
Conversations with God #1 — OT Stylin
…Somewhere in the Hood of Ur.
HEATHRAHAM, I AM THE ONE TRUE GOD, THE ALPHA AND THE OMEGA, CREATOR OF ALL.
“Whoa! Hi God, I’m Heathraham.”
I KNOW.
“Right. Gotcha. Pleased to meet you, God.”
LIKEWISE… HEY, I DIG THOSE SANDALS… WHERE’D YOU BUY THEM?
“My wife made them, Lord.”
DO YOU THINK SHE CAN MAKE THEM IN A SIZE 34, EEEEEE?
“Well, Lord, she and I are divorced, but I can ask.”
RIGHT ON.
NOW… YOU MUST PERFORM A TASK FOR ME.
“Is this about the sandals or have we moved on from that?”
WHAT? OH… NO, THIS ISN’T ABOUT THE SANDALS… BUT I WOULD SERIOUSLY DIG A PAIR OF THOSE. REAL TALK.
“Right, okay, so… this task you mentioned?”
YES. I REQUIRE A SACRIFICE.
“Okay, well, what have you considered giving up, so far?”
NO, HEATHRAHAM, I REQUIRE A SACRIFICE FROM *YOU*
“But… I already gave up carbs, and it sucks. I’m dying for a baked potato! I even gave up smokes a while back. What else am I going to have to give up?”
YOUR SON, HEATHRAHAM. YOU MUST SACRIFICE HEASAAC.
“You want him? Fine, okay. Kid’s a menace, don’t do shit except spend my shekels and eyeball the sheep in a way that, frankly, has me a little concerned.”
I REQUIRE YOU TO KILL HIM AS A SACRIFICE.
“That… seems a little harsh. He’s not completely worthless.”
IT WILL BE A SIGN TO ME OF YOUR DEDICATION.
“I can’t just write something down and get it notarized?”
NOPE. KILL HIM.
“I’m going to have to pass.”
BUT… I’M GOD.
“And you are loud and scary, but I’m not killing my son. What would I tell the police? God made me do it? Plus, have you met my ex-wife? Are you going to explain it to her, cause there’s no way in hell I’m — ”
KILL HIM.
“Not gonna happen.”
SERIOUSLY, KILL HIM.
“I can’t, man, he’s my kid.”
YOU GAVE UP CARBS, YEAH? I BET YOU SURE MISS PANCAKES AND PASTA.
“Yeah… so?”
WHAT IF I GAVE YOU A GIANT BOWL OF SPAGHETTI AND MEATBALLS AND — GET THIS — NOT A SINGLE CARB.
“Dear Lord, can such a thing be?”
I’M GOD, REMEMBER? I INVENTED CARBS.
“…but why?”
I WAS BORED.
NOW, DO WE HAVE A COVENANT?
“Pinky swear?”
I’M NOT GOING TO DO THAT.
“Okay, okay, but you promise, right?”
I COVENANT WITH THEE, HEATHRAHAM. I WILL ALSO INCLUDE A PLATE OF GARLIC BREAD, NO CARBS.
“That little fucker is dead. I’ll be right back. Oh, any particular way you want it done? Stones, beheading, jawbone of an ass, perhaps?”
THAT’S ALL YOU, GANGSTA.
I don’t usually apologize for my tendencies towards the irreverent, but I do want to say here that this is not meant to, in any way, be insulting to my Christian or Jewish friends (or, not friends, for that matter). It’s nothing more than wacky thoughts that go through my brain written down. For the record, I happen to love and respect both Jewish and (real) Christian folks very much. Peace.

