Well, kids, the time of judgment is almost at hand. Many Christians know that the end times are near and have been attempting to warn the rest of the world; warn them that they should repent and change their ways before it is too late.

This is certainly true: The world will soon come to an end and humanity does need to change its ways, but the fundamentalists have guessed incorrectly as to just how one needs to repent and what “the end of the world” actually means.

Hold that thought, as I tell you a little parable:

There was a queen and this queen loved armadillos. Every year, she would hold a race for the wild armadillos of her kingdom. It was announced that whichever armadillo won the race, would have the great honor of being her pet; living in the palace, and being served plump grubs by scantily clad servants. The armadillos would line up to compete in this race and when the starting shot was fired, they would tear over one-another and into the labyrinth of the forest to make it to the finish line on the other side.

The forest was a treacherous, nasty, inhospitable and likely pungent lay of land. As the armadillos scurried through the over and underbrush, they inevitably encountered other armadillos, who were in various states of duress. They would be caught in quicksand, stuck under fallen trees, enwrapped in the tendrils of vicious, house-sized carnivorous plants, or crawling, with broken limbs. Knowing that stopping to help any of their fallen peers would without a doubt cause them to lose the race, they would ignore the armadillos in peril and continue.

Some armadillos, however, would ignore the imperative race and stop to help their comrades. When the race was over, the Queen would announce that those who stopped to help were the actual winners, and those who had ignored their fellow armadillos in an effort to win her favor would be placed on spits and roasted into a celebratory feast for her subjects.

So, what does this mean to us? The Bible is a test, people. It’s a way to see who would just blindly follow the rules, and who would say, “Wait a minute! This doesn’t feel right!” Most people have failed this test and will be put on spits and roasted up as a feast for a party that Jesus is having. Ra, Vishnu, Mars and Athena are coming. Zarathustra is the DJ.

How do I know this?

I might as well be honest with you. I’m one of the Nephilim. You may or may not have heard of us. Basically, what happened was this: A few thousand years ago, when the evolution of humanity had started to really pick up its pace, Dad and a bunch of his horny brothers got drunk and screwed the living hell out of some human women. We were the result.

We were raised by our respective fathers and often used to carry out their petty whims and fight one-another when they had childish inter-deity squabbles. We rained fire down on cities, we turned people to stone, we rode chariots in the sky to intimidate little towns into making cool stuff for our fathers to wear, we flooded most of Mesopotamia after telling Dad’s favorite humans to get on little boats, convincing each of them that they were the only one being spared, the whole bit.

My youngest brother, Jesus, Dad’s favorite and all-around suck-up, was even convinced to get beaten up and nailed to a cross, just for Dad’s amusement and to prove a point that if He’d kill his own son, he’d certainly beat the living fucking shit out of you without blinking, so you’d better bloody OBEY.

Since then, Dad gave Jesus a new body and skipped off to the Crab Nebula to retire. He left the deed to Earth, which will be automatically signed over to my brother at 12:01am on January 1st, 2012.

What Dad doesn’t know and what no one can tell him, due to his willful, arrogant seclusion, is that as soon as that clock strikes and the Earth is his, Jesus is going to come out of the closet.

Wait, let me explain.

Being the child of a god means that you’re essentially immortal. You can be killed, but you can always just slip into a new body. Hell, I’ve done it hundreds of times. Dying, when you know that you’re not going to completely cease to exist, isn’t as bad as you might think it is. In fact, it somewhat resembles picking off a really big scab. We have no intrinsic gender, so when we mate, the body in which our mate currently resides is analogous to the clothes you see your future or husband wearing the first time you meet them: They can be changed, if they are not to your liking. Furthermore, most of us made certain only to engage in coitus with same-sex bodies, so as to prevent pregnancies. The last thing the world needed was hoards of semidemigods running amok.

Some of you have likely suspected this, anyway. Anyone with common sense would wonder why gay men don’t seem to age, why you never meet one that is younger than 15 or older than 40, why they seem to be so talented and handsome, and why they’re always in perfect shape.

It’s because we’re what you call “angels,” you morons.

Generally traveling in same-sex pairs sometimes made it difficult for us to pass as human, as one might imagine. People would see two guys or two girls in a lip-lock and freak their shit out. Dad worked out a plan whereby we could do as we liked sexually, yet still help to keep his creations in line. He made a rule that his priests and nuns and so forth would not be permitted to marry, and would all live together in big churches and cathedrals and the like. Wondrous palaces built especially for us by all the eager little humans. All we had to do was pretend to be celibate humans, tell them to be nice to each other, wear uniforms in public, give a sermon now and then, and we could conduct wild, libidinous orgies behind closed doors.

This system actually worked out fairly well for centuries until actual human beings started getting these insane ideas that they too could control their libidos, stick on a frock and get closer to God.

We tried everything we could to dissuade them. We made priesthood hazing ten times more rigorous. We nitpicked their “sins” so as to exclude them, but finally, we had to let a few in every year so that real people would have some clergy in their families and no one could ever wonder, “Hey, where are all these religious leaders coming from?”

This was a huge pain in the ass. We had to drug them every time we wanted to have a raucous gangbang without them knowing about it. We had to keep up the farce in our own homes, whenever they were around. We had to make up journeys and errands and such to keep them away from our churches as much as possible, and any number of other assorted annoyances that come about when dealing with dipshit mankind.

We realized our error when young boys started coming forward, saying that priests had molested them. There’s nothing like willful celibacy to turn a human being into a complete fucking twisted sicko.

So, some of us started “coming out”. Gradually, at first. Here and there. We didn’t want to alarm people. We wanted to test them, so we made up this whole “gay” thing, as a way to ease you into understanding who and what we are, and to be able to judge which of you would blindly follow our father’s misogynist advice, or make up your own minds.

As more and more of us have come out, effectively leaving the clergy with actual psycho-sexual human beings, we feel that it is our duty to inform you that God is not dead, but we recommend that you stay away from churches, especially if you have children. Our father has essentially abandoned your world. He has many other, more interesting and lucrative properties that he doesn’t feel like sharing, but this one is going to belong to Jesus. [for more on my father's pig-headed antics, go here.]

Jesus, and his “roommate,” Krishna, are anxiously waiting for just a few more years, when they can legally take possession of the Earth, give Dad the finger and start on some much needed renovations. The first part of these renovations is to call Shiva for some extermination. The place is full of assholes, you see and no one wants to own a home that has assholes crawling all over the place.

Therefore, my advice to you is to be nice to any gay people that you may meet. They’re not fags and dykes after all, they’re immortal demigods and they’ll be helping Shiva decide who can stay and who’s an asshole.

Come 2012, you’ll still be an armadillo, but you might get to live in the castle, instead of being a part of the barbeque.

How’s the race going, anyway?