Short Attention Span Theater

Anyone who listens to the word but does not do what it says is like a man who looks at his face in a mirror and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like. (James 1:23-24)

A Very Short Monologue Appropriate for Deity

Okay. Seriously. Sometimes I can’t believe these people. Well, in a manner of speaking. I mean, in one sense, I have to believe them or—POOF—they’d be so much not here at all. Which, from time to time, I’ve given some thought to. Life as God would be a whole lot easier without them, let me tell you. What I would give for a few centuries of peace and quiet. Instead, all I get is an ear full of whining and a headache like you wouldn’t believe.

But what do you know of headaches? Let me tell you something. I’m God, right? I put most of everything there is together. The other stuff isn’t worth mentioning. Mostly I put together people, one at a time, mind you. I didn’t just rubber stamp them either. I did variety. Lots of it. Every person ever made was a one of a kind. And I gave them lots of good stuff too. Like mountains and rivers and trees—oh, and sex too. I made that up myself. I know it’s a little weird, and I did consider the whole action at a distance thing, but I figured it might be one of the only sure-fire ways to keep everybody from fighting. Works too. It’s pretty hard to start a war when you’re busy being fruitful and multiplying. Of course, in between, there’s lots of time to blow somebody up.

Where was I? Oh, yeah. People. Humankind. You know, I made them a little lower than the angels, and now I’m sure glad about that. I’ve had enough trouble with bad angels, but they’re nothing compared to those pains on the planet. The fallen angels are at least interesting, for crying out loud. These human dweebs are just plain nauseating. They keep doing the same crap over and over. They won’t listen to reason. They won’t follow protocol. Hell, they don’t even act in their own best interest. All I can come up with is that I must have miffed somewhere along the line. They’ve got the spiritual IQ of a piece of mutton. Although I must admit they’re pretty cute when they’re little.

I tell them simple. Things like don’t murder. Don’t steal. Avoid coffee just before bedtime. But do they listen? No. Then the hammer drops on them and they wonder what happened? They blubber about injustice or a fallen world. Patooey, I say. Let them swim in their own stomach acids.

Oh, why dwell on it. I’m giving them a little bit more time to figure it out, then it’s smoked oysters for sure. And you can be sure of one thing: there’s no way I’m going to make the same mistake twice. Next time I’m only going to make one of them. It may not be good for man to be alone—but more than one of them totally screwed up my retirement plans.


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