“Your world is in lousy shape,” God said to me last night.
I looked around hoping there was someone else he might be addressing. You can’t be too careful with the Lord. And you really don’t want to talk to Him when He’s in a lousy mood.
“You talkin’ to me?” I asked.
“Who else, putz,” He said, “and you do a lousy DeNiro.”
“Since when is it my world?” I countered. “I didn’t create it. Last time I looked, You did.”
“Nobody likes a wise guy,” He said. “My point is that everywhere I look, I get depressed.”
Who knew the Lord could get depressed? That’s kind of sad.
“Look at what they’re doing to those cute little bushmen in the Kalahari Desert,” He said. “I put them there for a reason. And remember that movie, “The Gods Must Be Crazy?” I laughed so hard, I almost choked. And now those Botswana goons are going into their villages, knocking over their water barrels to force them out into unlivable spaces. It’s a crime, I tell you.”
“Well, couldn’t You see it coming and do something?” I asked.
“Oy, ‘see it coming.’ I hate that phrase,” God said. “I used to be omniscient until that wise-ass Einstein and his relativity theory, Bohr and his quantum flux, and Heisenberg and his I don’t know anything principle.”
“Uncertainty Principle?” I suggested.
“Whatever. I used to know things for sure. Now I have to say, ‘there’s a 99.44% probability that killing is bad. How do you think that makes Me look?”
“Not good,” I admitted.
“And that stupid war in Iraq,” He went on. “12,000 Iraqis have been killed already, and for what? Those schmucks are even rewriting history about why you went to war there in the first place.”
“I wish you wouldn’t keep blaming all this on me,” I said.
“Stop whining,” He responded. “You’re the only one who listens. Where was I? Oh, the revisionists. It used to take 20, 30 years or more before people rewrote history. Now they’re saying you didn’t invade because of weapons of mass destruction after all–it was to rid the world of evil and spread democracy. Horse feathers.”
Whoa. I knew God was pissed. “Horse feathers” is about as bad a curse as He’ll use. He’s got to be pretty careful about cursing. One “damn you” and you’re in Hell forever, and even he can’t slip you a “Get Out of Hell Free” card.
“And while I’m at it,” He continued. “You’re all fat and growing fatter. It’s like watching a nation of walking balloons. Eat less. Walk a little. Get away from that stupid computer.”
“Is that it?” I asked, hoping the diatribe was at an end.
He thought for a moment.
“Well, I don’t like that guy in North Korea either, whatever his name is. Too short. I do like that Randy Newman song, ‘Short People.’ Get someone to put a big transmitter outside North Korea and blast that song at him 24 hours a day. Drive him crazy.”
The Lord was clearly on a roll.
“And I don’t like people who misquote the Bible,” He said.
“Who does that?” I asked.
“Everyone who doesn’t speak or read Aramaic,” He answered. And then He left.
And that’s the truth.