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Monday, May 24, 2004

God's Own Phone Booth

Everytime it's the same feeling. As I step into the phone booth I get the feeling that I'm stepping into the Dr Who Tardis, yet when I enter it looks more like an American phone booth from those 1950s movies, than a time travel machine. Sorely disappointed once again, I pick up the receiver to cut off the indignant ringing of the telephone.

"Hello," I mutter sulkily.

A voice booms back. "Not doing a very good job down there are you?"

Oh God, it's God and he's on the warpath again, I think to myself. "Well, they usually blame it on you," I reply, inwardly amazed at my courage. What the hell's wrong with you, a voice in my head scolds me.

"Big headed morons aren't they, thinking they're running about trying to fix my greater mistakes. Ants that's what they are. They're ants, all of them."

"Well, don't they get a point for effort?" I try to keep the whining in my voice to a minimum. From bitter past experience I know how he hates that. I wince as somewhere above me the thunder begins to roar.

"Effort?!" The thunder booms again. "Effort for what? You know I only made one mistake-?"

"Can you make mistakes?" I interject, thoroughly interested in this new idea. A humane - pardon me - human god.

"Oh spare me the religious blindness will you? I have enough of that crap with the angels up here. Yes sir, no sir, three bags bloody full sir," I hear a westerly wind blow across my face and can imagine the sigh that has escaped his godly lips. "Oh what I wouldn't do for some honesty!"

I can sense a trap. He is fishing for a compliment, I know, because want He really wants can easily be summed up in Madonna's rendition of "You Must Love Me". Yet, I don't reply and He continues. "What? Nothing to say? Damn, now I've forgotten what I was going to say..."

"You only ever made one mistake," I say hurriedly, trying to make this conversation as short as possible. Too many rules, I think, you made too many Goddamn rules, if you'll pardon the pun oh God, that was your mistake. Lay enough traps and sooner or later you're bound to fall in one.

"Ah yes, America." His voice became sad, so much so that I wonder if the thunder will clap once more to be followed by rain. "That was a major mistake."

I know better than to ask why. The reason for something, I had discovered was like bodily functions, it all came out in good time.

"So," I whisper, trying hard not to whimper, "what will it be this time?" I was still very upset. Was it my fault His creation was not to His liking? So why should I now fix it?

"Hmm, how about a nice World War again? Clear the world's sinuses. And we'd have a nice boxing match to watch? What do you say?"

"But all the people-" I begin my defence of a humanity on the edge, but the interruption is as swift and merciless as divine justice.

"Don't be such a baby Lucifer," He cries out, and the phone booth rattles. "You've always had too much of a soft spot for these humans. How can you like such an idiotic race?"

"You created them!" Don't whine, I say to myself, don't whine! I've never had a head for heights and I did not want to fall again!

"Well, idle hands make light work for the Devil," He laughs.

I, very wisely, do not laugh back.

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