From God’s office on 7/20/09:

(SCENE:  We see GOD sitting behind His desk in His office, scraping the cuticles off His fingernails.  Over His phone intercom we hear a female voice.)

 

VOICE:  St. Peter here to see you, Sir.

GOD:  Thanks, Ms. Magdalene.  Send him in.  (The door opens and ST. PETER enters.  GOD motions for him to have a seat in the leather chair in front of his desk.)

PETER:  How’s it going, Big Guy?

GOD:  Not bad, Pete.  Not bad.  How you doin’?

PETER:  Pretty good.  We’ve got a big day today!  Lots of incoming souls this morning.  We have dozens of orientation classes lined up for the afternoon.

(GOD stands and begins to pace.)

GOD:  Good to hear, Pete.  Good to hear.  Listen…I called you in here today to share some troubling news.

PETER:  What’s wrong?

GOD:  Well…thanks to you, PGI would never have gotten off the ground like it has.  Sure, we’ve had our ups and downs these past 8,000 quarters, but if it wasn’t for you, Pete, Pearly Gates Inc. would never be the success that it has been.

PETER:  Thanks, m’Lord.  Has it really been that long?  Jesus!

JESUS:  Yeah, Pete?

PETER:  Oh, hey, Jesus!  I didn’t see you standing there.

GOD:  I wanted my son here because…well, Pete…we’re making some changes with PGI.

PETER:  What do you mean?

JESUS:  We’re outsourcing the entire Soul Influx Dept., Pete.  You and your team are being let go.

PETER:  What? 

JESUS:  Things have been good, Pete, but with the economy the way it is, costs have been so high and the revenue has dropped these last two quarters.  We need to trim the fat, so to speak.  We’re outsourcing the SID to a company from Hell.

PETER:  Are you serious?

GOD:  Now now, Pete.  You’re still going to get your quarterly bonus.  Don’t you worry about that.  You earned it, my friend. 

PETER:  M’Lord!  Please don’t do this to me!  For 2,000 years I’ve been your right hand man at PGI!  It’s who I am!  It’s all I know!

GOD:  You can go to Hell.

PETER:  What?!

GOD:  Satan needs someone to run the Soul Influx Dept. for a few months while he looks to hire a fulltime replacement.  I’ve already spoken with him about lending you out as a contractor.

SATAN:  Three, four months tops.

PETER:  Oh, hey Satan.  Didn’t see you standing there.  My God this is a big office. 

SATAN:  I could really use your help.  Account Receivables is in shambles. 

PETER:  What’s the point in outsourcing the department to Hell if I’m going to run it for now anyway?

GOD:  You wouldn’t believe the cost of pensions!  It was ridiculous for Me to offer those never ending retirement plans hundreds of years ago.  Nobody dies twice!  We’re nearly bankrupt, Me dammit! 

PETER (to GOD):  Alright, alright.  Four months, tops, okay? 

GOD:  You got it.  I swear to myself.

JESUS:  I’ll help you pack, Pete.  (The two exit.)

SATAN:  I gotta roll, Big Guy.  I’ll expect you to cover Peter’s relo expenses?

GOD:  Yes, yes, of course.  We still on for poker this Friday?

SATAN:  Yeah.  My turn to host. 

GOD:  I’ll bring some beer and munchies…cause I know you’ve got dessert covered!  Ha ha ha!

SATAN:  “Devil’s Food Cake” still cracks you up after all this time, huh?

GOD:  That never gets old with Me.  Now begone!  Before I get all biblical on your ass or something.

From God’s recently finished basement in his 7,000 square foot home roughly 50,000 years B.C.:

(SCENE:  It’s Friday night.  Poker night.  We see GOD and some of his angel buds, LUCIFER, GABRIEL, MICHAEL and RAPHAEL, sitting around a poker table.  GOD is smoking a cigar.  LUCIFER has just dealt out a hand.) 

 

GOD:  Anything wild?

LUCIFER:  Two’s and one-eyed jacks.

GABRIEL:  Who didn’t pony up?  We’re missing a chip.

RAPHAEL:  I think that was me.  Sorry.

LUCIFER:  Michael starts the betting.

GOD:  You said two’s are wild?

LUCIFER:  Yeah.  And one-eyed jacks.

MICHAEL:  I’m good for 50.

GABRIEL:  I’ll see your 50 and raise you a quarter.

RAPHAEL:  I’m out.  Can’t bet shit if I’m dealt shit.

LUCIFER:  I’ll see your 75 and raise another 50.

RAPHAEL:  Luc’s betting with a devil-may-care attitude! 

MICHAEL:  Bet’s to you, m’Lord.

GOD:  I’ll see your $1.25, Luc, and raise you another dollar!

RAPHAEL:  He’s got something brewing!

MICHAEL:  I’m out.  Too rich for me.

