God sat in front of his laptop computer staring intently at a color monitor that displayed a detailed view of the western hemisphere. His gnarled, left-hand fingers rested lightly on a golden keyboard. With his right hand, he pointed an elegant, sterling silver mouse at the Midwest United States and double-clicked.
A massive tornado appeared on the screen, destroying the entire state of Oklahoma.
“What the He… Heaven?” he exclaimed. “Uhhh. Right-click? Left-click? Insert? Delete? I wanted a
little rain shower, not a tornado!”
An angel looked over God’s shoulder, a horrified
expression on his face.
“Yesterday I accidentally smacked Malaysia with three monsoons in a row,” continued God. “Wonder what’ll happen if I try this?”
He double-clicked the ornate mouse on Cuba. A gust of wind appeared to engulf the entire country, pushing it toward Jamaica.
The angel dove forward and arrested the mouse from God’s hand.
“Oh my God, God! I mean, geez, God. What are you doing? Hasn’t there been enough devastation in the world? Hurricanes, earthquake in Japan, landslides, wars, famine, suicide bombers, innocent victims, untimely deaths…”
God grabbed the mouse back from the angel.
“You’re new here, fellow, aren’t you?” said God. “This is God you’re talking to, remember? The ‘God is Good’ Guy. God the All-wise, All-knowing, All-Merciful One.”
“I’m sorry, God but it looks like you just…”
“You don’t seriously think it’s ME causing this chaos, do you?” said God. “Humans have been warned for donkey years that pollution equals global warming. They’ve been told that the result will be more violent storms and floods, and that if the glaciers that feed the rivers start to melt, the rivers won’t be able to support irrigation. Irrigation means food, and…”
“But, God, you were just…”
“Let me finish my tirade, please.”
“They fight each other over land, over religion. My hands are tied. Sometimes I regret initiating that whole Free Will theory, but what’s done is done. And testosterone –- that’s part of it, too, I guess, but even women are participating in the violence. And how about some of these new fads like mutational tongue splicing? Give me a break.”
“But Your Holiness, Sir,” said the angel, as tactfully as possible. “If you’re not causing all the hurricanes and earthquakes, what’s with all this zapping today?”
“Are you familiar with something called ‘Battle.game’?” asked God. “Another big fad. Over eight million people a day playing a computer game called Diablo II. Can
you believe it? The Devil! Cows walking on two legs and kids pretending they’re necromancers and sorcerers.”
“I think I’ve heard of it,” said the angel.
“One of my tech support angels invented this alternative destruction program for me so I can understand the whole computer gaming allure. He calls it Dios II. My Password is ‘Holy Father’.”
“Frankly,” God continued, sotto voce. “I prefer The Sims -– heavy on the
creation, not destruction.”
“Glad to hear it,” said the Angel, with a sigh of relief.
God leaned back in his ergonomically-designed leather chair and folded his
arms across his chest.
“Sometimes,” God said, “I long for the Good Ol’ Days. I had such fun forming the Great Lakes into a giant Palm Tree, making Italy look like a boot. Stuff like that. And I had such a ‘grand” time creating the Grand Canyon.”
The angel smiled.
“Kids especially weren’t so jaded then,” said God. “It was easy to amuse them with simple tales of mermaids, the Loch Ness monster, Big Foot, crop circles, dragons. Even hammerhead sharks were a hoot.”
The Angel glanced at his watch. It was time for his shift to end.
“Do you need anything else before I go, God?”
“No. But thanks for listening to an old man’s grumbles.”
He glanced at the angel’s nametag.
“Here… err, Robert,” he said, putting a slice of gum into his mouth. “Care for a piece?”
The angel scrutinized the packet label before handing it back.
“No thanks. The gum has two grams of carbs a piece. I’ve introduced a diet program to the team up here and we’re still in the induction phase.”
God looked closely at the angel. “What did you say your last name was?”
“Atkins, Sir. It’s Robert Atkins, M.D.”
God sighed and turned back to his computer.
“Like I said,” he mumbled to himself. “Always some new fad.”