Just so we’re all reading on the same page here:

I’m but a humble deaconly social critic with dancey wordplay, bouncy walking steps, and a squirmy face. Not some egotistical savior for your superior intellectual imaginations to fiddle into an end-times mythos. But if you want my string of thinking, it’s for all, please find something amusing, heartfelt and strange.

Besides, I’m not right for the role of a savior- and I have actfully considered it. 

Wordplay profusion takes you places, doesn’t it my drifty-minded writers?

But in all honesty, most of my saviors lay broken, battered, bruised to sickly condition, or have already died on the street. All of those divinities having succumbed to heaven’s rampant plague of comfortable idling, useless paranoia, and visionless taste.