GABRIEL:  I’m in.  And I’ll take two cards.  (LUCIFER takes GABRIEL’s two cards and slides him two new ones.)

LUCIFER:  I’m in and I’ll take one card.

GOD:  Two’s are wild, right?

LUCIFER:  Yes!

GOD:  I’ll take two cards.

RAPHAEL:  M’Lord starts the betting.

GOD:  I’m all in, you winged freaks.  $22.75!

GABRIEL:  I’m out.  Good luck, Luc!

LUCIFER:  I’ll see your $22.75, m’Lord. 

MICHAEL:  I love this!

RAPHAEL:  Thank goodness I folded!  What do you guys have?

GOD:  Read ‘em and weep!  Five of a kind!  Five 10’s!

GABRIEL:  Look at that!  Two ten’s, two two’s and a one-eyed jack!  Amazing!

(GOD begins to wrap his arms around his winnings.)

GOD:  And on the eighth day, God kicked everyone’s ass in poker!

LUCIFER:  Hold on a sec there, m’Lord.  Good hand, but not great! 

(He slowly places his cards on the table.  Not one, not two, not three, but four aces and a two!  The other angels hoop and holler.  GOD looks pissed.)

MICHAEL:  Whoa!  Five aces! 

LUCIFER:  Sorry, m’Lord.  Looks like my winnings.

(GOD stands.)

GOD:  You cheated.

LUCIFER:  Huh?

GOD:  You cheated, you snake!  You were dealt three aces, one two of diamonds and one six of clubs.  You got rid of the six.

LUCIFER:  Yeah.  And I got an ace!  And how would you know what…

GOD:  You got rid of the six of clubs and you got a nine of spades!

LUCIFER:  Did not!

GOD:  Did too!  Michael!  Gabriel!  Grab ‘im!

LUCIFER:  What?!

(MICHAEL and GABRIEL grab LUCIFER by the arms.)

GOD:  Raphael!  Search him!

RAPHAEL:  M’Lord…

GOD:  Search him!!!  (RAPHAEL searches LUCIFER’s pockets and comes up with nothing.)  Search the feathers of his wings.  (RAPHAEL does and pulls out a nine of spades.  The angels gasp.)

LUCIFER:  How did that get in there?!

GOD:  And look!  There’s an ace of hearts still in the deck!  It just happens to match the ace of hearts in Luc’s so-called winning hand!  He had an extra ace in his wings!  You lousy cheater!

LUCIFER:  Calling me a cheater?!  How did you know what I was dealt?!

GOD:  Are you calling Me…the Creator of the universe and the world below us…a cheater???

LUCIFER:  Yeah!  I am!

GOD:  No one calls Me a cheater and gets away with it!  I hereby banish you to Hell for all of eternity!  From this moment forward you will be known as Satan and you will no longer be invited to my poker nights!

LUCIFER:  But how did you know what I was dealt???

(GOD snaps his almighty fingers and LUCIFER vanishes.)

MICHAEL:  M’Lord!  Where did he go?

GOD:  Off to Hell.  For all of eternity.  I thought I just said that.  Your deal, Gabriel.

GABRIEL (clearly shaken):  Certainly, m’Lord. 

RAPHAEL:  M’Lord…one thing troubles me.  How did you know what Luc had in his hand?

GOD:  What?  One of you angels gets banished to Hell and now you’re all Law & Order-like on my ass?

MICHAEL:  All we’re saying is…

GOD (cups his hand behind his ear):  Did you hear that?  Anyone else hear that?  Sounds like our old friend Lucifer weeping and gnashing his teeth.  He sounds lonely.  Sounds like he’d like to have an ex-poker buddy join him…

…FOR ALL OF ETERNITY!!!

N N N N N N N

(The other angels are silent as GABRIEL deals with shaking hands.  GOD puffs angrily on his stogie.)

GOD:  Anything wild?

 

 

The following is yet another letter from Paul to the Corinthians, circa 46 A.D.  What occurred afterwards was deleted from the New Testament as early as 1200 A.D. but will be included in the upcoming edition of the St. James Bible which features bloopers, outtakes and practical jokes.

 

The Eighth Letter of St. Paul to the Corinthians

Dear Corinthians,

Hi.  It’s Paul again.  I’m not sure why you haven’t responded to my other seven letters.  I sent you those letters to proclaim the miracle of Facebook, the free-access social networking website.  I wrote you those previous letters describing my experiences with Facebook and you never responded.  The least you could have done was acknowledge those letters.  I spent quite a bit of time writing them to you…the Colossians…the Thessalonians.  You better write back.  At least be my friend on FB.

Yours Truly,

St. Paul

 

MRS. CORINTHIAN:  John!  It’s another letter from that guy St. Paul!  What are we going to do?

MR. CORINTHIAN:  I don’t know, Gladys.  I just don’t know.  He wants us to write back but there’s never a return address!

