A God Called G.P.S.

Isn’t it peculiar that the doctor slaps your bottom and you scream and holler ‘bout such rude behavior, then some dude in robes and cloaks dunks your head and soaks and soaks ‘till you breathe a gulp of water for the savior. If I’m like the rest, we were wrestled from the breast and handed hard glass bottles with a teat, then we’re put into a room filled with numbers, words and doom and told to punctuate and write real neat. From there it’s pretty easy to see what came about. The TV was presented as the drug of choice and doubt. But now computers run this world; they’ve got things running “right”. You disagree? Hear this from me. They can see you from a satellite!