El Loco god

A true story written about Doritos.

Dear Mr. Dorito Eater,

It's time for me to tell the truth. I was god for a whopping 2 weeks back in '64. They kept hounding me and there was a lot of political pressure from the other rats in the neighborhood as well as all the unpregnant jewish women that have homes behind unpopular coffee houses. All we need is a few more peeled peanuts and the gold ring is OURS!

A ravishing dog named 'Clairise' has been digging in the garbage left around my house. I'm real glad that it's not summer now because the raw trash is heated by the sun's radiation bringing stench in and around my nose. I hope that darn dog is gone before summer rolls around. Summer isn't all that bad though.

However I've stocked up a lot of warm clothes for the cold winter season and I'm sure that I will be unable to wear them in the sweltering heat of summer...which brings us back to the main topic of why I was forced off the 'Golden Throne'. I'll tell you a little secret....the pay isn't all that good. I was virtually forced out into the streets to fend for myself and score a few bucks to survive. We all know that bucks are an essential item in today's fast moving economic world so I opened a small chain of overpriced books stores in the middle of the city. A few zealous christians noticed that I was charging way to much for the bible, commenting that you can often get them for free in airports or desks located in hotel rooms or simply by calling 1-800 numbers appering on your screen. Well, being the savvy businessman that I am, I spited those darn x-tians and kicked sand on their already soiled shoes as I slapped an additional $5 on top of the already exhuberantly high priced 'good book'. A few people were outraged and picketed my store for months sometimes throwing burning paper bags of cow shit into my store when it was closed for the day. I couldn't hire people fast enough to clean up the stinky mess and eventually the customers stopped paying $15 for my tacky romance novels.

I was forced out of business and was told that I'd never be able to work in this town again. I got a nose job, grew a fluffy beard and moved to a suburb of Chicago where I landed a job selling used dump trucks to poor corn farmers. Though my true identity as x-god is little known to the town folks, every once in a while the story is dragged out of me after a few drinks and a little small talk. I'm highly misunderstood.