MRS. CORINTHIAN:  I’m scared, John!  I’m afraid to step outside!  I haven’t let the children out to play since the fifth letter!  What if…what if he’s out there?  Watching us like some maniac?

MR. CORINTHIAN:  Ignoring his letters isn’t doing the trick.  Look, we all need to relax.  Let’s go on the computer and check out Facebook.  I’ve ignored Paul’s request to be his friend so he can’t bother us there.

MRS. CORINTHIAN:  And this man calls himself a saint…

(Sounds of kids screaming.)

JANICE:  Mom!  Dad!  Julius and I were just on Facebook and that guy Paul sent us three quiz requests! 

MR. CORINTHIAN:  Impossible!  I’ve ignored his friend request!

JANICE:  Oops!  I accepted it, Dad.  I needed one more friend to hit 300.  Now I’m like totally popular…even though I haven’t seen any of those friends in months because all we do is sit at our computers…

JULIUS:  Dad!  He sent us the quiz request for “What B.C. Songs Describe Your Life?”

JANICE:  And “Who Were You in a Past Life?”

JULIUS:  And “What Characters From a Sophocles Play Best Describe You and Your Circle of Friends?”

MR. CORINTHIAN:  I have a one-question quiz for Paul:  “Who gives a shit?”

JANICE:  Looks like he just sent us a drink!

MR. CORINTHIAN:  What the hell does that mean?  Why would someone email a drink to someone else?

JULIUS:  And a request for us to take an I.Q. test!

JANICE:  Uh-oh.  He wants us to update our status.

JULIUS:  And he tagged us in a sculpture.  He also just sent us a virtual poke. 

MRS. CORINTHIAN:  What does that even mean?  None of this makes sense to me!

(MR. CORINTHIAN picks up their laptop and smashes it on the floor.)

MR. CORINTHIAN:  That settles it.  No more Paul and no more Facebook!

(The telephone rings.  JANICE picks it up.)

JANICE:  Hello?  Hello?  Dad?  There’s nothing but heavy breathing.

MR. CORINTHIAN:  Let me have it, dear.  Hello?  Hello?!  Is this Paul?  If so, stop sending us those letters!  And stop sending us that stupid shit on Facebook!  You’re making me regret ever signing up for it!  It’s supposed to be a work and social network; not a place for you to try to recapture your youth or to attempt to cure your loneliness by sending out mindless crap throughout the day, hoping for a response!  No one needs to know what you’re doing at all hours!  And if you send me one more virtual gift…!

PAUL:  You shouldn’t have smashed your laptop, John.  You should have responded to my letters.  You should have sent me back a drink or a poke or a virtual gift!  You should have taken the time to do one of those 37 quizzes I’ve sent you!  The Colossians obeyed.

MR. CORINTHIAN:  I know!  They’re my next door neighbors.  They weren’t ready to convert from MySpace yet!  It was too soon!  Now we haven’t seen them in months, thanks to you!!!

JULIUS:  Dad!  It’s the police on your cell phone!

MR. CORINTHIAN:  Wait a minute!  How did you know I smashed my laptop, Paul?  (He grabs the cell phone.)

POLICE:  Mr. Corinthian?  We traced the call!  Get your family out of the house!  The call is coming from upstairs!!  St. Paul is in your house!

MR. CORINTHIAN:  Oh…my…God…

(There is the sound of a bedroom door creaking open at the top of the stairs.)

POLICE:  Get out of the house, Mr. Corinthian!

(What follows on the police tape are screams and cries and then silence as the call was disconnected.  The police arrived at the Corinthian household minutes later to find the house in shambles but the Corinthians sitting at their kitchen table, apparently unharmed.)

POLICE:  Are you okay?

MR. CORINTHIAN:  Yes, Officer.  Paul didn’t harm us.

POLICE:  What happened?

MRS. CORINTHIAN:  My husband told him that we were no longer fans of Facebook and that we’re now signing on with Twitter.  We told Paul we’ve always wanted to be Tweeters.

MR. CORINTHIAN:  At the sound of Twitter he crumpled to the ground, screaming “Blasphemy!”  He then ran off to our neighbors across the street, the Thessalonians, claiming it’s not too late for them. 

POLICE:  Thanks.  We’ll get the bastard.  We’ll get him before this Facebook madness spreads.  People need to learn they have no right to clog up your computer with such senseless crap.  By the way, would you folks like to check out my blog?

(The Corinthian family screams as we cut to black.)

Excerpt from the recently discovered diary of Mary Magdalene:

 

June 6, 32 A.D.

What a day!  I was doing my morning errands in the fields when I heard a man call out to me, “Woman!  Who art thou amongst women to pick the fruit of thy fields?”  I turned my head to see a man in his early 30s standing in the road.  He was decent looking but could have used a shave and a haircut.  I immediately responded with, “What?”

