“my son, welcome.” “wait. where am I?” “you’re dead.” “and you’re god?” “yes.” “really?” “yes” “really?!” “yes! I’m god.” “but you’re wearing the robes and everything. don’t you think that’s a little hacky?” “no. It’s what i’ve always worn.” “so, you’re really a dude who lives on a cloud …in robes …with a long beard?” “you’re looking at it.” “why am I here?” “well, everyone gets to meet me before they go down to hell.” “i’m going to hell?” “yeah. almost everyone does.” “why?” “because you’re an asshole.” “why am i an asshole?” “you didn’t believe in me.” “but i was nice to people. doesn’t that count?” “no. you had to be nice and believe in me.” “but you made yourself seem pretty unlikely.” “yeah, that’s the ass-kicker. pretty wild, right?” “i guess. i mean it’s just hard to believe you were sitting up here the whole time not doing anything …you’re real? this isn’t a dream?” “totally not a dream. you’re talking to god.” “damnit. i feel like if this was a dream it would be a nightmare.” “are you saying i’m ugly?” “no. no, i was just hoping if there was a god that there would be a better explanation for everything. not just a needy, vengeful dude who sits in the sky, swarms people with locusts, tells them to kill their kids…” “have you ever tasted power? it’s amazing.” “and you just let children die all the time?” “as long as they’re praying to me while they’re dying, they get to come hang out.” “and what?” “eh, we play harps. the occasional flag football game. it’s pretty sick.” “are they fun? your followers – do you enjoy them?” “oh god no. they’re the pits. but i can’t change the rules now.” “that almost makes this all seem ok. that you’re stuck around babies and assholes all the time.” “well, enjoy hell.” “you too.”

look at this dude. this is the guy that slapped another woman’s child in an atlanta walmart. he walked up to her while the child was crying and said, “if you don’t shut that kid up, then i will.” then a couple minutes later, he did. i don’t know why she didn’t believe him. look at this guy. if ever there was a person born to slap children, this is the guy. i wonder if for a brief moment when he re-approached and kneeled down in front of the child, if the woman was kind of thinking, “well, maybe this guy knows some old fashioned tricks that i’m unaware of …he is old.” and then that brief glimmer of hope was crushed as a rapid succession of slaps to the face of her child happened right in front of her. after which he said, “see. i told you.” that sounds horrible, but how loud was this child? i’ve been in public places filled with screeching kids where i couldn’t wait for a mysterious stranger to show up and start slapping the place quiet. the slapper should be a folk-legend. if kids grew up with that sort of fear, maybe they would cry in public less. “sweety, i realize you want that candy, but if you keep screaming and crying – you know who’s going to show up…”

…found jani tapping her fingers. not because she wanted to, or was nervous. she simply thought it might make her look more interesting. toddi looked across the table with cheeks puffed (she always looked ridiculous when she smoked. the act made jani think of a child trying to hold their breath and then failing terribly) and dramatically released the smoke like miners fleeing a cave-in. “well, it’s easy for you to do. your boobs are all like similar and what not.” jani tried not to look at toddi’s oddly mis-shaped left breast. righty was proudly displayed and somewhat pushed up to accent the volume. she never accounted for the difference in size, and lefty was left to roam around the bra like a field mouse on the prairie. jani masked her laughter by pretending to pretentiously respond. “it has nothing to do with boob size. you’re just going to the wrong spots.” more miners fleeing. “like where? i go to the bar. mitchy bingum told me my legs look like giraffes trying to kiss.” the laughter was harder to mask. jani pretended to sneeze. “well, he’s a drunk idiot. that’s what you find at the bar.” “i go to the post office. i go to the gym. no one even looks at me.” toddi took a long drag from her cigarette. her eyebrows furrowed, trying to meet at her nostrils. “you need to go to the grocery store.” the cheeks made jani think of the skin on a frog’s neck. “i go all the time. the check out girl always says she can’t believe i’m not even fatter. men don’t want to talk to a gal with itch cream and a limp.” “no. they don’t. but you can trick them into talking to you while you’re standing …and you can buy itch cream online.” toddi mashed the cigarette with unnecessary force. “…how?” jani took her hand. “just wait in line with like a cucumber and some wine. someone will say something”…