That big high school cafeteria in the sky had to add a table for seventeen last week when a recent graduate gunned his way back to his alma mater to shoot people randomly. Immediately prayers started shooting up to Heaven. GOD and JESUS were putting the finishing touches on a couple of quasars when they started getting the messages.
GOD: My Me, another school shooting in the USA, My favorite nation.
JESUS: Yep, just got a text message from St. Peter. They’re piling up at the Pearly Gates. Playing hell with the admissions process.
GOD: That’s Pete’s fault. He can’t resist saying to any high school boy that shows up, “Bet you wish you hadn’t spanked it this morning now, ha ha.”
JESUS: You know we need to replace that guy.
GOD: I know, I know. Automation is the answer. The Archangels have been working on a touch-screen system with Steve Jobs ever since he showed up here, but it’s overpriced and has to be changed out every two years.
JESUS: So, what are we going to do about all these thoughts and prayers?
GOD: You can answer them if you want to. I’m busy.
JESUS: Me Christ, don’t you think I am, too? Isn’t it You that keeps telling Me that running the Universe is a family business?
GOD: Some day this will all be Yours, My Son.
JESUS: If We weren’t both eternal, that’d be easier to believe.
GOD: Don’t be such a whiny little bitch.
JESUS: Don’t be dissing me. Every day I’m out here, slaving over the cosmos, while you stand there with a beer in your hand and criticize. Tell you what I’m going to do—put these thoughts and prayers on speakerphone.
GOD: Okay, don’t do that. Here, have a beer. These quasars look good enough.
(GOD and JESUS have a moment of father-son comradery, sipping suds and looking at the Universe)
JESUS: So we’re just going to ignore the thoughts and prayers?
GOD: (wisely) For now, My Son. Don’t fret—there’ll always be a next time.
GOD: My Me, another school shooting in the USA, My favorite nation.
JESUS: Yep, just got a text message from St. Peter. They’re piling up at the Pearly Gates. Playing hell with the admissions process.
GOD: That’s Pete’s fault. He can’t resist saying to any high school boy that shows up, “Bet you wish you hadn’t spanked it this morning now, ha ha.”
JESUS: You know we need to replace that guy.
GOD: I know, I know. Automation is the answer. The Archangels have been working on a touch-screen system with Steve Jobs ever since he showed up here, but it’s overpriced and has to be changed out every two years.
JESUS: So, what are we going to do about all these thoughts and prayers?
GOD: You can answer them if you want to. I’m busy.
JESUS: Me Christ, don’t you think I am, too? Isn’t it You that keeps telling Me that running the Universe is a family business?
GOD: Some day this will all be Yours, My Son.
JESUS: If We weren’t both eternal, that’d be easier to believe.
GOD: Don’t be such a whiny little bitch.
JESUS: Don’t be dissing me. Every day I’m out here, slaving over the cosmos, while you stand there with a beer in your hand and criticize. Tell you what I’m going to do—put these thoughts and prayers on speakerphone.
GOD: Okay, don’t do that. Here, have a beer. These quasars look good enough.
(GOD and JESUS have a moment of father-son comradery, sipping suds and looking at the Universe)
JESUS: So we’re just going to ignore the thoughts and prayers?
GOD: (wisely) For now, My Son. Don’t fret—there’ll always be a next time.
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