 

“Who art thou amongst women to…”

 

“You a graduate of the Royal Shakespeare Academy?” I asked.  “Get real or get bent.”

 

Well, the young man decided to keep it real and introduced himself as Jesus of Nazareth.  I told him I was Mary Magdalene of 10^th & Arch.  He said he was the son of God and was going to die for our sins.  I told him I had just eaten some undercooked lamb and had a mild case of dyspepsia.  He said he wanted to introduce me to 12 of his buddies.  “Sorry, Jesus,” I said.  “I’m not that kind of girl.”

 

“What?” he said.  “Oh!  You thought that…!  Oh, stop!  Please!  I didn’t mean…”

 

I told him to shut up and kiss me.  We did kiss right there amongst the crops, but he was wearing braces and my bottom lip got caught.  “Sawwy,” I tried to apologize as I attempted to pull my lip back…but it was seriously snagged.

 

“Hold on,” said Jesus.  He took a wand out of his back pocket and said, “Alakazam!  Alakazip!  Separate my braces from this lip!”  There was a flash of light that seemed to emanate from his wand and it hit my bottom lip.  In seconds my lip was free!

 

“Wow!” I cried.  “You are indeed the son of God!”

 

“That was nothing,” said Jesus as he reached for my hair with his left hand.  Before I knew what was happening, he showed me his hand.  “Look what I pulled out of your ear,” he said.  It was a solid gold coin!  I clapped and squealed with joy.

 

“Do some more!” I cried.

 

Well, this Jesus of Nazareth performed a few more tricks for me and then he said he really had to join his 12 friends.  He wanted me to come along.  I told him to call me soon and maybe I could bring some of my girlfriends and maybe we could all wash one another’s feet or something with scented oils.  Jesus said it was a date and proceeded to walk backwards towards the road.  As he waved goodbye he fell on his ass which only made me find him more attractive.

 

As excited as I am by this new man, my day ended with Dr. Jacob down the street putting 12 stitches in my bottom lip!

(Scene:  God is sitting on the back deck, sipping his coffee and reading the Sunday paper.  His wife, Doris, walks outside.  She is dressed moderately along with an apron and half-moon eyeglasses.  She is holding a dustbuster.)

 

DORIS: And just what the hell do you think you’re doing?

GOD: Huh?  What?  And good morning to you, honey.  I’m reading the Sunday paper.  Do you mind?

DORIS: Do I mind?  I just cleaned up the kitchen after making your breakfast.  Of course I mind!

GOD: Listen, Doris, from the moment I created you I told you that on the 7^th day I rest.

DORIS: While I slave away, is that it?

GOD: Give it a rest, Doris.  I’m reading the paper over here.

DORIS: Have you mowed the lawn?  Have you fixed the leaky showerhead?  And you know I’ve been asking for new cabinet doors in the kitchen for a millennium now!  And you sit there on your almighty ass telling me to give it a rest!

GOD: Jesus Christ!

JESUS: Yeah, Dad?

GOD: Tell your mother here to get off my back!

JESUS: Technically speaking, she’s really my stepmother.  Mary’s my mom.

DORIS: Yeah, keep rubbing it in my face.

GOD: Tell Nurse Ratched here to back off!

DORIS: If you would simply knock a few items off the “Summer To Do List” I’ll shut my yap.  Until then, you’re going to hear it.  And don’t give me the ol’ “I’m Yahweh So It’s My Way” crap!

GOD: How many times have I told you we can’t simply order the cabinet doors you want?  Two of them need to be custom made, for Pete’s sake.

PETER: Don’t drag me into this!

JESUS: Hey, Pete!  Dad, we’re gonna pick up the other apostles and play some hoops.

DORIS: Don’t be home late!  And I don’t care if half the planet below thinks you’re the messiah!

JESUS: Sheesh!  2,000 years old and I still have a curfew!  (He and PETER exit.)

DORIS: None of the other gods’ wives put up with this.  You know how I’m in a bowling league with the other wives.  Zelda, Mohammed’s wife, just had their kitchen wall blown out.  You should see the new island in there!  And Allah’s wife, Irene!  Her husband just had a new deck and hot tub installed out their back!  Me?  I’m supposed to drop to my knees and pay homage for every new pot and pan I get!  I’m not even mentioned in the (CENSORED) Bible!  This is complete (CENSORED)!!!

GOD: LISTEN TO ME, DORIS!!!

DORIS: Don’t you use that thunderous voice and echo on me!  How dare you!

GOD: (Sigh!)  Sometimes I wonder if you were happier with Satan.

DORIS: Oh, don’t go bringing him up.  Living with him was hell.  (They laugh.)

GOD: C’mere, dollface.

DORIS: Sometimes you can be so frustrating!

GOD: C’mon.  Who’s your deity?

DORIS: Stop.

GOD: Who’s your deity?

