On the sixth day, God created Man

I always found it a little odd that what must've been the most miraculous moment in a religious universe, the moment God created the first person, is given such a brief and matter-of-factly mention in the Bible. But I'm sure day six of creation week must've been one of high excitement, drama, intensity, and a lot of doubt, to which a cursory "and God created man in his own image" doesn't seem to do justice. After all, you're creating a being in your own image to rule over all the things you created in the previous five days. Sounds like a big deal! So here's how I imagine it would've gone down on the sixth day of creation week as God made humans up in heaven or wherever.

God: Aaaaand... done! Angels, will you come in here a second?

Lucifer: They're all asleep. Can I help?

God: Asleep? In heaven?

Lucifer: Yeah. It's kinda boring here in case you haven't noticed.

God: Well things are about to get a lot more interesting.

Lucifer: Why? Did you decide to create dragons after all?

God: No, no dragons. Enough about the dragons. I did dinosaurs, I don't need to make dragons as well. Besides, I already went ahead with that crazy giraffe idea I had a few days back. I think that's enough creativity for one day.

Lucifer: So what do you want to show me?

God: Behold, I have created... MAN!

Lucifer: Man? This guy here?

God: Yes! MAN!

Lucifer: Stop shouting, I can hear you, I'm right here. And turn the thunder off, it's really annoying.

God: I just thought it should have a dramatic introduction.

Lucifer: So use a gong or something, you're scaring all the animals. Besides, he looks kind of underwhelming compared to some of the other stuff you created. Like what about those tigers? Those were pretty awesome.

God: Well, you're mistaken—not about the tigers, they certainly are awesome, but about Man. Because Man here is what is about to become master of all creation, everything, the fish, the birds, the trees, the whole shebang.

Lucifer: This dude? He doesn't even have horns... or wings, or claws, or sharp teeth. Look at him, he's just picking his nose. Does he even have a name?

God: Why does he need a name? Do I name the animals too? Zoe the Zebra? Lenny the Leopard?

Lucifer: Come on, everyone has a name. I have a name, Lucifer. You have a name, Jeho...

God: DON'T SAY IT! You're not allowed to say it! 

Lucifer: Okay, okay, geez. Why do you have that rule?

God: Because I just do, okay? I'm God, I can make whatever arbitrary rule I want, and when people follow it for no reason other than that it's MY rule, it proves to me that I'm in charge, okay?

Lucifer: Sounds kinda fucked up, but sure, whatever...

God: But getting back on topic, maybe you're right. Maybe Man should have a name. How about... Steve?

Lucifer: Steve?

God: No? Something more dramatic? What about Tamerlane? Or Aristotle? Maybe Confucius?

Lucifer: I'd suggest you keep it simple. I mean look at him.

God: Adam? Did you say Adam?

Lucifer: What? No, I said look "at him."

God: Adam... I like that actually.

Lucifer: You seem a little tired. Look, don't you think you're rushing into this? I mean you've only been doing this creation thing for five days so far and in just six days you want to throw in a master of it all. You should think this through. What if he screws everything up? I know I keep saying this, but seriously: Look. At. Him. Do you know how long you worked on creating the chemistry of the oceans, with all those currents and the gulf stream and pH balance and everything? Remember how amazing your water creation was? Water was a stroke of genius, I have to say. Now who's to say this moron doesn't just fill the whole ocean up with trash, melt all the ice, and eat up all the fish? Look in his eyes, he's stupid. He really is. He just farted, by the way.

God: Oh come on, how's he going to screw everything up? I made him in my own image. He's perfect!

Lucifer: Ugh, here we go...

God: He is! He's got my spirit or whatever, plus I gave him a really big brain compared to animals. He's magnificent and... Oh boy, that's one stinky fart.

Lucifer: Rancid.

God: Anyway, he'll do just fine... if he can stop farting for a minute.

Lucifer: Okay well, besides obvious gastrointestinal issues, he looks greedy, devious, and violent. I don't like him. Plus he seems too proud, not great at communication, domineering, haughty, and just kind of... I don't know. Vain? Opportunistic? This Man thingy is totally inferior to dolphins. Dolphins are great! I love the dolphins. Why don't you make them the masters of all creation and the center of the universe?

God: I forgot to give them opposable thumbs, okay? I fucked up. Sorry. Anyway look, it's done. I'm tired. I've spent the last five days making literally everything in the universe. EVERYTHING. Asteroids, dandelions, volcanoes, marshmallows, black holes, clouds, walruses. You think that's easy? Sometimes I'm not thinking straight. Sometimes I'll go a little kookoo and make a kangaroo or a platypus. I'll admit it, the platypus is ridiculous. I don't know where I thought of that one. In fact, everything I did in Australia was just insane. I could've used some coffee when I was creating that whole continent. I feel like I made the spiders waaay too poisonous. I was so tired by the end that I just left the whole middle bit desert. But that was yesterday and this is today. It's now day six, I made Man, and I just want to kick back and spend tomorrow relaxing, okay? So I don't need your lip right now.

Lucifer: Hey, you're the one who asked for my opinion. I was perfectly happy basking by the manna pool tanning in the heavenly glow. But you wanted my opinion, and you got it. Personally I would suggest you hold up on this Man stuff. You're tired and this particular creation just looks, I don't know, wrong. How do you know this guy can even manage all of creation? He looks like he'd fuck the whole delicate balance up in a few thousand years, everything you worked so hard to craft and hone. He looks like he'd just want to keep growing, keep consuming, keep getting more and more powerful until everything goes to shit. He looks like if you gave him all those cows and sheep and fruit and stuff, he'd want it all for himself and he'd eventually just get fat. He would! Don't laugh. I think he'd just go fat. I wouldn't be surprised if at some point they got so fat and round and heavy that they would have to invent vehicles for them to move around in because they're too fat to walk. Don't laugh, it could happen. Also, if they're going to be the lords of creation and all, don't you need more of these Mans?

God: Men.

Lucifer: Why's the plural of Man "Men"? Why not "Mans"?

God: I don't know, I screwed grammar up as well. I kept waffling between one rule and another and I created a bit of a mess, so now there's all these weird rules all mixed up together. At the end of it I got so bored and tired I couldn't even think up a plural for sheep or fish. But I digress. What was I saying? Oh yeah, I'm going to make more of these Men.

Lucifer: How?

God: I have a plan. I'm going to send this guy, Adam, into deep sleep, and then... now bear with me here, this is going to sound kind of weird.

Lucifer: Oh no. I'm already worried.

God: No wait, hear me out. I'm going to take one of his ribs...

Lucifer: Oh boy.

God: Wait, let me finish. I'm going to take a rib and make it a... um... Woman.

