The Good Lord gazes down upon The Good Earth and ponders, once again, if it is time to end the suffering of his misguided humans.
“Screw it,” He says. “Okay, plain English: I’ve had it. Just look at them! The floods, the melting ice caps, the pollution, the record temperatures. And yet, they simply carry on as usual!”
“I know, I know,” Mother Earth says. “We’ve been over this.”
“‘We’ve been over this.’ Is that really your takeaway from their mayhem?”
“You know my ‘takeaway.’ We have a God-given responsibility to save the planet, if not the inhabitants.”
“God-given! You’re not really going to use that line on me, are you?”
“If the shoe fits.”
“Listen, Sista,” He says. “They wanted to send a manned mission to Mars. Mars! As if I would ever allow them to destroy another planet.”
“We would not allow it.”
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“Fine. We would not allow it,” He says. “So, will you please call the vote?”
“All you had to do was ask,” She says. “So, the Joint Motion.”
That We shall unleash without prejudice a lethal reign of catastrophe upon Planet Earth, with the express purpose of rendering its Citizens incapable of surviving and/or dispersing their demon seed to any other known universe.
“All in favor? Unanimous. And so it shall be.”
Thus, it is finished. He is no longer responsible for the hapless humans. He has the freedom to immerse
Himself in his most magnificent creations. One day, He might order a bowl of succulent strawberries for breakfast. Or savor a dram of single malt Scotch whisky or indulge in a delightful marathon of Care Bears cartoons or the splendid newsreel footage of the equally delightful Sexual Revolution.
“My will be done,” He jokes as He looks down upon the chaos. “On Planet B as in Heaven.”
“Our will be done,” Mother Earth says.
“Accentuate the positive,” He sings quietly to Himself. “To hell (laughs) with the negative vibrations.”