DORIS (smiling): You are.

GOD: Now give me some sugar.  (They kiss.)  Now let me read my paper.

DORIS: Fine.  All I’m going to say is Wednesday.

GOD: Understood.

DORIS: What?

GOD: The new cabinet doors will be up by Wednesday.

DORIS: How did you know what…?

GOD: I’m God, remember?

(They begin to laugh.  Freeze scene and roll end credits.)

Passages from the Holy Bible that ended up on the cutting room floor:

 

A letter from the Corinthians to the Colossians

 

Dear Colossians,

 

How are you?  We Corinthians hope you’re all doing well.  Quick question: Is there some guy named Paul harassing you with a bunch of letters about some guy named Jesus?  We ask because he’s been sending us a letter every three or four days for the past year here and he’s driving us nuts!

 

If you know the whereabouts of this Paul fellow (very curious as to why he won’t reveal his last name or a return address) please let us know.  We’d like to report him to the postmaster general.

 

Thanks!

The Corinthians

Monkey Business

 

ADAM:  Hi honey!  I’m home!

EVE:  Uh, Adam!  You’re home early today!

ADAM:  Yeah, well, rough day in the office.  I was getting confused again.

EVE:  Why?

ADAM:  The tiger was lion to me.

EVE:  Why was he lyin’?

ADAM:  Probably because he’s really a cheetah.  No one likes a cheetah.

EVE:  Oh dear.

ADAM:  Yeah, the deer were messing with me as well.

EVE:  No, I mean ‘oh dear’.

ADAM:  Hey!  Who’s that in bed next to you?

EVE:  Uh, no one, honey.  Let’s go take a walk in the Garden.

ADAM:  Let me just pull the covers back and…Moogu?  Our neighbor…the ape?

MOOGU:  Hoo boy!

EVE:  Adam, it’s not how it looks!

ADAM:  And how do you think it looks?

EVE:  We were just…uh…talking.

ADAM:  Apes don’t talk!

MOOGU:  He’s right, you know.

EVE:  Oh, Adam!  Relax!  Here, eat this banana.

ADAM:  Nah, I think I’ll have this apple instead.

A Whale of a Story (from the journal of Jonah)

 

Fifth day here in the belly of this whale.  I’m so hungry I believe I’m beginning to hallucinate.  I began to hear voices last night.  I paddled my raft for a few minutes and came upon a medium-sized vessel!  And, I swear to the God of David this is true, on the stern of the ship was an old Italian man talking to a little wooden puppet boy!  And the wooden puppet was speaking as well!  And the two were arguing with a little green cricket that was dressed in a bug-sized Armani suit!  I swear I have GOT to get out of here!

 

 

Winey Water

 

And thus the apostles turned to Jesus and cried, “My Lord!  We do not have enough loaves of thy bread to eat, thy fish to fry and thouest wine to drink!  What shall be done?  What shall, we ask?”

 

“First off,” said Jesus, “you 12 are the whiniest bunch of apostles I have ever met.  Although the way you all speak in unison is pretty cool.  Second, since when did we all adopt the Shakespearean accent?  And who the hell chalked up the menu to this half-assed clambake?  Dry loaves of bread, decayed fish and hardly enough wine for this crowd!  C’mon!”

 

And so, Jesus snapped his fingers and the dozen or so loaves of bread and fish suddenly multiplied into thousands for the immense crowd to feast upon.  Jesus then touched a pitcher of water and lo the water was transformed into thousands of jugs of wine.

 

“A bloody miracle!” cried the apostles (in unison once again) who proceeded to down the wine as if their lives depended upon it.  Peter, however, suddenly spit out the fermented grape.  “What in the name of Zeus is this?” he cried.

 

“Huh?” said the Lord.

 

“What kind of wine is this?” Peter wailed.

 

“Shiraz,” replied Jesus.  “24 A.D.  Good crop that year.”

 

“Shiraz?” questioned Peter.  “You call that a miracle?  You couldn’t have turned the water into a Merlot or even a Cabernet?  A stinkin’ Shiraz?”

 

The other apostles began to mutter in agreement.  “You think maybe you coulda turned a few loaves of the bread into a couple New York strips?” Matthew asked.  “With some baked potatoes and sour cream?” asked Mark.  “And grilled mushrooms and onions?” added John.  “Why didn’t you tell me Darth Vader was my father?” asked Luke.

 

“You guys are driving me nuts,” said Jesus.  He snapped his fingers and the Shiraz turned into 20 quarter kegs of Schlitz.

 

“Okay, okay,” sighed Peter.  “I see I took this too far.  Sheesh!”

A letter from the Colossians to the Corinthians

 

Dear Corinthians,

 

We’re fine.  Thanks for asking.  Yeah, that guy Paul has been writing to us as well!  His letters are usually run-on sentences and filled with silly metaphors and non-sequitors, but we have invited him to come speak at our next Elks meeting.  He said he’d bring enough Shiraz for the entire town so we figured what the heck?

