96. Home

The name on the door was G. Willikers. I pressed my body flat against the wall and slowly reached for the knob. The Almighty swung the door open, as I pulled my hand back.

“Paul? Paul?”

As he started to come out the door, I jumped in front of him, waving my hands in the air, shouting, “Boogedy boogedy boogedy!”

The Supreme Being turned and ran back into the office. I walked in. “Jeff? Dude, it’s just me.”

He got up from behind his couch, dusting off his jeans. “Yep, knew that.”

We sat down and proceeded as though I hadn’t just scared the piss out of The Creator.

“Here’s a question for you, Jeff: Where do you live?”

He hesitated. “Um … you want my address? I’m not sure how comfortable I am just giving that out. I mean, there are a lot of fucking sickos out there.”

“I’m not asking for your address, shithead! I’m just wondering generally where you live. In some magical cloud city that’s paved with gold? In the Vatican? Under a bridge, like a troll? I don’t know where you go to when you’re not with me. Do you sleep?”

“OH! Okay, that’s not so bad. I’ll start off by answering each one of your ridiculous suggestions. A magical cloud city: Can you imagine the disturbance that would cause with weather patterns and air traffic? Also, gold is one of the softest metals. I’d constantly need to repave those streets. Not practical at all.

That made sense. “I guess that one fell into the ‘nothing is impossible for the all-powerful Lord’ category. Couldn’t you do that one if you wanted to?”

“I suppose I could, but the question is, why’n hell would I? It would be a pile of work just so that I could have that majestic cloud city. Really, it would just be showing off.”

“Yeah, we know how you hate showing off.”

As usual, He who knows all totally missed the sarcasm. “And in The Vatican? Seriously? I’m sure the Pope and his posse would love to claim that were the case – they may even be telling people that, for all I know – but I don’t want to spend my time hanging with those arseholes. I can’t stand people with God Complexes. Even if I weren’t the god, I would hate them. I bet they’re looking into a way to pave their streets with gold though!”

“Ha! Sounds about right.”

“And a troll under a bridge?”

“Okay, so I made that one up.”

“There we go! I can’t imagine any of the religions coming up with that one. Doesn’t befit my ‘glory’. Let me dispell one more myth: Fucking Planet Kolob? Only the Mormons would decide that all that bible shit just wasn’t crazy enough. They had to write their own crazy.”

“All right, Jeff, so we know some of the places where you don’t live now. Care to enlighten us on where you DO live?”

“For sure. Best Western.”

“Best Western? The hotel chain? You live in a frigging hotel?”

“Yea, Buddy! What could be better than living in a hotel? I don’t have to cook, clean, mow the yard. ‘Tis a charmed life.”

That does sound pretty good, actually. “So any particular Best Western, or do you move around?”

“Well, as you can imagine, Paul, my work requires a lot of moving around. I’ve kept my room at one of the local ones lately, so that I can get back here for our sessions. It feels good to have a home finally, and it’s WAY cooler than Kolob or The Vatican. Nice to have a bar attached too!”