A letter to Mother Nature

Hey Mother Nature,

S'up? Contrary to the human race's best efforts, I hope you are doin great.
So Mother Naitch (can I call you that?), dude, I know you don't usually answer wishes and stuff cause only a few lesbians living on the west coast beleive in you, but I was hoping you'd grant me a few wishes. And please, DON'T forward this to God. I know you are like his committee chairperson for planet earth, but I already tried reaching him. But that guy is more difficult to reach than Tony Soprano. I'm tellin ya. I tried to mail him, but he never replies. I think my mail keeps going to his junk mail folder. When I tried to go through one of his offices here on earth, the managers there keep handing me a book to read. Seriously, those books are so not going to be on the New York Times best seller lists. I don't think God can be such a bad writer. Those books appear to be written by some Sidney Sheldon-Jackie Collins wannabe crack whore on LSD. Seriously. And then half of the people in those offices condemn me to hell. Tell me, are there any gay people in hell? I imagine hell to be some sardonic, hedonistic place full of rambunctious debaunchers like me. Fun place, no?

Another thing is that God doesn't even have a phone. I mean the master of the universe is at least expected to have a 1-800 number. Even Geico has one, for cryin out loud. What does he do with the money that his offices collect as revenue? Not trying to be rude but I think God needs to get audited.

Anyhoo, back to me. I just wanted you to be a good girl and do some those miracles people talk about. Can you like, eliminate all the fat in my body, give me an eight pack and a fab ass? Plus I'd also like to wake up next to a combination of some or all of the people mentioned in the attachment names.doc (after having done you-know-what). The reason that I'm asking you for the miracle is that to accomplish these things in real life, one needs to actually get up from one's ass and do something about it. Since one simply refuses to move one's ass, one is requesting you for a miracle as a last resort.

I know this is a tough one, but if you think about it, really not my fault. It's either your fault or God's fault. You guys can have a meeting to decide who to blame. My vote is to the guy who administers the office up there. You guys are worse run then enron.
See, what happened was that you put me on a planet where Gay people were, until a few decades ago, stoned/killed/married to Liza Minelli or something.(Cause these people God appointed to oversee his offices on earth, were like sanctimonious sons-of-bitches). So I was like really fucked up for most of my teenage years. And more so when I legally became an adult (I say legally cause mentally I'm still 15). So this whole "Gay" thing was like delayed. So know, we need to accomplish those things in a short span of time. And, dude, we can't seem to wait that long. And don't try to ignore this mail. Otherwise I know this Nigerian guy who has your bank account number. And if ya help me, I promise to recycle a lot of stuff (specially corny jokes & one-liners). And I'm not threatening you or anything, but I can arrange to have Al Gore cloned. Think about it. That's all I'm asking.

Have Fun,

Lotsa Love,

Rambunctious WhipperSnapper