 

Yours truly,

 

The Colossians

August 3^rd, 657,130 B.C.

Adam and Eve are giving me one helluva headache!  The two are still bitching and moaning that I kicked them out of paradise.

            “I kicked you out?” I asked them this morning as they packed their belongings.  “Who got who kicked out?”

            Adam held his head low as he quickly pointed to Eve with his thumb.  Eve saw this and placed her hands on her hips in disgust.  “Sure, blame me!” she griped.  “Blame the stupid woman!”

            “Okay,” said Adam.  “It was the stupid woman.”

            “Knucklehead,” Eve muttered.  She turned to me and batted her eyelashes.  “Would you believe I was in some serious need of roughage, big guy?” she asked.  “I’ve been backed up the last few days.  Time of the month and all that.”

            “Listen,” pleaded Adam.  “Why don’t you toss her out and let me stay, God?  It was Eve’s idea to bite the friggin’ apple!”

            “But you bit it as well,” I reminded him.  “If Eve told you to jump off a bridge, would you do it?”

            “Bungee chord attached or a straight jump?” Adam asked as he picked his nose.

            That was when Eve went ballistic.  “I can’t believe I have to spend the rest of my life with this idiot!” she cried.  “I’m sorry for biting the forbidden fruit, God, but can I tell you why I did it?  Sheer boredom!  All this guy does all day is stand around playing with his groinal jewels!”  Adam blushed at this.  “I’m a woman!  I have wants and needs and this guy wasn’t providing me with diddly squat!”

            “What do you have to say for yourself, Adam?” I asked him.

            Adam thought for a few seconds then held out his blister-covered hands.  “Got any lotion I can borrow?”

 

February 17, 2004 A.D.

            Ha! Ha! Ha!  I’m just sitting up here laughing my ass off at those funny Americans.  They wanted to take me out of their classrooms back in the 1960s and they succeeded.  Last year they wanted to take “under God” out of their Pledge of Allegiance and they nearly succeeded.  Anything that has to do with me or my son and everyone acts like they’ve got a ten-foot broomstick wedged up their sphincters!  What an uptight race of people!

            Yet somehow, I always hear from those funny Americans anytime they want a promotion or a raise or to land that perfect date.  No one wants to talk to me in church anymore on Sundays but it sure is okay to talk to me before putting on the football helmet and taking to the field.  No one wants to talk about me in the classroom anymore but it’s amazing how many kids whisper to me before the teachers hand out the exams.

            But that’s okay.  I’ve had my revenge on those funny Americans.  It was I who only allowed those two halfwits, Bush and Gore, to run for president in 2000.  And since I haven’t seen any improvement in America’s behavior these past four years, I’m going to punish them again with this year’s choice of candidates.

            I can’t wait for the Bush-Kerry debates on TV.   Hell, all the other sitcoms stink these days!

From the journal of Abraham:

 

June 27^th, 456 B.C.

            Woke up.  Ate a very hearty breakfast to try to settle my uneasy stomach.  I knew it was not going to be an easy day.  My hands are trembling as I write this.

I was deep in thought as I beckoned my son, Isaac, to emerge from his bedroom.  I needed to speak with him immediately.

            “Whassup, Pops?” Isaac asked as he stretched.

            “Do not call me ‘Pops’,” I said.  “You will treat me with respect and call me ‘Father’ as do your brothers and sisters.”

            “Okay, Father,” said Isaac.  “What’s going on?  You seem deep in thought.”

            “Have a seat,” I said to my son.  “Isaac, you know how I’ve been speaking quite a bit with God lately, don’t you?”

            “Yeah, Father,” said Isaac.  “And I just want you to know that no matter what the neighbors are saying, I think you’re still sane.  Cause believe me…they’re saying a lot.”

            This was not going to be easy.  “Son, the Lord our God came to me in a dream in the middle of the night,” I said.  “He said He did not believe me when I said I loved Him.”

            Isaac reached for the fresh baked bread on the kitchen table.  “Yeah, I’m sure He came to you and I’m sure that was said,” he said.  “What did you tell Him?”

            “I said I did love Him and I said I would do anything to prove it,” I said.  “He said, ‘Anything?’ and I said, ‘Yeah, sure.  Anything.’  He said, ‘Anything anything?  Or just anything?’  And I said, ‘Anything times 3, my Lord.’  And He said, ‘Only 3?’  And I said…’”

            “I get the picture, Father,” said Isaac as he munched on his last meal.  “And…?”

            “And that was when God asked me to make the ultimate sacrifice,” I said.

            “He asked you to give up your women on the side?” Isaac said, much to my horror.  “Mom’ll be thrilled!”

            “No,” I said.  “Uh…he asked me to sacrifice you.”

