So You Know Where to Find Me

It's hard to be God. Sometimes I feel like packing up and going.

In my next life I will come back as a drone.

To remind myself of my divine status and other ancilliary qualities, I wrote this 100 times on my velvet toilet roll paper:
I AM GOD, THE WORLD IS MY OYSTER
I AM GOD, THE WORLD IS MY OYSTER
I AM GOD, THE WORLD IS MY OYSTER... (x100)

Then I got so damn horny! Did you know oysters were aphrodisiacs? I didn't but I do now.

THAT WAS GOOOOOOOOOOOOOD...

Blog.uk wrote to me to say they missed me. Here I am. What's next? Will I get a bottle of wine? Lotto ticket?

Anyone missed me? I go away on assignments - missions impossible. Consider myself lucky each time I'm back. And nooooo, it isn't Second Coming.

In my next life I want to be an MP. I like the perks that go with the job.

I remember the days when I wanted to be a fireman. I got carried away with extinguishing fires though and flooded the damned world. It took forty days to sort out the mess.

Due to civil unrest here in Heaven, I am compelled to announce that Michael Jackson did not come here at all. He went straight to Hell because he had been Bad. By his own admission.

Now, everyone back to stringing harps and smelling daisies. Gabriel, stay away from the glue! Jade Goody wash your mouth! How many times must I tell you! For God's sake, what's wrong with you people? You're meant to be resting in peace!

Just so that you know - when I wrote the commandments the "X" did not stand for 10. It stood for "X-rated". The Romans always had to get it their way, old filth!

I X-rated the commandments because of the dirty contents: shagging your neighbour's wife, lusting after her... You must remember in those days your neighbour was likely to be related to you and so was his wife.

I would say I am rather creative. I created the lot of you and some other universes all over the place.

Creative doesn't mean talented as some of my less fortunate creations can attest to.

But I am having fun and am getting better at it. Tomorrow I may create myself a woman. Any rib donors?

I hate to admit it, but what sort of god would I be if I witheld the truth from my flock.

Let's start from the Beginning. I came about by total accident. There was a big bang, the walls shook, plaster came off the ceiling. And then, a few months later, I had become.

So you want to run this world without me?
Be my guest.
Or, on second thought, be Lucifer's guest. I can't cook. He roasts to perfection.

Now that that's done, I will have a lie in on the sixth day. Why not?

It bugs me sometimes that I'm neither a man nor a woman. I am missing on the essence of life and it's a worry when it is the eternity that I have to wade through all on my own.
'Fuck it!' just won't do. Because I can't.