My Writing
Exclusive Interview With God
Being one of the new guys at the prestigious TNR, I knew that my first article had to be golden. So, after grueling negotiations with His agent, I had the opportunity to have a luncheon with God this past week. I finally had the chance to ask Him some of the questions that have been bugging me over the past few years.
“It’s not that I hate you, per-se,” He said as He poured me a glass of water and Himself a glass of wine, as I am yet too young to drink. “I just like to fuck around with you a bit.”
“Why? To make me a better, stronger person?” I asked.
“No,” He laughed, “because it was fucking hilarious! You should have seen your face sometimes! Priceless, I tell you.”
“That’s not very nice, is it?” My eyes started to well up with tears.
“Oh, stop being such a pansy and suck it up! It was all in good fun.”
“But God,” I said to God, “where were you all those times when I really needed you?”
“Do you remember that day when you were walking on the beach?” He asked.
“I think so…”
“The day your girlfriend left you for another woman and your father was diagnosed with testicular cancer…”
“Yes—”
“…and you got a flat tire on the way to the hospital to see him while it was raining and that eighteen wheeler came by and splashed mud all over—”
“Are you finished?”
“Oh, yes,” He said, “Do you remember that day, after you were in the hospital, when you were walking on the beach? I was there with you then.”
“But God, I only saw one set of footprints in the sand.”
“Well,” He replied as He smiled and put a hand on my shoulder, “that’s because I was riding on your back.”
“You know, I thought I felt a little bloated that day.”
“Yes, well, I had a few extra sausages that morning for breakfast,” God said as He laughed heartily and patted His stomach. “Bless that Sarai, how she can cook!”
“Don’t you mean ‘Mary’?”
“That’s what I said… ‘Bless that Mary—’”
“No, you definitely—”
“So,” He interrupted me before I could finish my sentence, “want to have a little fun?”
“Erm, sure…What do you have in mind?”
We then proceeded to steal Jesus’s sandals while he was sleeping and hid them on Golgotha.
(Oh, and for those of you who are Theologically impaired, Golgotha translates into “Place of the Skull”. Sounds pretty scary, huh? I think a little bit of pee leaked out just thinking about it.)
God, I just want to say that you are awesome… you Punk’d your own son and stood back laughing while he called Mary on his cell phone and cried like Justin that his feet were cold. How your feet could be any warmer in sandals in the first place, I don’t know, but he was crying all the same.
“That kid,” God laughed, “such a mama’s boy.”
So ended my interview with God and He slipped me a twenty as I was leaving, asking if I could kindly omit the comment about Sarai, because it was just a slip of the tongue. As I took the bill, I crossed my fingers behind my back and reassured Him that I wouldn’t think of it. So being my first article for TNR, I expect that this may very well be my last as well, since I went ahead and mentioned Sarai anyway (I knew that the NU students would appreciate the additional information and a good journalist never leaves anything out), and I will probably be struck down the day this issue is published and distributed to the masses.