Saturday, September 5, 2015

Stalked by an Angel

It’s a thin line between an angel watching your back and being on it. 

This, I have discovered to my cost, after my guardian angel started stalking me.
A friend has pointed out that this is what they have to do, otherwise how could they guard you. But I’m not convinced. Seriously. I am being stalked by an angel.
I don’t think I actively sought out a guardian angel, as I have so many people I don’t see in my life as it is, without having to cater for another. But I figured that with the flying advantage (do angels get Flying Miles, by the way? Just asking, because I’m a few thousand short for my next trip), they might be a little less demanding. Not so. 
If you read my previous blogs, you will know how Padre, the angel hunter and I, became acquainted; you will also know that I did not give the heavenly throng my credit card details.
However, ever since I made the briefest contact, the angel has been on my back (you see what I mean?). I have been told to fill in forms, click on links, get in touch by every means possible, otherwise I will lose the good fortune (mainly monetary) that is apparently winging its way to me (geddit?).
Padre is even more persistent than Adrian the astrologer, who appears to have given up on me. Padre has warned that I have just 72 hours before the angel gives up on me, too. It’s a bit of a strange missive, because he declares he “must reveal to you without delay” and then doesn’t relay anything of significance at all (it’s what I call a delaying tactic).
This revelation has to do with “a very positive thing for the proper progress of your imminent happiness.” Hmmmph. More delays. Is my happiness progressive, or is it imminent? Imminent, to me, means the next two minutes; progressive could be 2018, at the earliest.
Now, here’s the key: “A phenomenon in angelical magic will be triggered on your behalf after you have read this letter.” I tell you: it’s another slow week for angels, because mine (whose name I have forgotten) cannot stop writing to me. I suspect he is not even going to be taking Labor Day off.
The letter tells me that within one minute, “you will have struck a decisive blow against your greatest enemy.”
Okay. Let’s give it a minute. 60, 59, 58, 57, 56, 55, 54, 53, 52, 51, 50, 49, 48, 47, 46, 45, 44, 43, 42, 41, 40, 39, 38, 37, 36, 35, 34, 33, 32, 31, 310, 209, 28, 27, 26, 25, 24, 23, 22, 21, 20, 19, 18, 17, 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7 (I’m getting really excited now), 6, 5, 4, (I am wetting myself), 3, 2, 1 . . . 
Nope, nothing. I think it may be because I don’t really have any enemies. There are people I don’t like, but I get them out of my life pretty quickly (and if they don’t like me, I just put a curse on them). Maybe there are enemies I am not even aware of, lurking in the shadows, although I am beginning to think that my angel is making up enemies purely in order to justify his job.
The next 72 hours are going to be crucial, too, bringing about a “great upheaval” – 60, 59, 58 . . . No, I really can’t go through that again.
The “spiritual angelical forces” are going to sort everything out and help me “strike a decisive blow against your greatest enemy”. My life of “poverty . . . emotional loneliness . . . misfortune, burdened with endless problems, drenched in bad news” (geez, you really know how to cheer a girl up on a weekend) is going to be over. My angel is going to destroy the enemy once and for all.
Now, listen up, angel. Listen real good. Because I’m going to teach you something.
Your greatest enemy is always yourself. You are the only person who stops you from achieving your goals. All the external bad forces in the world are no match for the inner strength that, as humans, we carry within us. You can flap your wings all you like and smile your silly smile from your fluffy blonde cloud, but you won’t change one of life’s fundamentals: we are the guardians of our own destiny.
So stop stalking me, angel, and stop contacting my friends just because they are on my Facebook page.
When you come up with a cure for yeast infections that doesn’t involve sending one’s vagina to a yoghurt convention, feel free to contact me again; because, until then, you are useless. 

You can call it what you like, but stalking by flying is still stalking, whichever way you look at it. 

Stick to what you're good at and tell a few unsuspecting virgins they are pregnant.

Now go away before I set God on you.


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