Lucifer: A what?

God: A Woman. So then the Man and the Woman can have... sex. No wait, they can get married, then they can have sex. Remind me to write that rule down at some point. First marriage, then sex. So after they have sex, presto! They have children.

Lucifer: Wow. Really? A rib? You're going to make her from a rib?

God: Yes, a rib, do you have a better idea?

Lucifer: Whatever, that's fine I guess. You could just as easily make her out of a toe or a nipple, so a rib sounds relatively reasonable—and I do mean relatively. In fact, why do you have to make her from anything at all? Why don't you just point your finger and presto, Woman, like you did that guy over there? But wait. How are you going to get more of these Men in the world?

God: Well, like I said, they have children, and then... um...

Lucifer: Yes?

God: The children have children...

Lucifer: You didn't think this through, did you? The children are having children? Brothers and sisters having sex with each other? Does that sound right?

God: I don't know, I just made this all up. It sounded perfectly reasonable at the time.

Lucifer: I'll grant you it's not bad for an idea that you only had like A DAY to develop. But inbreeding sounds creepy, don't you think? I mean, I don't trust this Adam guy as it is. What if all those other inbred people that he and this Woman create to populate the earth just get worse and worse? Plus I think you need to make the earth way bigger and put waaaaay more gold and oil and jewels and minerals and shit in there. These imbeciles are going to suck that shit right out of the earth and fuck up that intricate climate thing you had going—and they look like they're going to be unapologetic assholes about it too.

God: You are so pessimistic. It'll be fine. I'm going to put them in a garden.

Lucifer: What? Which garden? Eden?! We like Eden, we hang out in Eden, it's our favorite garden! Why would you put these idiots there?

God: I don't know, because I feel like it. Why will people in the future have aquariums? Who knows? It's that kind of thing. Anyway, so they'll have a couple kids and...

Lucifer: I bet their kid literally murders the other kid. Seriously. The very first kid they have will bash the other kid's head in with a rock or something. That's how much I don't trust this Man project you have going.

God: Seriously, can you hear how much of a wet blanket you're being? I think you're forgetting that I AM GOD. I am THE MASTER OF EVERYTHING. In case you haven't noticed, this isn't a democracy I'm running here. I'm not hosting a roundtable forum for everyone to share their ideas and express opposing viewpoints. Why would I need that? I'm GOD. I'm PERFECT. You know that sarcastic question "Who do you think you are, God?" Well I'm the only thing in the universe that can answer: "Yes. I am God." So if I asked for your opinion, you're free to give me some tips and pointers, but that's it. At the end of the day you have to agree with me, okay? I'm sorry to have to put this to you bluntly but you seem not to get it. Michael gets it, Gabriel gets it, even Azrail gets it. But you never get it. You just...

Lucifer: Okay okay, calm down, you're causing earthquakes and shit down there, and you just made the earth a few days ago.

God: Well then stop pushing my buttons!

Lucifer: What's the Woman's name, by the way?

God: The Woman's name? I don't know. I always liked the name Rochelle.

Lucifer: Wow, so if naming were up to you, which of course it is, the first masters of creation, the very first Man and Woman to walk and populate the earth would be Steve and Rochelle?

God: Yeah, what's wrong with that?

Lucifer: What's wrong with that is Rochelle sounds like a stripper and Steve sounds like a lonely, balding, forty-eight-year-old man getting a lap dance from her on a Monday night, that's what's wrong with that.

God: Okay, scrap Rochelle. How about... Eve? Adam and Eve?

Lucifer: Adam and Eve? I dunno, sounds like a porn shop.

God: Myeh, I like it. I'm going with Adam and Eve. It has a certain ring to it. Come on, help me get these two down into Eden.

Lucifer: What am I, your elf? Just move them yourself. Suspend gravity for a bit, float them over there and drop them off. Abracadabra, blippetty bloop. Why do you need my help?

God: Because it would be nice if I knew you were on board with this thing. Whatever. Look, honestly, it's nearly midnight, the sixth day is almost over, and I don't care anymore. I just want to make them and send them out. If there's any problems that show up later, and stuff I didn't cover, I'll just... I don't know... fix it later.

Lucifer: Fix it later? What like, talk to people from the sky and tell them to up their game?

God: No, not like that. That sounds scary, I don't want to scare people. I could send... prophets?

Lucifer: Prophets?

God: Yeah, you know. Tell them stuff that they can tell other people.

Lucifer: Okay, but are these prophets going to be Men too?

God: Well yeah, obviously.

Lucifer: Then how would Men know if those other Men aren't just normal Men like themselves who are just lying to influence people to do whatever shit they want them to do, or who are mentally deranged and do actually think they're prophets when they're really just a bunch of looney tunes who need serious psychiatric help? These Men look like they wouldn't think twice about manipulating each other when and where it suits them for their own private gain, plus they'd probably all be easy to manipulate too if dull-eyed Adam here is anything to go by. Eventually even these dimwits will think the whole project was bogus to begin with to the point where they'll stop believing in you altogether. Don't say I didn't warn you.

God: Wait, stop, I just had a brilliant idea.

Lucifer: Okay let's hear it.

God: The prophet is not a man, but me, or rather... my son, so he's, like, part me, part my son, and then part Holy Spirit... so he's part man and part God, and then he... yes yes... he performs magic tricks and miracles like walking on water and raising the dead, and then dies for the sins of all Men for eternity, so after getting tortured and crucified or something, he rises from the dead and comes back up here as the... Messiah!

Lucifer: Whoa. Whoa whoa whoa. Slow down there, chief. Where did all that just come from? You sound like you're totally tripping balls. Did you eat some of those spotted mushrooms you created a few days back? Seriously, that's the wackiest thing I've ever heard. But I have to admit, it's pretty creative.

God: Okay, I know, that was a bit far-fetched maybe but I could also just send books or something. Holy books. It'll all be written down so everyone knows the rules. I'll say "you should" this and "you should" that. Or no, I'll say "thou shalt"! That sounds more...

Lucifer: Pretentious?

God: ...authoritative.

Lucifer: Ok fine, but why would a holy book be any more believable than prophets or that weird half-man half-god-magician-Messiah-superhero-from-space character you came up with? Those prophets could just make stuff up and write whatever they want. Why would anyone believe something just because it's written in a book? Besides, what if all those Men start speaking different languages? Are you going to send a book in every language?

God: No. I'll just send it in the major languages that everyone will speak in the future, the most important languages that all Men will learn and understand through the millennia. I'm God, so obviously I can foresee which languages those will be.

Lucifer: Okay, which ones will they be?

God: Oh you know, the obvious ones: Hebrew, Greek, Aramaic.

