His rock music station

between Johnson City and Spartanburg, i listen to the radio. i'm tired of a lot of my cd's and usually, when it's late when i'm driving, there is jazz on npr, so i'll listen to that, there's also a good reggae-type station, and sometimes there's the BBC news, which i pretty much listen to the for the accents. sometimes i turn my lights on and off through the mountains. one time i saw a dog-like creature, possibly a fox, but bigger. it was dragging a carcass off the highway. then sometimes i listen to a station called His Radio. as in Jesus' Radio or God's Radio. i listen to this, thinking that if i ever see one of the people who do His Radio, i will capture them, then i will slowly torture them by blind-folding them, numbing parts of their body and telling them that i'm cutting off chunks of their flesh. then i will fry those chunks in a delicious tasting olive oil and garlic pan-saute, tossing that with linguine and a bit of white wine and squeeze of lemon, flashing all that in the pan, and serving it with intense laxative and secular music on, so that while they eat their seared flesh, they will say (thinking of God), 'Jesus, you sick bastard. God, no, no, not another bite. No, it tastes so good. Why did he have to make it taste so good, God? This is nothing like His Radio, why? AHHH.' Then later, 'oh my God, I'm pooping my own self out. He put laxative in it. Why? No, it's coming, no, hot, it feels hot.' Then i'll let them go home and tell them it was just chicken or pork.

Sometimes I listen to His Radio and think: Do people really believe that God likes cheesey rock/pop music? For the sake of argument, if these lyrics are praise:

Ever since the world around you shattered
You've been looking everywhere for something more
Sometimes you feel like you're life doesn't matter
But it does, I tell you it does, oh yeah

Then God is in his early thirties, has a nicely trimmed beard, wears Ambercrombie, tans once a week, thinks David Blaine is pretty cool, likes upscale bars, has more than two fragrance candles in his house for dates, has a torquise Fender Stratcaster, dislikes cats, and doesn't really 'understand' David Lynch.

edit: i realize that somehow capitalization rules have gone wrong in this post. also, i don't really listen to His Radio, no, seriously, i don't, leave me alone.