Читать книгу Asylum Earth - Charles Bragg - Страница 9

THE BIG HIM

Newsweek's February interview with God finally got down to brass tacks.

Newsweek: "Why do you, the Creator, permit so many seemingly meaningless tragedies to happen to good people?"

This question was asked while observing torrential rains from on high over Southern California in 1994.

God: "Mud slide!! Look at dat muuuhd shliiide, mon! Dat ole debbil mud. Ha, Ha, Hah. Oozing down dat ole debbil hill. Mon, right on tru dat Malibu Beach place. Ha Ha ... Oh! Dere go de house ... nice big one, tennis court and all. Right on down da hill and across da Pacific Coast Highway. Wow, almos' made it to da watah, mon. Anyone in dere? A whole family? Good! Ha, Ha, Hah!"

Newsweek: "You enjoyed that?"

God, switching from his Bob Marley to his Jackie Mason: "Oy yes!! I, The Supreme Me! The Ultimate Myself, love vhat's goin' on. I'm in charge of dah vay tings heppen on your earth. And If you don't like it, in Biblical terms ... lump it, Buby!!"

Newsweek: "But why ... "

God : "You want to know why I made the horendous downpour in California? Because of the mudslides. Remember the fires that burned everything on the hillsides there in the first place? Without the drought, before the fire, nothing there would have been that flammable. So you see ... no drought, no fires. Without the fires, no mudslides when it rains. Don't you see the grand pattern? And then, the 6.8 earthquake. There you have it. Nuff said!"

The Newsweek interview with God ended with that statement. What were its deeper meanings? And why was he changing dialects in the middle of his answers?

Watching half of California slide into the Pacific Ocean, a reasonably healthy mind would conclude that the things that happen here on earth might be the workings of a depraved, degenerate Type A personality. But "The Almighty Fiend" as Shelley or Keats or Coleridge once referred to him (they all burn in hell for this remark) is, I believe, merely bored. After several million years of observing what we have done with his gift of free will, we no longer amuse him. And who can blame him?

In the good-natured spirit of divine generosity, God has also mercifully given us the gifts of war, famine, pestilence, the Bible, rap music, the collapse of communism, Howard Stern, and Beavis and Butthead. Our cup runneth over. Yet we forsake him and cleave not unto his will. What is wrong with us? We had better start cleaving if we know what's good for us. And soon! The Big Him has let it be known that he is just and vengeful, especially vengeful.

It may be too late. I sense a definite change of attitude in His Mighty Sublimeness. He's pressing. Trying too hard to amuse himself. Like that calypso dialect thing he did in the Newsweek interview. You tell him it stunk. I'm not going to.

His attention span began to diminish around 30 million years ago. During that time, a great many fabulous creatures vanished from the earth. You see, for him, the whole "earth" thing started out as a harmless diversion, a sort of flea circus on a forlorn potato in a minor star system. He would check in on us from time to time just for laughs. We were no longer amusing him.

Heaven must have seemed like a good idea at first. "Let them have everlasting song and succor," he decreed. In heaven there was no need for anyone to pray to God because by being there all their prayers to him had already been answered. He missed that. In heaven there was no need to praise his name. He missed that too. As a matter of fact, his name hardly ever came up. Another thing that irritated him was that everyone there was so happy, they didn't care how they looked. "Succor" was one thing, but gluttony was another thing altogether. He now had a heaven full of angelic overweight slobs. And then there were the hymns! The constant singing that had droned on since the beginning of time had begun to grate on his nerves. He loved Christmas carols as much as the next guy but not in July for Christ's sake! Bored, ignored, and rapidly losing interest in the everlasting happiness of the righteous few allowed entry into the Big Forever, the Ultimate Rectifier decided to make some changes.

Occasionally, The Supreme Nitpicker would browse among human's trivialities on earth to see what was going on in their tiny little minds. He happened onto a copy of Dante's Inferno and found its description of the nine circles of hell absolutely hilarious. The sulphuric cauldrons of boiling slime filled with sinners in agonizing pain, the rending and screaming of the damned being burned and buried and tortured forever unto eternity- now that sounded like a real hoot. Why hadn't he thought of those things himself? He worked in mysterious ways but he still found it hard to believe that some Italian writer could come up with even worse stuff than he had when he created life on earth. He was impressed.

With the seed of Dante's comical new ideas planted in his consciousness, The Great Architect invented "sin." Then he created the Devil, fashioned as a sort of friendly competitor, and named him Satan.

To make things interesting, he gave Satan extraordinary powers. Though a clever adversary, he posed no real threat to God's supremacy. To God it was sort of like shadowboxing-watching an image in the mirror very closely although it can't do any real harm.

God gave Satan permission to duplicate Dante's vision of Hell perfectly. But as a sort of inside joke, he had him build it to 5/8 scale, just like Disneyland. This would make it even more fun he thought. God, The Ultimate Stupifier, then changed the rules for entry into heaven or hell. And to spice up the game, he made all the rewards and punishments retroactive.

What had been a mortal sin or a heavenly virtue three or four thousand years ago was not the same for entry today, or in the future for that matter. For example, for a while, killing thy neighbor was OK, if they really deserved it and you did it in large enough numbers. If you don't believe me, ask the Canaanites. You could covet thy neighbor's wife if you were careful about it, and it was OK with her. You didn't have to do unto others as they would do unto you. You could ignore them completely if you wanted to. And "tradition" was no longer an excuse for stupidity. During eras of weak spiritual commitment, he even allowed his name to be used in vain. He figured that was better than having nobody talk about him at all.

Meanwhile, 10 the depths, busy on the fourth ring of "The Endless Numb," Satan was enjoying himself immensely. He had fashioned a most devilish torment. A sort of steeple-chase of the hereafter. His idea was to have all the newly arrived souls who were clever enough, find their way through the "Maze of Remorse," climb the "Ladder of Abuse, " and enter the "Dark Wood of the Unamused ." Then over the "Arch of the Incoherent, " and on to the "Pit of the Masturbators." The Pit was always writhing with blind and anguished young "weenie wompers, " as he laughingly referred to them. Now though , because of God's new rules, they would not only have their sight restored, but would be given a magazine subscription to Big Bad Mommas, have the hair removed from their palms, and sent on their way. All in his name. "Blessed be the name of the Lord." And then God, knowing that shit rolls downhill, put the "Valley of the Lawyers" directly below "Glutton Mountain." Very blessed be the name of the Lord.

Satan, in an inspired bit of creativity, outdid Maestro Dante himself when he came up with "The Cocktail Party That Never Ends." Sinners there were required to keep a perpetually frozen grin on their faces while listening to the same joke that they had been telling each other over and over and over again for centuries. You know, the twenty minute joke about the Pollack, the Catholic, the Protestant, the Jew, the Negro, the Chinaman, the nun and the midget who were stuck on a Boeing 7 4 7 with engine trouble over the Atlantic Ocean. I won't finish the joke now. You'll probably be hearing it someday yourself, and I don't want to spoil it for you.

Only God can make a tree.