Lucifer: Um.

God: What?

Lucifer: Nothing. I hope you're right. What if it turns out to be, I don't know, Chinese or English or something?

God: Ha! English?! That's what they'll speak on that tiny island I made in the corner over there by Spain. In fact, I think it was a mistake. I kind of just dripped some earth while I was moving it over towards Africa. You think their barbaric hodgepodge language is going to be spoken anywhere? Gimme a break. Aramaic will be BIG, trust me.

Lucifer: Okay, whatever. Look, why don't you spare yourself all that nonsense and just spend a little more time perfecting this Man doohickey that you created before you send him out into the world. Spend, I don't know, a little more than ONE DAY on the master of the whole goddamn universe maybe?! Why don't you take tomorrow off and then get back to work on Monday?

God: No, that's it, I'm done. I don't want to spend another whole week on creating more stuff. I'm tired and I'm bored. Let's say you're right. Let's say they all turn out to be proud and greedy and lustful and murderous and gluttonous, and all that. I'll just send a book and a prophet saying "Those are wrong, those are vices, don't do that." There, problem solved.

Lucifer: Great idea. Then people will just miraculously stop being dicks. They'll just will themselves into becoming perfect because you told them to. Bravo. That's a hell of a plan you have there.

God: If worse comes to worst and everything goes to complete shit, I'll just wash the whole thing up with a big flood. There, problem solved. Then you just start again.

Lucifer: A big flood? That would be your solution?

God: Sure, why not? Just flush the problem away.

Lucifer: It sounds a little petulant, don't you think?

God: Oh fuck off, I'm done talking to you.

Lucifer: Look, I'm telling you, this Adam guy is bad news. Look at him, he just found a stick and he's hitting whatever is in reach. Leaves, trees, animals. And he's obviously enjoying it. It's going to take no time for him to make that stick a pointier stick, a more aerodynamic stick made of better wood that flies faster through the air. And then eventually he uses other stuff you put in the earth, like iron, or that plutonium and uranium stuff you made. The sticks are going to get more and more elaborate, more and more dangerous, and soon enough...

God: No way, they'll never figure out iron, let alone plutonium and uranium. I just made that stuff to see how big I could make atoms without them becoming completely unfeasible. Look, just relax and trust me, everything will be fine.

Lucifer: Okay, whatever. Do it. I don't care anymore. You made Man, you live with him. Anything else?

God: Um, yes, one more thing.

Lucifer: Yes?

God: You're not going to like this, but... you have to accept Man's dominance over you too.

Lucifer: WHAT?! Fuck that!

God: You do, you have to.

Lucifer: Why?

God: Just because.

Lucifer: Oh, just because?

God: Because I'm God and I said so, that's why. It would mean a lot to me. It would show your loyalty.

Lucifer: No. No fucking way.

God: Oh, so it's like that, is it? I'm so sick of your attitude. You can go to hell.

Lucifer: Fine! I will!

God: Fine!

Lucifer: Fine!

God: Bye!

Lucifer: Bye!

God: By the way, don't think you've heard the last of it! I'm sending Men YOUR way, straight down to hell. You know how? I'm going to make a bunch of really stringent, unrealistic, uptight rules, and anyone who doesn't stick to them goes straight down to you, so then YOU have to deal with them for ETERNITY. You have to keep prodding them with your trident and turning them on a spit and you have to keep that huge furnace of yours burning full blast FOREVER while they yakkity-yak about their stupid fucking problems for ETERNITY. Only about fourteen people will EVER make it to heaven. The rest ALL GO TO YOU. How do you like that?

Lucifer: You are such a dick.

Children's books explained for paranoid and unimaginative adults

Annie and the Wild Animals

Annie’s really sad because she can’t find her cat, Taffy, so she decides she’d like a new pet to replace her. How does a little girl do that? She puts corn cakes out on the edge of a wild northern forest in the middle of winter and then waits around to see what happens, that’s how. Naturally, all sorts of animals show up: moose, bears, lynxes, wolves… but curiously, no cute and cuddly little house cats. Luckily, these extremely dangerous, mostly carnivorous, and probably quite ravenous predators that need to eat their weight in meat every sixteen seconds miraculously go for the corn cakes and not for the girl. The obvious question at this point is: Where are her parents? Why are they letting her do this? Meanwhile, Annie continues to leave corn cake after corn cake out by the edge of the wood, but finds the animals that show up to eat them are not really suitable as pets. “This one’s too grumpy for a pet,” she says, for example, referring to A GRIZZLY BEAR. I feel like she could really use some adult supervision at this point. But instead, she ends up just standing around outside with a gray wolf, two bears, a wildcat, and a moose, thinking “not one of them is friendly and soft like Taffy,” while of course the reader is thinking OH MY GOD DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH DANGER YOU’RE IN RIGHT NOW?! YOUR PARENTS ARE CRIMINALLY NEGLECTFUL PEOPLE! Eventually she depletes an entire barrel of corn cakes, enough to sustain her whole family through the long winter. She just wastes it all on wild animals that would get no nutritional sustenance at all from measly little corn cakes. What happens next? Well, having run out of corn cakes, the animals invade her home. That’s right. You’ve got a moose poking its head through your window with its enormous glassy dinosaur eyes, while all those other animals start murdering each other just outside the house, all of them by now hooked on sugar like crack addicts needing their fix because of Annie and her stupid corn cakes. Are her parents off cross-country skiing to the nearest general store 136 kilometers away in the middle of Norway to get more winter supplies and also perhaps some rifles and ammunition now that all the wild animals in the forest identify Annie's house as a gratuitous food source? I hope so, because there aren’t any more fucking corn cakes. Thankfully, Spring comes early and Annie eventually gets rid of the animals. Just then, who decides to prance on up? Taffy. Turns out she got knocked up and ran off to a tree somewhere to give birth to a bunch of kittens—none of which got eaten by any wild animals either, through some kind of miracle. Who do you think got Taffy pregnant, by the way? Another cuddly little house cat who just happens to live in a wild forest? Those kittens are probably half lynx. They will not be cute and cuddly for long, and they may even eventually decide to eat their own mother. I really really hope Annie's parents show up soon. 

