My Conversation with the Big Guy in the Sky
by Joe Buonfiglio
ME: “Um. Well. Uh, hello.”
ME: “I’m sorry, but I’m not really sure about protocols and etiquette when it comes to conversations with deities.”
HIM: “Relax. You don’t have to say you’re sorry. Anyway, My Son — who was Me in corporeal form but an Entity unto Himself — already died for your sins.”
“Wow. So we’re going for it right out of the gate. Okay. Then what You’re saying is that the Christian viewpoint of religion is the correct one.”
“No. No, I’m not.”
“So one of the other world religions has it right?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Wait a minute. They can’t ALL be right.”
“I didn’t say that either. Look, would you like some tea?”
Okay, so God didn’t offer to wash my feet, but tea was nice. I just wasn’t in the mood for it.
“No thanks,” I responded trying to look grateful. “But I’ll take a beer if you got one.”
“I’m not big on beer. Wine work for you?”
“Sorry, God. I’m not really a wine guy. You do know I’m straight, right?”
“Please. Of course, I do. Well, you’re straight for the moment. There will be that drunken Halloween party four years from now that will call all that into question.”
“Right. The whole omniscient thing. You know everyth— Hey, what?! What did you just say?”
“Nothing. So, Earl Grey was it?”
I started to wonder if God is a cheeky bastard.
“No,” I said mentally questioning everything I thought I knew about myself, “but I’ll take a shot of Irish whiskey if you have it.”
“You’re a Jameson’s man, right?”
“Yeah. How’d You know that?”
God grimaced at me.
“Oh,” I responded with a smirk of embarrassment as would a called-upon schoolboy forgetting a just-revealed answer in class, “right.”
“I’m starting to wonder if you have Me confused with the Roman god Bacchus.”
“Sorry. Tea will be fine.”
“Tea it is then.”
While he put the kettle on, I saw my chance to catch Him off-guard with some really big-ticket serious Shit-of-the-Ages stuff.
“God,” I inquired in what I hoped was a sheepishly appropriate humble tone, “why do we exist? What is the meaning of life?”
“What? I didn’t ask that. And who the hell is Virginia?”
“For I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”
“While I appreciate that — I think — that isn’t really what I asked.”
“A penny saved is a penny earned.”
“Okay, now You’re just fucking with me.”
“Health is the greatest gift, contentment the greatest wealth, faithfulness the best relationship.”
“That’s Buddha! Now You’re plagiarizing Buddha?!”
“One lump or two?”
God hovered over me with a cup of tea and a bowl of sugar cubes.
“One lump or two?” the Ultimate of Ultimates repeated.
“None. I’ll take it straight … LIKE ME! STRAIGHT!”
“If you say so,” God mumbled with a smile. “If. You. Say so.”
“Look,” I said a little annoyed at His toying with my sexual identity, “on behalf of all Humanity, I just want to know why in all that’s holy would You— ARE YOU TAKING A SELFIE?!”
“Yes you are!”
“No I’m not.”
“Bullshit! You were totally taking a selfie. You put down my teacup, slipped Your smartphone out of the pocket of Your robe and took a— YOU DID IT AGAIN! YOU JUST TOOK ANOTHER ONE!”
“So? SO?! So I represent Humankind’s one chance to ask the Supreme Creator how it all works and you blow me off to post on Your Facebook page?! I know You’re the Alpha and Omega and all that, but a little common courtesy would be nice.”
“Chill out, man. I’m a multitasker from way back. The original multitasker, you might say. I can do shit all at once on a number of interdimensional planes of reality of which you cannot even conceive. It’s all this existing outside of time and space stuff; very useful.”
All right, am I being played for a fool here? He’s using misdirection better than a Las Vegas magician.
“So come on,” I said to the Big Guy in the Sky, “fess up. Which religion in the world has it right?”
“What? How the hell can You — YOU — stand before me and say the Atheists have it right? That doesn’t even make any sense.”
“Welcome to my world.”
“I swear my head feels like it’s going to blow clean off my shoulders.”
“I can make that happen if you think it will do any good. Ever see the movie Scanners? I love that film.”
“You sure You don’t have any whiskey tucked away back there in the clouds for, like, medicinal purposes? Come on. You telling me You couldn’t use a quick shot when Lucifer starts acting up?”
“I get it. You’re confused. I have that effect on people. It’s all an existential paradox. These things happen.”
“THESE THINGS HAPPEN?! God tells me the Atheists — the folks who think God doesn’t exist — have the right idea about God and that’s all You have to offer? ‘Paradox’ doesn’t begin to describe it. It’s a goddamn existential crisis, that’s what it is!”
“Okay, calm down.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down. I’m freaking out here.”
“Here. Put this wet washcloth on the back of your neck. A cold compress will do you a world of good right now.”
“Are you shitting me?”
“I shit you not. How about we also put a cool towel on your forehead?”
Risking being wiped out of existence for my disrespectfully childlike insubordination, I slapped the small towel out of His hands.
“All right,” I said with the determination of someone who actually believes in Self-Determination, “I’m done with the mind games. Which religion has it right?!”
God looked down at His shuffling feet for a moment, and then simply responded “I plead the Fifth.”
“WHAT? You can’t plead the Fifth. You’re not an American. You’re God! The US Constitution doesn’t apply to you!”
“Rock the vote.”
“Rock the— What the fuck are You talking about?!”
“Let Me leave you with this—”
“Oh no You don’t. We’re not done here!”
“Yes. We are. And remember, it’s never too early to start planning for that gay-pride parade. The rainbow-colored fabric goes fast.”
“Oh, goddamn it.”
“Was that a request?”
See, this is why I’m an Agnostic.
“I heard that.”
“I didn’t say anything!”
“No, but you thought it.”
I sighed deeply in defeat.
“Intelligent Design, my ass,” I blurted out just before being whisked back to my sleazy little apartment in front of my wheezing old laptop in my gin-soaked world. “You’re a madman!”
“Exactly, Joe,” he uttered with a devilish smile. “Exactly.”
© 2014 Joseph P. Buonfiglio All Rights Reserved.