And we ask the padre for a prayer....

And we ask the padre for a prayer...

To my good friend Jesus,

Thank you for punching certain people in my life in the nuts, getting them to get their acts together, thusly making my life and job a little easier to deal with. I honestly appreciate it, and I will buy you one (1) beer when I get to heaven.

You might make it to full six-pack status if you could now find a way to get me a couple hours spare time a day. That would be sweet.

Also, thank you for that five dollar bill you put into my pants pocket this morning. As the great Homey G. Cornrow says about finding money in the pocket: "Tommy 1, World 0."

But Jesus, I wonder if you could do one more thing for me. Just for me.

I know we got a lot of strife going on in the world. War. Famine. Genocide. And I gotta be honest, it takes several minutes to get my ass to unclench after reading a story about this or that drug resistant strain of bacteria or influenza--I really don't want to have to make that trip to Boulder, Colorado just yet.

But I got one problem that's really on my nerves.

What I want to ask you is this: Could You do something about a disturbing trend I've noticed at work this week? I'd like it, sir, if you'd make it so that people don't call me on the intercom while I'm taking a dump.

It's like You've given everybody in my workplace some manner of extrasensory perception, where they all have some harmonic, instinctive knowledge that "Tommy's dropping a deuce."

Jesus, I know you're wanting to make some joke about "Everybody knows because of the smell," and whatnot. You're a funny guy, but we both know that I've been working very hard on it for years, and we both know that I can say without fear of contradiction that my shit doesn't stink.

But seriously. Could you get them to stop calling me while I'm in the middle of a shit? I had a little bout with the squirts tonight (not that I blame you), and it happened Twice tonight.

Jesus, this is why I usually don't crap at work. And it's why I don't take my phone in with me to the bathroom. Because that's "Tommy Time" and it's where I get my best thinking done. I don't like getting disturbed during it.

Also: I'm afraid that I'm rushing through the paperwork, Jesus. I haven't ruined any clothing lately, so maybe I'm a little overzealous in my reasoning here. But I don't think so.

Anyway. Thanks a lot Jeesus.

Tommy