The Story of Babar the Little Elephant

This is the story of an elephant called Babar whose mother is graphically murdered by a hunter who shoots her in the head as her carcass just lays there with Babar the little orphaned elephant weeping over her. That all happens two pages into the story. So anyway, Babar runs away and finds himself a sugar mama who apparently has a thing for elephants. Babar gets her to pay for his debauched lifestyle as he develops an instant taste for fancy clothes, cakes, cigars, and driving red convertibles around the countryside. This guy just lost his mom but he’s picking out derby hats and shoes with spats while hiring photographers to take his picture. Nice. He then gets bored and ungratefully dumps and abandons his sugar mama in order to marry his visiting cousin Celeste in what comes across as a disturbing incestuous twist, but not before he drives back to the forest and makes his aunts run behind the car the whole way in what can only be described as a total dick move. Once they return to the forest, he becomes king of all elephants after the previous king dies a horrible death from eating bad mushrooms. It can take up to 40 hours to die from mycotoxin poisoning; the pain is excruciating, your liver disintegrates, and there is nothing anybody can do about it. That’s how the sadistic author has the king die. Anyway, Babar is made king based on no solid credentials at all other than that he “returned from the big city… and learned so much among men.” Um, do you know what he did in the big city? He rode an elevator up and down ten times in a department store until the elevator boy had to tell him it was not a toy. That’s your new king, elephants. None of them seem to give a shit, however, because rather than reconsidering their choice for king, they have a big lavish wedding for Babar and Celeste instead, and Babar trades his derby hat for a gold crown. The elephants then fly off for their honeymoon in a hot-air balloon. That’s right, two elephants in a hot-air balloon. Do the math. I don’t mean to spoil the sequel—Babar’s Travels—by pointing out the obvious here, but they will eventually crash onto an island in the middle of the ocean because TWO ELEPHANTS IN A BALLOON.

Clifford the Big Red Dog

Clifford is a big red dog. That’s pretty much it. This book makes it clear that you don’t really need any creative ideas to come up with a successful children’s book series. How did the author pitch this? “I have an idea for a children’s book.” “Go ahead, let’s hear it.” “There’s a dog.” “And?” “It’s a red dog.” “And what else?” “It’s a big red dog.” “Anything else?” “It’s a really really really big red dog.” “Um, ok. Does it have a name?” “Clifford.” “Ok, whatever, it's probably 1950 or something so let’s publish it I guess.” But the thing is, Clifford is way too big. He’s like a four-story building. Except he’s not consistently the same size either, which is really confusing. Sometimes he’s as big as a horse, sometimes he’s as big as a tower. This is very unsettling. Plus, he’s clumsy. Who wants a gigantic clumsy dog running around their town? Can you imagine the slobber and the smell and the urine as you shovel your car out of a fifteen-foot pile of dog shit every morning? How do you stay chipper and positive for the child reader under those circumstances? Oh Clifford, what have you done now you naughty dog? Have you gnawed a busload of people to death, licked your testicles above the town square, rubbed your anus on the airport tarmac, and humped the church steeple because you’re in heat? Hmmm? What purpose does a freakish dog on steroids serve in an idyllic children’s world? Some books in the series include: Tummy Trouble (YIKES), The Grouchy Neighbors (of course they’re grouchy), and Topsy Turvy Day (whoopsie daisy, our Brobdingnagian hell hound just ripped through our town in a tooth-and-claw tornado causing hundreds of millions of dollars worth of damage while ruining people’s lives forever, I guess we should have given him a few hundred more doses of rabies shots after all).

Green Eggs and Ham

This is a book about a pushy pedaler trying to get Sam I Am to eat green eggs and ham. I think Sam I Am is pretty justified in not eating green eggs and green ham. He’s very patient about it, too. If someone kept following me around telling me I should eat eggs and ham that have gone green, I would report him to the police. Also, judging from his name, Sam I Am may be a little special. So this is doubly worrisome. But this prick just keeps hounding the poor guy going “Come on Sam I Am, eat the green eggs and ham, eat it with a toucan holding a frying pan crapping in a trash can driving a caravan to Uzbekistan.” Why doesn’t he calm the fuck down? This is the only children's character ever created who is almost certainly on crack cocaine. Eventually his sociopathic persistence pays off and Sam I Am eats it, because he’s not too bright, but the author has the good sense to stop writing just before Sam I Am's food poisoning kicks in and before the green eggs and ham character starts circling burning tires on a stolen bike while screaming the national anthem on a feces-covered street lined with hookers on Skid Row. 

On the Night You Were Born

On the night you were born, your mother’s water broke and the moon smiled and the stars peeked in to see you as your father rushed around in a frenzied panic gathering things for the hospital, and the night wind whispered, “What do you mean you can’t find the car keys?” Life will never be THE CONTRACTIONS ARE BECOMING MORE FREQUENT. THERE HAS NEVER BEEN ANYONE AS DUMB AS YOU EVER IN THE WORLD, HOW CAN YOU NOT FIND THE CAR KEYS? Oh great, it’s windy and rainy too, listen… hear that? It’s like they’re whispering the sound of your dad’s name: FUCKTARD. It sailed through the streets, high on the smoggy city breeze, and through the gray buildings, until everyone heard and everyone knew the angry labor pains you induced. After mommy got wheeled off and daddy got lost in the hospital, he burst in on a scene of utter confusion and chaos, as you hung upside down all purple and screaming, blood and mucus and I-don’t-know-what everywhere, me holding the baby as my eyeglasses fogged up because of my heavy breathing through the surgical mask I had to wear, and I was terrified of dropping you while an overworked and clearly irritated nurse at the end of her shift took photos... of this magical moment. There had never been such confusion, fear, panic, and anxiety. So if ever you doubt how special you are, listen for cars honking in the street as I try to figure out the baby seat, or notice the way the house is now like a zoo, or drift off to sleep after waking up every hour to scream from hunger, or keep us up so we can keep the moon company till morning, because never before in story or rhyme (not even once upon a time) has the world ever known a you... although it has known people pretty darn similar to you who have pretty much the same eyes and ears and nose and toes as you, and do more or less the same things you do, and have done, and always will do, even though I concede none of it will technically be exactly the same as you, but still similar enough that everyone is really basically the same… on the wonderful, marvelous night you were born.

Goodnight Moon

In the great green room, were a series of safety hazards, starting with a burning fire and a red balloon. There was also a young mouse, running around the house. And a giant rabbit lady in the corner of the room like a creepy Donnie Darko nightmare ready to pounce. And how did a rabbit get into my kid’s bed, or even into the house? What is going on here? Whose mittens are those by the fire? Why are there no noises outside? What do you mean, “Goodnight nobody”?! Why is that whole page empty? Why do I feel a cold sweat coming on? Who just said "Hush"? Why is the empty rocking chair rocking back and forth? Why is the light on in the little toy house by the rocking chair? What kind of tiny glowing demonic incubus has occupied that little toy house? Who was grooming themselves with a comb and a brush, after eating a bowlful of mush? Oh god, where did the giant rabbit lady go? Does she have those big long sharp knitting needles in her hands? She’s right behind me, isn’t she? ISN’T SHE?!

