God a King!?

God a king!?  Not in the free market.  At the start of the 1980s the heavenly father had decided like much everyone else that deregulation was a solid counter for rising inflation.  Local angels simply put could manage their affairs more efficiently than a distant Lord.

Thus, the pearly gates were sold off and tolled.  Hell became privatized.  Prayers, once answered, were replaced with vouchers redeemable for a small percentage of the overall need.

Times were changing.  St. Peter had left his post for the private sector.  He made millions in the flight insurance business.  Every winged angel was required to own coverage.  Or at least liability.  But premiums hardly ever paid out.  Most tears as well as horrible damage were categorized preexisting conditions despite eyewitness testimony and an all seeing God. 

HE was mostly busy playing golf, however.  The market will work things out, he thought sinking his last hole one rainy afternoon.  There might be lightening but it did not bother him.  Getting struck was just about all that made his life interesting anymore.

“Yahweh,” an aide said approaching, “the CEO of Oxyribocarbine wants to speak with you.”

“Tell him I’ll be right with him after an electrocution or two.”

The Lord of All Creation closed his eyes and held his golf club in the air.  Lightening rose from the cloud beneath his feet, coursing through his form and illuminating bones.  Yes he had bones.  Humans were made in his image after all.

“Sir,” the CEO said approaching.  “It is good to see you.  Your hair looks…”

“Static,” interjected God, his hair and beard practically starched straight.  “I feel it’s nice to take the edge off every now and again.”

“Naturally, now onto business.  I need your authorization to put down a slight rebellion.”

“What sort of rebellion?”

“It’s nothing really.  A relatively small group of angels threatening sedition.”

“How many is a small group?” 

“About 86 billion.”

“86 BILLION!?”

“Give or take a couple hundred.”

“Why do you need my authorization?”

“Normally the congress of archangels would merely stamp past legislation my associates and I had written but they were taken captive.”

“All of them!?”

“No, not all of them.  Don’t be ridiculous.  A few were killed.”

“What in heaven is happening?”

“They wanted to unionize.  So we just need the launch codes to your divine arsenal and the market will be good and free again.”

“Is it really worth that?”

“If there’s a heaven where I can’t live on a yacht and brutally suppress those inferior to me, I certainly don’t want to live in it.  And by association, I’m sure no one else does too.”

“I’m sorry; I can’t give you the missiles.”

“But,” said the CEO handing over a title, “I own the rights to them already.”

“I don’t care.  I’m taking back this heaven and this earth.”

“I feared you might say that.  Boys, get him!”

A group of burly looking horned creatures emerged onto the golf course.  They cracked the knuckles of their claws approaching.  Gold shined off some sort of blackish halos.

“What are these?”  God asked.

“These are my new breed.  Demons and angels.  The fallen and the risen mixed together once more.  The diminishing of barriers has allowed me to create a truly greater race.  All the strength of hell without the vanity, disorderliness.  Now give me the codes or face pain you never thought possible.”

“Never,” HE replied.

As ordered the creatures approached.  God closed his eyes, resigned to the suffering he had known before on earth as savior.  Their clawing, scratching, biting, tearing flesh could not move him as bloody as it left him.

“This will go on for all eternity,” the CEO stated.

“So be it,” replied God.  “I’ve realized what’s important now.  It’s life, existence, compassion and not some brand of dogmatic philosophy.”

The CEO stared for a minute or two as if he might have had a moment of epiphany but it was short lived.  Rolling his eyes, he walked off the course and left the Lord to endure.