So I Met God Last Night (a work of fiction)

I had just put on my favorite CD, Sounds That Whales Make While In Heat, which I do every night before I crawl into my rather comfortable, though empty bed. After standing for a few moments waiting to hear at least a few whales get off, I finally slipped beneath the covers of my bed, sent a wet kiss to my pep-pep who I’m pretty sure can’t stand me most of the time, and took a deep breath. It was during my deep breath that I heard a noise coming from outside my bedroom door. I looked over at my dresser where my eyes lingered on my record player (whale sex noises sound much better when being played on a record player. Seriously. Check it out. It’s hot.)

Seeing that everything with the horny whales was in order, my eyes glanced over to my door where I began to see smoke billowing through the small area where the door and floor meet. I immediately became concerned that the house was on fire and through on some clothes (I listen to whale sex noises nude, by the way) and opened the door to my bedroom. Upon opening the door the smoke completely enveloped me. I felt my body begin to lift from the ground. I imagine this is how it feels to be magician David Blaine when he decides to just levetate for fun. A quick side not, if I could levetate (or is it levitate?) I would probably fly above a fishing tournament and yell at the people fishing. I don’t know why I’d do this, but I would. I should probably be institutionalized.

So anyway, I’m in this smoke/mist stuff and I’m floating and the smoke/mist is taking me towards the stairs that lead to the downstairs of my house. Of course, being that smoke/mist can be a tool, it decided to drop me down the afformentioned stairs. As I was tumbling I suddenly wondered if I had left the oven on since I had been making some souflet (pretty sure I mispelled that) before I decided to call it a night. In the end it didn’t matter because before I could reach a conclusion my head smacked against the bottom step. It hurt. A lot. But the pain only lasted a little bit because I passed out soon after my head met step.

So you’re probably wondering when God comes into this story. Well, get ready, because here it goes. See, I kind of died upon impact. And death is an interesting feeling. It’s different for everyone. Good people go to a happy place where wonderful massages are given and fresh fruit is served. Bad people go a shady place where bad massages are given and the only form of refreshment they have is chips that are stale because they were left out over night. So where did I go? I went to this other place. The place I went to didn’t have massages or refreshments but there were plenty of cigarettes and a middle-aged black man who felt the need to criticize every little thing I did.

It took me a moment to realize that this middle-aged black man was in fact God. I could tell because he was wearing a 1986 New York Mets hat with the mets logo whited out and the word God sloppily written over it. Despite the haphazardly crafted hat, his shoes (wingtips) were immaculate.

When you meet God you really want to ask a lot of questions. Where did we come from? Why are we here? Is there really a heaven and hell? Which Ghostbusters movie was the best? Will robots eventually take over society? Does Bert and Ernie ever accept their homosexuality? Will I ever hit puberty?

Well, let me be the first to say that God is very patient and he allowed me to ask all these questions. And he gave me detailed answers. Some of them longwinded. Unfortunately he spoke in African Violet talk so the only person who might have gotten anything out of it would be Elizabeth. See, Elizabeth has African Violets. I would say she’s luckier than most.

So Elizabeth, if you ever find yourself being carried by a thick mist and tumbling down the stairs and meet a man wearing a raggedy Mets cap that says God on it, do your best to figure out what the fuck the guy is saying, because, honestly, I was at a loss.

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