God

Note to my readers: I hemmed and hawed about making this note, because I feel that I shouldn't have to point it out, but I know that some of us are more sensitive than others and may be easily offended. So, before you read this, know that it is entirely farcical and has nothing to do with my personal religious beliefs. It's creative writing! Okay, now go ahead and read. Hope you enjoy it!

God

He has been called so many things. God, Allah, Christ, The Messiah, The Big Man Upstairs. But who is God really? Is he a hard-working man, up at 6 am every morning, ready to toil over mundane human troubles – droughts, wars, sickness? Does he iron his own pants or does he have Peter do it for him? Maybe he doesn’t even wear pants – maybe he lounges around in cloud-printed pajamas all day, chomping on popcorn soaked in butter as he watches his latest manifestation – a magnitude 6 earthquake. This time it’s in San Francisco and as the Golden Gate bridge collapses he elbows Peter exclaiming, “Dude, did you see that?!” which makes Peter spill beer on his lap and reply, “Jesus, Christ!” To which God replies, “Chill out, Pete!” and wipes his greasy fingers on a white silk towel that appears out of thin air.

Actually, God is probably more of a diva. I bet he wears red lipstick and Gucci and has a down-right tantrum if he misses an episode of Sex and The City. He spends his time organizing dinner parties and carefully selecting the next celebrity to join the “Forever 27” club as the guest of honor. Perhaps Kate Bosworth? The menu consists of the finest caviar, succulent lobster, the most tender lamb, and juiciest duck. Yet the driest bread and woodiest wine are served with every course. When asked why, God responds with a confident smile, “Because no matter what you eat at your next meal, you’ll remember me.”

Then again, it’s possible that God actually is a woman. A woman named Tina who tried to reveal her true identity on Oprah but was topped by a seven-year old who could juggle knives while reciting the names of all 50 states in alphabetical order. Maybe if she went on a reality show like Survivor, people would recognize her and make her famous again. She would turn her tribe’s rice into heaps of mac-n-cheese and her rival’s into writhing maggots.

Or, maybe God is just a brittle old man whose tired of hearing the same prayers over and over again - “make me rich, make him love me, show me a sign.” He sits in a rocking chair, but doesn’t rock. His eyes are yellowed and milky. He smells of stale urine and his mouth is full of cobwebs. He stares silently ahead, watching, waiting, and hoping that there really is a God.