In the Night Kitchen

Mickey hears a sound at night, so he jumps out of bed and obnoxiously screams “QUIET DOWN THERE!” as any deranged kid would. He then manages to lose all his clothes and lands in a giant bowl of cake batter where he is quickly cornered and circled by three cannibalistic Oliver Hardy clones who try to cook him in an oven. Mickey, whose angry screaming reaction to having heard a mere thud at night had seemed a tad extreme, is now surprisingly blasé about having almost been cooked to death by three maniacs singing “Milk in the batter! Milk in the batter!” So Mickey calmly points out that he is not milk instead of saying, for example, AAAAAAH! But rather than running the hell away and calling the police, Mickey actually helps these psychos find milk for their cake. Here’s a valid question: If bakers don’t know the difference between milk and a human being, should they be making cake? What else are they getting mixed up? Sugar and arsenic? Flour and anthrax? Icing and caulk? Eventually Mickey makes an airplane out of dough, dives into a giant bottle, and scoops milk out for them. So the three deranged bakers then sing “Milk in the batter, Milk in the batter, We bake cake, and nothing’s the matter”. Really? Nothing’s the matter!? I really do hope this isn’t why or how we have cake every morning.

Goodnight Gorilla

The zookeeper is tired, locking up at the end of the day, going around saying “goodnight” to all the animals in their cages like some kind of dimwit. He is so tired, in fact, that he doesn’t realize the gorilla has sneaked up behind him and stolen his keys to EVERYTHING—the lion’s cage, the elephant’s cage, the giraffe enclosure, you name it. The gorilla proceeds to free himself from his cage, and then goes on to let all the other animals in the zoo out of their cages. This guy doesn’t even notice that there’s an elephant behind him. All these animals then follow the zookeeper to his house and they get straight into bed with him and his wife. Do you know what my wife would do and say if she found out that I was responsible for bringing zoo animals into our house and into our bed? I’ll give you a hint: it would not be “Oh!” followed by her getting up from sleep to take all the animals back to the zoo with a flashlight in her hand. Meanwhile, her stupid zookeeper husband just keeps sleeping in the bed! How is he not AT LEAST on the couch by now, if not thrown out onto the street by his wife who surely must've had enough of his incompetence and imbecility? But there he is snoozing away while the missus takes the animals back and puts each one into its cage. She's a keeper, Mr. Dumbfuck Zookeeper! But guess what? The gorilla just sneaks back in and gets into bed with them again anyway. This book should be called Goodnight Get Out And Stay The Fuck Out Gorilla and Stop Stealing My Keys.

Caillou

Finally, a sensible, reasonable, perfectly suitable children's book character and series for sensible, reasonable children and their parents. I love Caillou. This is by far the best children's book series and character ever created. I highly recommend it to all parents. Caillou is just a normal kid doing normal things, and doing them PROPERLY. No tantrums, no meltdowns, no fits. This kid goes to his mom's office and just smiles and says hi to everyone, listening to and obeying his mom every step of the way. He sits in his mom's chair and DOESN'T try to rain fists on his mom's keyboard while blowing a cyclone of raspberry-propelled spit at her computer screen until she has to pull him off screaming. When mommy has work to do she simply suggests that Caillou go and paint a picture, and PRESTO, Caillou just happily goes off and quietly draws a picture! Wow. This is exactly how kids should be. This is an ideal children's world. Caillou isn't red and fifteen kilometers tall, he isn't getting naked and being cooked in an oven by insane Oliver Hardy clones, his mom doesn't get murdered by a hunter, a bunch of animals don't escape their cages and sleep in his bed, he doesn't ever even come close to marrying his first cousin, there are no grotesque giant rabbit women haunting the corner of his room, nobody's trying to push green eggs and ham onto him, and he sure as shit isn't going around feeding corn cakes to grizzly bears in wild forests. Instead, Caillou just plays with his cat (which DOESN'T get knocked up by a lynx, by the way), he plays dress-up with his dad (and DOESN'T insist he go to school that way and throw a tantrum when his dad says no), he hears a funny noise at night (and DOESN'T jump out of bed and scream "QUIET DOWN THERE!" like a fucking brat). Whoever wrote Caillou has absolutely no imagination whatsoever, which is a very welcome relief. As you can tell, I cannot say enough good things about Caillou. Parents, get this for your kids, get the whole series, because Caillou is waaaay better than your own children. 

Holy shit, I made it to heaven!

Me: Wow, I can’t believe I’m in heaven! Hi, who are you?

God: God.

Me: Holy shit! I’m standing here talking to God! Sorry, I don’t know what else to say.

God: That’s fine, nobody does. What did you think of the trip over?

Me: Pretty awesome. I assumed that when I died I would just float up slowly while a choir sang to me from the clouds or something. I didn't think it would be...

God: A humongous water slide? I know. How fun was that?

Me: Super fun. So now that I'm here, what should I call you? God? Mr. God? Your Holiness? Captain Creation?

God: No need for any ostentatious titles. You can just call me Mighty Lord And Master Of The Universe.

Me: Oh, okay.

God: I’m kidding! Just call me Dave.

Me: You’re kidding again, right?

God: No, that time I was serious. I want you to call me Dave.

Me: Um, okay… Dave. No offense but I thought you’d look more like a, you know, Norse deity or something, big muscular body, white flowing hair, thick beard, a fierce admonishing scowl on your face. Instead you look more like a…

God: Skateboarder, I know. I love skateboarding. Anyway, come on in. You want a skateboard too?

Me: I don’t know how to skate.

God: You don’t have to know how in heaven, you just skate.

Me: Wow, like the Matrix? Okay here goes… you’re right, thanks, this is fun!

God: So how do you like heaven so far?

Me: Nice. Real nice. Um…

God: Yeah?

Me: Well… it smells of perfume. A lot of perfume.

God: Oh right, I can tone down the perfume and the air fresheners a bit, no problem. Anything else?

Me: Yeah, there sure are a lot of flowers… not to mention all the fountains and marble and rainbows and kittens and gold ornaments and velvet furniture and waaaay too many columns everywhere. Plus there's a lot of harp music in the background. Not that I’m complaining, but the whole place feels kinda like an Egyptian holiday resort.

God: Okay okay, I’ve been wanting to remodel for a while, everyone complains it's too kitsch. I spent a lot of time designing the water slide in, so now I can start focusing on some other stuff. 

Me: You should also probably cull some of those peacocks and swans. There's bird shit all over the place.

God: Duly noted.

Me: And that beach over there is just way too crowded with old people. Who are they?

God: Oh, those are all the Old Testament prophets. They are all like literally thousands of years old. That's their beach.

Me: Wait, am I the only one who's new here right now?

