I had just finished reviewing reports of this incident on the Internet when God appeared to me. While the Creator had appeared to me previously in person, nowadays we Skype. It’s more convenient for both of us—He doesn’t have to transmogrify into human form, and I can tilt the laptop so He doesn’t see the empty liquor bottles and pizza boxes on my kitchen table.
As soon as my screen lit up, I knew He had another vital message for humanity, and, sure enough, the Alpha and Omega got right to the point. “Tell Pompeo the Rapture ain’t happening until he loses some weight.”
“My Lord! Pompeo is the Secretary of State. I’m certain he won’t appreciate being body-shamed by me.”
“Billy Barr, too. That pint of pistachio ice cream he eats every night before bed is slowing down the Final Judgement.”
“But you are all-powerful, oh God. No matter how obese Your believers get, You’re able to slurp them up into Heaven, right?”
“It’s a problem for Us up Here—American evangelicals are getting fatter faster than we can rebuild the divine Hoover to suck their souls into Heaven. Bake sales, fast food, deep-fried butter—these are just some of the things that are postponing the End Times. Plus, the usual procrastination by My Son. And the Holy Ghost is never any help. He’s actually opposed to the Apocalypse entirely now, ever since He got hooked on playing fantasy football with the Apostles. Only I’m really on board with getting it all over with.
“Never anticipated this problem. And don’t tell Me I’m supposed to know everything. I never claimed that. I’m just an acute observer of trends is all. But I missed that one. That’s because the first takers on My deal for eternal life were no problem. Virgins and martyrs tend to be on the thin side. But when the evangelicals started applying, I could see we were going to have an engineering problem. Just building diabetes carts for the ones that show up now is straining our production abilities.
“So, tell Pompeo to hold off getting his boss to start Armageddon until I’m ready for it. I know he wants to launch the missiles in the confident hope that he’s going to get evanesced into Heaven while he’s still outside of the blast radius, but I wouldn’t count on it. Of course, I’m going to leave all the gays, atheists and abortionists behind. Kanye West, too. Eternity with him? That’s a big fat fucking NO. That still leaves about seven billion souls to dead-lift into Heaven at once and We just don’t have that kind of capacity.”
“Well, I’ll pass that along to Pompeo, oh my God, but he’s going to want some guidance. What can I tell him to do to hasten the Rapture?
“One word, baby. Keto.