sideburns at our breakfast table.
Please get rid of him.
I know he’s not on your team anyhow. 

Regardless, please look after that mongrel
Cranky Gene.
He was a good dog, but dumb as a bag of Protestants.
Let him sleep in your bed once in a while,
and forgive the stench of his drool.
Talk to you soon.

11-year-old, Noah Fagalosi, questions God.

Hey God,
me again, Noah Fagalosi.
Thanks for getting rid of Solomon;
his curls still litter my bathtub and carpet though.
This new guy who she calls “My first black;”
he is ok.
But he makes mother scream your name so loud it wakes me up at night.
Please do something about that.
Are you both in there with her?
If so, wake me up.
You know I like fun things. 
Next time I hear this, I’ll come in,
I know you wouldn’t exclude me.

Now to the issue at hand.
Yes, you probably know what that means,
well I didn’t.
I had to look it up.
Google imaged it in fact.
How did you let this happen?

The kids at school have a nickname for me,
it’s really simple, can you guess it?
“Noah Fag.”
Again, I thought it was endearing
until I looked it up.

Excuse my French but:
Ta mere est une pute.
That’s right I bet you wish you hadn’t given Mom
money for French lessons now.

I’m sorry, I don’t mean that.
I know Mary is the furthest thing from a harlot.
But how could you?
Why would you give me a name like Fagalosi
knowing full right kids are cruel.

Timmy Peters called me FAG
while we were in the bathroom this morning.
He said I was watching him pee.
Cut his little dick off.
I know that’s horrible but I’m serious,
he needs to learn.

John Harrison asked me to play catch last night.
When I wasn’t looking he threw the baseball at my stomach.
I threw up, and as I did he called me FAG.
He also spit on me and told me I was going to hell.
God, please cut his little dick off.
How will he learn otherwise?
Am I really going to hell?

And finally, after soccer practice on Tuesday,
Tim Gunther thought he saw me looking at him in the shower.
He screamed “Noah the FAG is watching me shower,”
and everyone ran out of the locker room.
I was actually watching him scrub, but only out of curiosity,
I swear.
Please, please, please God.
Cut his larger than normal dick off.
After all he is a Born Again.

Thank you for hearing my prayers.
I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk about you this time,
but I’m all ears when you want to vent.
Seriously though, rethink my last name
or I might have to consider Scientology.

P.S. Did the bacne clear up?


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