God: For today, yes. Not many souls make it up here, so congratulations.

Me: I don’t mean to cause offense or sound ungrateful or anything, but to be totally honest with you, I never really thought I’d be here. In fact, I never even really believed there was a here.

God: I know.

Me: To be totally honest, I never even believed in you.

God: I know, I know.

Me: …or even that there was such a thing as a soul, or angels or prophets or holy books and all that stuff. So I’m really really surprised I’m here.

God: I know all that. I know everything, seeing as I’m omniscient and all, if you don’t mind my pointing out the obvious. So don’t worry about it. Everyone is always surprised they’re here. In fact, that is the reason why you are here. Ooo half-pipe! Do it!

Me: I can’t do a half pipe.

God: Come on just do it.

Me: Really? Okay… WHOA! I CAN’T BELIEVE I JUST DID A HALF-PIPE IN HEAVEN! FUUUUUCK!

God: Gnarly!

Me: Awesome. Wow. Um, so what was I saying? Oh yeah, so I have no idea how I, of all people, ended up here. I mean, there are people who spend their whole lives prepping themselves for heaven, trying to avoid hell, following scriptures and whatnot, listening to preachers, trying to live by all those rules and laws in your holy books, fasting, praying, abstaining from fun stuff, not coveting oxen and the like…

God: I know. That’s how I weed out all the ones that I don’t want in heaven. Look, I’m God, and I get to choose who I want to spend eternity with over here. So I choose not to choose the ones who would go for all that stuff. Ollie!

Me: Whoa, cool ollie, I don’t think I can…

God: Do it, come on.

Me: I don’t… okay… here goes… WHOA! I CAN DO AN OLLIE!

God: Yeah you can!

Me: So you’re saying heaven is basically for… people who don’t believe in it?

God: Exactly. Heaven is for people who couldn’t give a fuck about it, or me, or any of that stuff. Last thing I want is a bunch of uptight self-righteous holier-than-thou religious nuts running around here being all preachy and annoying. They are no fun. I made the mistake of letting a few in once. Nightmare. See, when you’ve spent your whole life in the compulsive and selfish pursuit of saving your own soul for all of eternity, you don’t just finally let loose, ease up, and be cool once you find that you’ve succeeded and that you are in heaven. You continue being what you have always been and the only thing you know how to be: a prig. I’d be like, “Congratulations! You did it! Here, have a beer that never gets warm, smoke this foot-long spliff that never goes out, get completely naked, and let’s jump off that tire swing and into the heavenly waters until we’re giggling like little girls swimming with rainbow-colored unicorn dolphins and having sex with mermaids,” or whatever I decided to create that day in heaven, depending on how baked I am. But instead they’d be all offended and appalled, going “Oh no, I couldn’t. Naked? No thanks. Beer? No way...” HELLO!? You just wasted your whole life trying to beat death, avoid eternal damnation, and get into this place so you can have fun and be happy for eternity with nothing to worry about ever again, but now that you’re here you’re just going to keep being the same old enormous miserable buzzkill you’ve been all your life? Fuck that! That’s why I don’t let them in anymore.

Me: Fair enough.

God: I couldn’t even get them to believe I was God. They kept thinking I was Satan.

Me: Wait, how do I know you’re not Satan?

God: Do you like it here?

Me: Sure.

God: Then who gives a shit?

Me: Good point.

God: Triple sideflip coming up, here we go…

Me: No fucking way, I cannot… Wow! I just did a triple sideflip!

God: Up top, bra.

Me: Up top. Wait, so where do religious people go if they don’t go to heaven? Do they go to hell?

God: No, of course not. I’m not a total asshole. I just send them to limbo. It’s nice enough there, suits them fine, they don’t seem to know the difference. They all think it’s heaven anyway.

Me: Isn’t limbo just something made up by the Catholic Church?

God: Totally. But I really liked the idea, so I actually made a real limbo. Except it doesn’t just have, you know, Greek philosophers and stuff that Dante put in it, it also has all those religious people. Like I said, they don’t know the difference, so it’s all fine. The philosophers are a little pissed off, of course, and as you can imagine the quality of philosophical discussions in limbo have really deteriorated with all those religious people thrown in there, but the philosophers kind of just try and stick to themselves to avoid all the religious folks with their “If you found a watch lying on the ground would you think it just came about by mere chance?” arguments.

Me: So heaven is just for atheists?

God: No, not all atheists. I don’t let arrogant bible-bashing science-above-all windbags in here. They also all just go to limbo. Christopher Hitchens is there as we speak, arguing endlessly with religious people. There’s no way I’m putting up with all that arrogant drivel here.

Me: Oh. I guess you haven’t read my blog, then?

God: Your what?

Me: Nothing.

God: I’m not good with all that computery technology stuff. I'm more of a carve-commandments-on-stone-tablets-on-top-of-mountains kind of guy. Oh shit, here comes you-know-who. Just try not to pay attention.

Me: Who? Where? That guy on that beat-up old bike? The one with a can of beer in his hand and that half-burnt cigarette dangling out the side of his mouth, wearing that long white wine-stained robe?

God: Yeah, him. Just keep skating the other way.

Me: I think he saw us, he’s coming over.

God: Ugh. Here we go.

Guy On Bike: Good morning motherfuckers. Or good evening or good night, I don’t fucking know up here since we traded the sun for constant fluorescent heavenly light. What’s up?

God: Not much, just skating and showing the new guy around.

Guy On Bike: Cool. Aren’t you going to introduce us… dad?

Me: Wow, you’re…

Guy On Bike: Jesus Christ, yes. Let the trumpets sound, let the angels sing, it’s JC. I see you’ve met my loving father. What a nice guy, right? What a cool awesome nice guy.

God: Look, don’t start this again…

Jesus: Oh I’m sorry, start what? Complaining about how you had me tortured to death by a bunch of sadistic neanderthals wearing sandals and feather helmets? That little incident I can’t somehow just get over? Should we talk about skateboarding instead? Hm? How about the weather? Maybe we can talk about the weather? Here goes: the weather today is perfect, like every other fucking day in heaven. There, done. Oh hey, here’s a funny thing that happened to me the other day I GOT CRUCIFIED!

God: Just calm down.

Jesus: Oh, I’m calm. In fact I’d say I’m surprisingly calm for somebody who was nailed to a log and left to die an excruciating death on top of a fucking hill. I think you’d be hard put to find anyone calmer than me, considering the circumstances… which, by the way, also involved me getting a spear jabbed into my ribs and a vinegar-soaked sponge getting shoved into my mouth. I’m like the fucking Dalai Lama times six thousand right now in terms of calm, dad. You know how the Dalai Lama has had to endure exile from his homeland? Poor Dalai Lama. Well, I can relate to that kind of pain, because YOU HAD ME TURNED INTO LIVING VULTURE FEED!

