89. Illness

“One Hangover Breakfast, please.”

The Bagel Hole was crowded this morning. I slumped into a booth to drink my orange juice while I waited for the precious greasy morsel that would make me better able to face the world. It used to be that I would spend a morning in this state promising God that I would never drink again, if he would just make me not feel so sick.

Of course, that was back before I knew someone might actually be listening. I didn’t want to be promising shit like that now. And should one really be hung over after a night of drinking with the Almighty? It just didn’t seem right.

After breakfast, I made my way to The Lord’s building and up to the thirteenth floor. This time the name on the door was G. Spot. Um, what?

Jehovah swung the door wide as I reached for the knob. “Paul! Come in, please. How are you feeling?”

“A little better since breakfast, thanks. Um, about the name on the door…”

He grinned. “You like that? It’s my rapper name: Middle initial, then the name of my first pet.”

“Yeah. I’m sure all the people who are frantically looking for G. Spot will be happy to know they should look in an office downtown. Elusive dude.”

He didn’t seem to understand. There was no way I was going to explain that intelligent design to the Creator.

Time for my question. “Okay, Jeff, you’ve explained that bad people have free will, and natural disasters are a result of planning problems. Now what about illnesses? I’ve gotta confess, that just sounds like you being a dick, wouldn’t you say?”

“Well, no, obviously it’s the result of my anger over gay marriage.” A long pause. “Nah, I’m just shitting you, of course. I swear, I’m not a dick. While we were creating all this life, there were some unintended offshoots. These bacteria and viruses just keep popping up out of nowhere. So there’s your answer: Bacteria, viruses, platypuseses. All accidental results of Creation.”

I waited for more. More must have been waiting for something else, because it never arrived. “Okay, so do you think you could help us out a little? Maybe present us with a cure or two?”

God looked frustrated. “Dude, I’ve tried. I finally figured it was best left in the hands of your scientists. Look at how many diseases y’all have already conquered with cures and vaccines.”

I waited again. “Seriously? That’s all you have to say on the subject? Nothing to add?”

“Oh! One more thing: Please tell Jenny McCarthy that I said to shut the fuck up! She reads the Coles Notes for one flawed study from a disgraced author, and she decides to set back the eradication of measles by years? Tell her I hate her!”

“With pleasure.”