            Isaac immediately went pale and dropped his bread on the floor.  “Say what?”

            “I am to take you immediately to the top of the mountain and sacrifice you to the Lord our God,” I said.  “There, I said it.  Now let’s go before we get all mushy and such.”

            Isaac stood and slowly backed away from the table.  “Whoa…sacrifice as in ‘sacrifice fly’ or as in ‘human sacrifice’?”

“The latter would be correct,” I said.

Isaac looked like he was going to be sick.  “Let’s talk about this, Pops.  God came to you and said you have to sacrifice me to prove that you love Him?”

            “Yeah.”

            “And that sounds okey-dokey by you?”

            “Yeah, sure.  Why not?  It’s God.  The guy created the world in six days.  Who am I to argue?”

            Isaac took a deep breath.  “Father, did it ever occur to you that maybe these strange voices you’re hearing could have something to do with your drinking problem?” he asked.  “Paranoid schizophrenia also runs in your family.  Look at Aunt Melba.  She spends all day talking to a crack in the sidewalk.”

            Isaac was as stubborn as his mother.  God couldn’t have me sacrifice her instead?  “Listen, Isaac,” I said.  “I have to bring some sheep to the marketplace in a few hours.  Let’s get this over with.”

            Isaac still wasn’t buying it.  “Why me?” he asked.  “What about all of my brothers and sisters?  Why didn’t God ask you to sacrifice one of them?  Or why wouldn’t He have you sacrifice yourself for cryin’ out loud?”

            I shrugged.  “You’re asking me?  I can’t even tell you who God had Cain marry and you’re asking me this?  I have to get to the marketplace.  Let’s go!”

            Isaac shrugged.  “Well, if it’s meant to be,” he sighed.  “I don’t want to hold things up.  If I’m to be sacrificed, I’m to be sacrificed.”

            “Hurry up…you’re like a snail in molasses.”

            I was filled with much sorrow as I took Isaac to the top of the mountain and laid him down on a large, flat rock.  “Father,” he said.  “Will you do me a favor?”

            “Sure, son,” I said.  “What is it?”

            “Take care of Silver for me when I’m gone.”

            “Who’s Silver?”

            “My goldfish.”

            “Oh.”

            “Do you think God would like him sacrificed right along with me?” Isaac asked.

            “Don’t think so,” I said.  “He only mentioned you.”  I pulled my dagger out of my belt. 

            “Father?”

            “Yes, son?”

            “Will you do me another favor?”

            “Yeah, sure.  Why not?”

            “Don’t stab me in the chest.”

            “Why not?”

            “It would just break my heart.”

            Well, at that we both broke out in laughter.  Tears trickled from my eyes as we both just laughed and laughed.  God Himself suddenly appeared from behind a tree and said, “Abraham!”

            “My Lord!” I cried.  I dropped to my knees.

            “Abraham,” said God as he let out quick bursts of laughter.  “Your son is a friggin’ riot, I gotta tell ya.  I haven’t laughed this hard since I slapped Job around, the bastard.”

            I smiled.  “Does this mean I don’t have to sacrifice my boy?”

            God wiped away a tear.  “Nah,” He said.  “What the hell?  I guess you love Me.  Lemme buy you guys a beer and I’ll tell you all about My next little scheme.”

            Well, the three of us sat there at the Passover ‘n’ Out, slugging down some brewskies.  Isaac asked God who the hell Cain married since Adam and Eve only begat the 2 boys.  “Probably some bitch Satan created,” He said, and we all laughed as we downed our Irish car bombs.

God then told me all about his new project.  He asked if I would like to be the Project Manager.  I kindly declined, wrapped my arm around Isaac and headed home.

            Hell, I know nothing about building arks…

 

 

From the diary of Moses

 

June 17^th, 1,423 B.C.

 

            What a day!  Been roaming around the desert now for 33 years and STILL not one man wants to stop and ask for directions!  Stubborn group, these Israelites! 

I keep turning my staff into a snake and they think it’s black magic.  Yeah, I said, let’s see David Copperfield turn the Nile into a river of blood or part the Red Sea or have flames shoot out from falling hail in Egypt.  Some kid requested that I have flames shoot out my ass.  I asked him, “If I do that, will you believe that it is God’s will to have flames shoot out of my ass and not mine?” 

He said, “If you can turn your ass into a blowtorch, I’ll believe anything you want.”

            So I’m rolling a blunt, staring at the desert, wondering if this is how Peter O’Toole felt, when my brother Aaron comes up to me.  “The Jews have created a pagan God,” he tells me.  “They melted all of their gold and formed it into a big do-hickey of some kind and now they’re going to worship it.”

            “You have got to be f&*#ing kidding me, my brother?” I responded.  I was having a bad day.  3^rd degree burns on my hand from that friggin’ bush.

