A long white envelope with no return address, postmarked San Francisco. Inside, a folded piece of paper that looks like this:
I’ve received four of these so far, some at work and some at home. My wife has been sent one.
I wish to complain.
This is the most rinky-tink, cheap, pointless evangelical campaign yet. Come on, whoever you are, put some goddamned effort into it. Throw a Chick tract in the envelope. Pound a keyboard for a while and produce a little screed with your religious views that you photocopy and stuff into the envelopes. Personalize it a little; scribble your initials in the corner. Toss in a cheesy poem you copied off a greeting card in the evangelical bookstore. Do something — man, you couldn’t even bother to send a whole sheet of 8½ x 11 paper, you could only send me a quarter slice.
And no, I don’t believe for a minute that this was a personal message from Jesus Christ. If it was, though, I wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn he’s living in San Francisco. Probably in the Castro. And loving the fact that he’s escaped those assholes promoting his religion by hiding in the last place they’d look for him.