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The instant messenger chimed just as God was about to solve three down in the Sunday crosswords. It was a hard one too. Thirteen letters. Rain is a type of this.

Ding ding.

Fifth letter was ‘I’. It was just on the tip of His tongue.

Ding ding.

God turned to face the monitor. As the avatar in the messenger box came into focus through His cataracts He sighed and rolled His eyes. Satan. Always goofing around. He was almost afraid to read what His best friend/nemesis had written. Half the time when He clicked on the window a pair of fake boobs would pop onto His screen. The other half Satan needed to borrow a few bucks to keep the lights on down below.

“You’ve got to see this!” Then there was a link. Followed by, “Seriously, check it out.”

Yup, tits, thought God. But He clicked on the link anyway but, instead of surgically implanted silicone and rock hard nipples, the screen was filled with a rainbow colored afro. “What in the hell?”

As if he had read the supreme being’s mind, Satan typed back, “Not hell. Pittsburg.”

God leaned forward in His office chair and rested His elbows on the desk. He watched as the video panned back to reveal a man with his face painted blue and a belly distended by too much beer and red meat. It panned back still more to show a crudely painted sign, also in rainbow letters. A simple sign, it read: John 3:16. That’s it. Nothing more. The Father in Heaven buried His head in His hands.

Below, Satan grabbed his belly, aching with laughter. “Oh man,” he cackled. “They sure make you look stupid!”

It was true. His followers had done some pretty embarrassing things in His name. Except, as He explained to His favorite frenemy, “That’s not even the worst of it.”

Precipitation. God spun around in His chair, back to the crossword puzzle, and wrote the word in the proper spaces. The messenger chimed again.

“Hey you had a good run,” the Devil empathized. “Anyways it’s probably just a fad.”

“Easy for you to say,” God typed back. While His followers were busy making asses of themselves, Satanists everywhere were fighting for inclusive religious policies and embarrassing Christians who refused to recognize that school prayers to Jesus and stone altars featuring the ten commandments on government property as the violations of the separation of church and state that they are. And of course it wasn’t just the Christians. Fundamentalist Islam had become quite the thorn in His side. For once He was glad that the world’s monotheistic religions still had not realized they were all worshipping the same god. Then there were the Mormons, who were blaming  Him for the weird magical underwear they force each other to wear. God, the Mormons. All He needed now was for the Jehovah Witnesses to start acting up.

God sighed and clicked on another video. The screen filled with angry people thumping protest signs as He typed back, “I should have listened to my parents and been a bodhisattva instead.”

With another ding the messenger pops up: “LMFAO! Right. Like you could handle NOT being the center of the universe . . . ”

God stared at the dismembered fetus on His screen and grimaced. He knew for a fact that it was computer generated and not the product of an abortion but it didn’t matter. Sick to His stomach He clicked on another video, this one with His name in the title. Before it began He started typing, “Can’t you get your guys to act out again for awhile? Maybe burn some virgins or something and give me a break?” He shouldn’t have to beg. The Devil definitely owed Him one. Or three. Or a hundred. Another iphone movie took over His screen. God watched as at least ten men beat one of His children to a bloody pulp. The video ended with the caption in red, “God hates fags.” Without waiting for a response, He sent another message, “The things they do in my name makes me sick.”

“Maybe it’s time to reign them in.”

God read the IM fast, too fast, and did a double take. He typed quickly and had to go back and correct more than one typo. “You mean like in Revelations? You can’t be serious!” But the more He thought about it the more convinced He became. It was time. Time to rain down fire and brimstone on all the humans who maimed and murdered and otherwise made assholes out of themselves for His benefit.

“What? No! Chill out dude. I just meant like a few really bad storms or tsunamis or something. Geez you and the . . . ”

But when God shut off His monitor and went back to His crossword puzzle He knew it was time. Five across.  Eleven words. Last letter ‘n’, first letter ‘t’.

Tribulation.

Then seven down. That was an easy one. He wrote His own name in the three spaces.

Eight across. Punishes. He knew it without even looking at the clue.

Then, the clincher. Nine across. A web site or app where users post videos that embarrass their maker.

God knew exactly what He had to do.

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