            “I am not f&*#ing kidding with you, brother,” Aaron said.

            “Why would they create a pagan God?” I asked.  “Are my people despondent?  Do they not remember how I led them out of Egypt?”

            “Yeah,” said Aaron, “but that was 33 years ago.  Back then you told us it would take us a month, maybe two, to get to Israel.  Three decades can certainly lead to despondency.”

            “I knew we should have taken a left at Albuquerque,” I said. 

            Why did I leave Egypt?  I was next in line to the throne!  I had a piece of ass of a princess waiting for me in the wings and I even looked like Charlton Heston when he could pass for good looking!  No one took my brother Yul Brynner seriously.  A ponytail on the side of his head.  He was never the trendsetter, I gotta tell ya. 

Now look at me!  I’m dragging thousands of people through the sand, not even sure of where the hell we’re going.  I don’t even like sand.  I was always more of a mountains guy than the shore anyway.  I’m even married to Yvonne DeCarlo.  Granted, she looks better than her Munsters days…

And those Commandments!  Thank God there are only ten of them!  Any more and I’d be living with my chiropractor, lugging those #&*!@*! tablets around!  Sheesh!

God had no problem getting us out of Pharaoh’s land…now He seems to have forgotten us when we need Him most.  Where are you, m’Lord???

Note to self: remember to cancel Bingo Night if the Israelites are going to worship their pagan God instead of the real God for cryin’ out loud.  That’ll show ‘em!

 

From God’s Journal

June 17^th, 1,423 B.C.

            Woke up.  Ate a balanced breakfast.  It is the most important meal of the day, you know.  I’m thinking of creating another world on some other planet.  Humans on Earth are beginning to bore the hell outta me.  They’re not very funny.  No sense of comic timing.  They’re too serious for me.

            Oversaw 24,765 new souls into Heaven…1,643 souls are making their way into Satan’s fun factory.  I am troubled this day.  For roughly 33 years I’ve had this nagging feeling that I’m forgetting something.  Not sure what it is.  It’ll come to me.

 

            God’s personal journal was discovered on August 6, 2002, by two little girls while strolling through Launfal Park in Fruitdish, Tennessee.  Local religious leaders believe the Almighty must have dropped it.  “We believe God must have dropped it or something,” said Reverend Herman Barnes of St. Mary’s Baptist Church.  How did the journal remain intact after the fall?  “The journal has very strong binding,” Reverend Barnes stated.

 

July 8^th, 5,687,422 B.C.

            Woke up.  Made the coffee too weak.  Created light (which has made it easier to see what the hell I’m writing.)  Had fun creating the world in only six days.  It’s amazing what you can do when you don’t have to wait for a building permit.  I’m resting today.  Thinking about creating Man.  Either that or putting on an addition. I mean, I’ve got nothing else to do with my time.  Not sure if I want it enclosed.  Thinking of creating a contractor to give me a free estimate and would be available to do the job within six weeks.

 

October 12^th, 5,687,420 B.C.

Satan is still bugging the hell outta me.  He’s very sarcastic.  His left eye is weird, too.  Like, I’ll be talking to him and his right eye is looking right at me, but his left eye is looking at my ass or something.  Ate dinner alone.  How many times can I burn pork chops?  I need a maid, too.  Heaven is such a mess, I swear to myself.

 

March 3^rd, 657,131 B.C.

            Well, I did it.  I created Man.  I’ve decided to name him Adam.  He’s a pretty funny guy.  The other day, we’re walking in this Garden of Eden I created for him, and he says to me, “God, I need to ask a favor.” I said, “What is it, my son?”  He said, “I need you to create something for me.”  I smirked.  “Are you lonely, Adam?” I asked.  “Do you want me to create a Woman for you?”  “Huh?” replied Adam.  “What is a Woman?”  He grabbed his jewels with his left hand and said, “I want you to create a bigger thing-a-ma-jigger for me.  The monkeys are saying I must be Irish or something.”

            I did not do as Adam asked, but instead rendered him unconscious with a snap of my fingers.  I then took a rib out of his body, and with one breath I formed the first Woman around Adam’s rib.  When Adam awoke, he saw this Woman and proclaimed, “Hallelujah!  Someone to cook and clean!”  He suddenly developed a beer gut, his hairline receded three inches, he planted his bulging ass in a leather couch, grabbed a remote control and aimed it at a tree.

            “What the hell is that?” asked the Woman.

            “Man,” I replied.  “His name is Adam.”

            “Make me a sandwich while yer up, honey,” said Adam as he stared at the tree.    

            The Woman looked at me desperately.  “I’d rather be a rib than drag his ass all over creation.”

            I laughed.  These two were quite the couple.  Adam named her Eve which was short for “Everything Out Of Your Mouth Is a Bitch and Moan.” 

            Eve nicknamed Adam “Irish.”  The monkeys liked that one.