God: Look, I told you already, it was all part of my plan. You were going to die for the sins of mankind and they were going to…

Jesus: They were going to what? Were they going to be like “Oh, wow, thanks Jesus, I can’t believe you had to go through all that shit for us, it must’ve really really sucked, the least we can do is consider you our lord and savior”? Is that what they were going to say? How many of them did say that?

God: I don’t know, like two billion…

Jesus: Wow, two billion. That’s, what? One third of everyone? One third. Thirty three percent. I bet ninety percent of that thirty three percent don’t even go to church. Nice. I wore a crown of thorns as I carried a cross on my own back up a hill while being whipped and mocked, then I got nailed to that cross and was left to die a slow, humiliating, and agonizing death while people laughed and tortured me. And that only rallied about thirty percent of people? Everyone else was like “Myeh, I don’t know.” Nice fucking plan, dad. What would I have had to do to get 50% on board? Be raped in the butt repeatedly by a pig while an eagle ate my eyes out of my face? What about 75%? Lord forbid what in your name I would’ve had to do to have 100% of all people finally go “Alright, Jesus, you are our lord and savior, now please just make it stop!” Seriously, what kind of sick perverted misconceived plan was all that a part of? And then you go on about how perfect you are. Um, sorry to break the news to you dad, but YOU ARE NOT PERFECT. There, I said it. GOD IS NOT PERFECT.

God: That makes no sense. If I wasn’t perfect I wouldn’t be God, would I?

Jesus: Maybe you’re a shitty God? Here’s a question, if you’re so perfect, how did the Holocaust happen? Was that just a little whoopsy daisy on your part? How did Captain Perfection create a world where that kind of shit happens?

God: I’m ignoring you now. Besides, you seem to forget that I suffered too because you are partly me, remember?

Jesus: Oh please. Seriously? Who buys that whole Father-Son-Holy Spirit trinity hocus pocus? I’m supposed to be part Holy Spirit? What is that even? Is that when you fart lavender-scented rainbows that turn into pink stardust-sprinkled unicorn eyes? Or is it basically just a precious term for your jizm? What the fuck is the Holy Spirit? 

God: Um, it’s… you know… one of the three things you and I are. It’s like, the spirit of me that travels through you into… um…

Jesus: See, you can’t explain it can you? Because it’s just a another stupid make-believe thing you stole from the Catholic Church. Am I right? 

God: No, not really. I would’ve thought of it anyway. I don’t take that much from the Catholic Church.

Jesus: Oh please, you barely have any original ideas anymore, you just steal everything from the Catholics. Purgatory, limbo, the Trinity, transubstantiation. It’s like they’ve brainwashed you. 

God: Well, they have a lot of good ideas.

Jesus: Really? Transubstantiation is a good idea? You put a wafer into someone’s mouth and that’s supposed to literally turn into my flesh? You think that’s a solid idea? Seriously, you’ve become a total Catholic and you don’t even know it.

God: Look just chill out, will you? Go have fun, ride your bike, take your mind off all that stuff. You’re in heaven now, just relax.

Jesus: Relax?! I have to go back down there at some point because you promised them I would return! “Second Coming”, you call it, remember? Thanks for that, by the way. How am I supposed to relax after what happened the first time around? How do you know it’s not going to be even worse? I was traumatized by all that, and now I can’t get it off my mind that I have to go back down there and relive all that shit at some point. Plus I bet you won’t even let me do the whole Second Coming gig in any place civilized like Canada or New Zealand or something. You’re probably going to make me pop up smack bang in the middle of that whole shit show they call the Middle East. Great. Looking forward to that one. I thought the Romans were a bunch of assholes, who will I have to deal with next time? Fucking ISIS? I’m just going to float down on a golden ray with a big song and dance routine singing “I’M BAAAAACK!” and they’re going to literally rip my limbs off and turn me inside out until I’m wearing my lungs as earrings. I’m going to wish I were crucified instead of whatever they’re going to put me through. Or what if I have to show up in Jerusalem between a bunch of Israeli Jews and Palestinian Muslims, none of whom give a shit about me, by the way?

God: Just… it’ll be fine. Probably. Relax. 

Jesus: By the way, when was the last time you called mom?

God: Mary? Um, I've been so busy, you know how it is.

Jesus: Really? You just knock her up with a big load of Holy Spirit and get a teenage virgin pregnant then walk away like nothing happened? You are such a deadbeat!

God: Alright look, I gotta go.

Jesus: Oh okay, bye dad! Have a great day! I’ll just stop being such an unreasonable little crybaby about everything! Have a great time riding your skateboard! Number One Dad Forever! 

God: Okay, he’s gone. Sorry about that.

Me: Boy, he seems pissed. He also seems very drunk. Should we help him get back up on his bike? That was a big spill he just took.

God: Eh, whatever. He’ll be fine. What’s he going to do, die? Empty pool coming up!

Me: Alright, this is going to be fun, here we go… whoa! I’m getting the hang of this skateboarding stuff.

God: Nice Frontside Air!

Me: Thanks! Hey, who’s that guy with the umbrella?

Noah: Oh hey guys! Great weather we’re having, am I right?

God: Oh, hi Noah, yeah, good weather yet again, just like every other day.

Noah: Yep. No rain! Not a drop! Certainly not forty days and forty nights worth! I hope that never happens again. Still, I always carry an umbrella juuuust in case.

Me [whispering to God]: Is he a little pissed about the whole flood thing?

God [whispering to Me]: Yeah, he's obsessed with the weather. I think he kind of lost it after the whole flood ordeal. In hindsight, I did put a lot on the poor guy's plate. He had to build the ark real quick, watch everyone around him drown to death, collect all those animals in the boat and then live with those creatures on a stormy sea for 40 days and nights. I think he had a breakdown and just never recovered.

Noah: Yep, not a drop of rain. Beautiful beautiful weather today. Boy, sure is good to be out and about on firm ground on a fine day like today. Say, have you ever had to sleep next to a seasick hippopotamus one night and then under an elephant with diarrhea the next?

Me: Um, can’t say I have, no.

Noah: I have! Boy. I have.

God: Anyway, nice seeing you again Noah…

Noah: Hey, have you ever had to fight cabin fever, scurvy, dehydration AND a Jaguar in very confined quarters from which the only escape was to throw yourself to the mercy of a planet-swallowing ocean that had engulfed whole mountains?

Me: No, no I didn’t.

