In the hospital prison, they let you wear your damaged Mann Glasses. Mine were hit by small arms fire. The neurosurgeon's said they couldn't remove them without making me brain dead. So they did some kind of emergency cobbling in the Mash tent using duct tape and spit. You can't tell I was wounded as long as I smile and pretend.

My Mann Glasses kind of run on their own now. Sometimes I can use the touch screen on the back of my right hand, but most of the time I have to accept whatever images I get. I always try to look through the nurses dresses, but I get nothing but static.

The Spectacles told me one day that God had an illegitimate child and that some of us had God in our family tree. Then it showed a series of toilet paper commercials, so I never did find out if I was directly related to God. Then, after two hours of compound bee vision, I was jacked into the meta-universal hyperspace net. I didn't even know there was such a thing. It's God's Infinity net; it connects all stuff to all things plus whatever- something like that.

That's when I figured out about the voices in my head. I used to think it was because everybody has multiple personalities. That's why nobody can diet; because it was only one of their personalities who decided to diet. The ninety other personalities ate whatever the hell they damn well pleased. Pass me the goddamn donut.

But really, this is amazing, all the dead people are trying to talk through our consciousness. Our brains are part of the meta-universal web. Traffic is routed through us just like through those old fashion cyberhubs; we are God's routers.

The people who used to live on earth try to contact us from time to time- especially our relatives who still love us. Most of the time however (since we never can hear them because we never shut the fuck up) they are talking to each other. Day dreams are a form of metaversal instant messaging. It's during sleep when they most often leave the important messages- there's less interference. Night dreams come to us through the right side of our brains. They use images because words are no good for understanding metaversal messages; God's language is silent and faith-filled.

The headlines in this morning's Sumerian Army News revealed God's Third Commandment. According to the Sacred Stone:

"God Almighty in His Wisdom has decreed that all mankind- with no exceptions- shall:

"Do as much good as you can in the time you have left."

I knew what this meant, because God had just told me a few days (or years) ago. When God calls, you go. No use crying about death. No use arguing with God. The deal has done gone down. You are being shipped out, soldier. Here's your nanoblaster. Over there is your casket. Amen. It's too late to do good on earth. Too late to make things better. No more chances.

The masculine types did not get the message. First off, they didn't get eternity. They did not feel the fear that comes with the awareness of forever. They just shrugged their shoulders and went back to watching reruns of Mr.Ed. (By the way, that horse really could talk). They also defined "good" as whatever pleased them. What's good for General Motors is good for the world, they said. Then they increased the price of cars and invented built in obsolescence.

I met a nurse in the Mash tent when my face was bleeding. She was very lovely. Her name was Sybil and she looked real good in her Mann Spectacles. It looked like they might decide to terminate me since there was a security problem with keeping wounded Mann Glasses jacked into the twilight net. She saved my life, I think.

Anyway, the reason I bring it up is because she told me something important about the God thing. She said that we had to give the poor an unsophisticated fake God because they were too dumb to handle the truth. They needed a tangible God who looked like them and gave a crap about their tiny problems. It would not sit well for them to find out that the Ants were the chosen species- God's current favorite creature. The real God, she assured me, was not made in the image of human beings, did not have a penis, did not use words to communicate, and did not drink Pepsi. The real God had a gigantic sense of humor, pretty much loved anybody and everything, and never interfered with the river once it left the source. The universe was completely perfect; except for the Monopoly problem.

Look on my works ye Penguins and despair! For I am Ozymandias, king of kings, Lord of the Rings, Top of the Heap, all time record holder, excuse me, I have diarrhea.

Meanwhile, the French, who were Catholics, attacked The Mohawk villages and burned down all the women and children. This really pissed off the British, who were Protestants and did not speak good French. The frustrated British attacked the Zulus and Hindus and Weirdues, killing all the livestock and all the two year old girls running to keep up with their mothers.

Therefore, the Germans, who refused to speak good English, demanded Lebensraum from both the British and French; who collectively sent the Germans the famous message "Fuck you Asswipes, and all your relatives and farm animals".

What could the Germans do? The insult was huge. They had no choice except to murder six million Jewish women and small children, a few hundred thousand teenagers, a few million Gypsies and Armenians, plus assorted random human beings between the ages of fetus and Alzheimers. Then, after a breather and some good Belgium beer, they murdered a few million blind, deaf, and speech impaired special education students.

The United States, land of the free and home of the brave, saved the world by dropping nuclear bombs on 150,000 Japanese grandparents on their way to the market holding the hands of their grandchildren. Then they bombed Baghdad, Saigon, Los Angeles, Detroit, and assorted oxcarts from jet planes flying through the ozone.

Well sir, no Muslim with an ax and truck bomb would stand for this insanity; so they flew a couple airplanes full of cheerleaders and grandmothers into sky scrappers, effectively eliminating 400 little league coaches, one thousand nursing mothers, a few hundred muslims (oh well), and the entire Helen Keller archives.

This outrage of course could not be allowed into the history books unanswered. So, the moguls attacked Northern China and wiped out every single orphanage and market place and coffee shop they could find, slicing up all the melons, grandfathers, many dogs, and the entire faculty of the Confucius School for Everlasting Peace.

Meanwhile, two billion old men in neck ties voted to send 50 billion idealistic, bored, group oriented, teenage children into battle against each other.

Blood flowed up the mountains and into the water supply. Blood flowed into the sewers and under the doors of the rich and famous. Blood came in the mail and dripped off the television onto the new carpet. Blood splattered on the windshields of the poor and unknown. Blood ran from the beer taps and leaked out mouths and runny noses. Blood soaked into the clothing of the historians. It poured over the documents of the generals and senators. Blood turned the waters red and the tears flowed red and only red ink flowed from the pens. Canons shot blood balls, the water bed leaked blood, and footprints were bloody, bloody, bloody.

All the blood and war and dead children had only one thing in common. Only one thing kept the blood flowing. Only one.

The Cesspool Allele.