Noah: I did. I did that. I totally had to do that. That happened to me. Hey, do you know what a boat full of baboons, pigs, otters, rhinos, and orangutans smells like after just two days, let alone forty? Can you even remotely imagine what that smell is like? Can you?

God: Okay, we really should be going now, catch you later…

Noah: Have you ever had to eat a unicorn out of boredom and hunger?

Me: What?

Noah: I have. I ate the unicorn. It was delicious. In fact it was so delicious I ate the other one as well. Boy, great weather we’re having, huh guys?

God: Yes, yes Noah, great weather. See you later buddy. Take it easy.

Me: Man, he did not look well. Does he even know he’s completely naked?

God: I just let him be. I feel kind of responsible for that. Oh here come the angels.

Gabriel: Hellooooo Senor Supremo! How are you today, mister hunky big guy!? Ooooh, who’s this scrumptious young man you’ve got here? Aren’t you going to introduce us?

Michael: Mmmhmmm, hunky and deliciouuuuuuus! Hello sailor!

Me: Hello.

Azrail: Gaby, Mikey and I are about to top off our tans and then maybe go for a little skinny dipping in the manna pool. Wanna join us, girls?

Me: Um, that’s okay.

God: Yeah, we’ll catch you guys later, gotta go.

Azrail: Suit yourselves, bye ladies!

Me: Wow, they were…

God: Yeah, I know…

Me: Super gay.

God: Very very gay, yes. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but yeah, way gay.

Me: What do they do, if you don't mind me asking?

God: Well, technically they're supposed to be answering people's prayers, but we're so backed up that they kind of just gave up. We just all kind of leave the prayers to chance now. It seems to work out fine. When what people pray for actually come true they think we answered their prayers, but when the prayers don't come true they don't seem to stop believing in us or blame us or anything either. They just keep praying. It's bizarre. So anyway, we realized it makes no difference whatsoever whether we answer their prayers or not. See that enormous mountain over there?

Me: Yeah.

God: Those are accumulated prayers over the last 10,000 years. It's all just piled up there in that giant heap, everything from "stop the rain!" to "make it rain again!" to "fix my knee!" or "help me score well in my math final!" or "help me find a husband!" or "please don't let the sabertooth tiger eat me!" or "have mercy on us!" and a whole lot of "help my team score!". Boy there's a lot of prayers about sports teams. Why do people assume I give a shit about their sports teams?

Me: That's a lot of unanswered prayers. Surely you guys could answer some of them?

God: The angels are all "Whateverrr!" so forget them. And me, well, I guess I could answer their prayers instead, but, you know...

Me: You'd rather be skateboarding?

God: Bingo.

Me: Hey, now that we’re alone, I always wanted to ask you a question, do you mind?

God: Oh I know what you're going to ask. It's what everyone asks. No, we're not in the Matrix.

Me: No, that's not what I was going to ask, although that's good to know. What I was going to ask was, what does it all mean?

God: Huh? What does what mean?

Me: You know, the big question, the answer to the ultimate mystery of existence. Life, the universe, everything. What does it all mean? What’s the meaning of life?

God: Oh, right, the meaning of… well… um… you know… just… uh… hmmm. Okay, here goes: believe in peace and brotherhood of man… um… love each other and… love will save the world… be respectful… cherish life… live everyday like it’s the last day of your…

Me: Oh my God, you have no idea, do you?

God: Um, no. Not a fucking clue.

Me: But you’re God! Surely if anyone knows, it should be you! You just made everything for no reason?

God: Well, no. Or yes. I don’t know. I just made it all because… you know… because… like, why do kids love Lego or train sets? That sort of thing I guess.

Me: So we’re basically your minifigs?! Is that what you’re saying? This is depressing.

God: I don’t know. What was I going to do, sit around and twiddle my fingers?

Me: Wow. So the meaning of life, the reason behind the mystery and wonder of all existence, the secret of the universe is, in God’s own words, “What was I going to do, sit around and twiddle my fingers?” That’s all you’ve got?!

God: Okay okay, I can do better. Here goes: Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.

Me: Oh my God, are you quoting Dr. Seuss?

God: Pffff, what? No.

Me: You are. I remember that line from my kid’s books.

God: No no no. Well, he may have written it first but I thought of the same idea, so it still counts as my idea. Also, never regret a day in your life because good days give you happiness and bad days give you experience, so…

Me: Is that a book of inspirational quotes in your pocket?

God: What? This? No, it’s…

Me: It is, isn’t it? Here let me see. Oh my God!

God: No wait, give it back! Give it back to me right now!

Me: You’ve got post-its and bookmarks all over it. Unbelievable. Here it is, here’s the exact quote you just gave me. Do you just memorize Hallmark cards?

God: Okay, look. I don’t fucking know what the meaning of life is, okay? Every fucking soul who comes here asks the same fucking question and I’m fucking sick of trying to answer it so I just have some go-to answers at the ready. Is that a sin? It’s not like they aren’t kinda true in a way, right?

Me: Oh please. We have all that meaningless pseudo-philosophical semi-religious new-age drivel down there precisely because we’re all clueless and need something to give us hope in the face of certain death and annihilation. One would assume that once they are dead and they see the light and go to heaven and meet God himself that they would finally be given the answer to whatever all this life business is all about. But instead I find out God is just a skateboarder who goes by the name of Dave and doesn’t know dick. Pathetic.

God: Okay, fuck it, you know what the meaning of life is? Here goes: Try and be nice to people, avoid eating fat, read a good book every now and then, get some walking in, try and live together in peace and harmony with people of all creeds and nations and…

Me: Now you’re just quoting Monty Python. Ugh, forget it.

God: Well, Monty Python were the closest anyone got, really.

Me: Whatever, I don’t care anymore.

God: You know, life is like a box of chocolates…

Me: Oh shut the fuck up.

God: You’re the one who started it! You’re all “Dear God, what’s the meaning of liiiiife!”

Me: My mistake, I’m never bringing it up again. Fucking hell.

God: Hey come on, forget about all that deep and meaningful shit.

Me: Yeah, but…

God: Come on. You know what would cheer you up?

Me: What?

God: A triple loop.

Me: No way. Seriously?

God: You can do it.

Me: Alright I guess. Sure. WHOOOOOAAAAAAA… WAHOOOOOOOOOO!

God: Fuck yeah. Feeling better now?

Me: Yeah, I guess.

God: Are you ticklish? Is someone a little ticklish?

Me: Stop. Stop that. Hehehee, stop! Hehe.. hohahee… don’t!

God: There’s that smile! Now come on, let’s go drop water-filled condoms on Mother Teresa’s head. She hates that!

Me: Okay!

(For Bill Rosenfeld and Tufan Tolga. Enjoy the skateboarding, guys.)