The Devil and David Garcia

It was around eight to eight ten p.m. and I was walking home after I bought a couple of sticks of BBQ from the dirty street stall 'round the corner when I met him. He walked in the opposite direction towards me. He had on this ridiculous outfit. Well, them clothes would work fine on maybe Eastern Europe or fuckin' Greenland, but at this tropical heat--even during the night--a dark trench coat and a pair of gloves are as rare as virgins on Fields Avenue. His left hand had an unlit cigarette held together by his index and middle fingers. It was dark, so I couldn't make his face. Besides, he had this grey or dark blue (not really sure) hooded sweatshirt on underneath his coat and the hood was pulled over his head. As soon as we approached speaking distance, I stopped. I was thinking "who in the green hell is this joker?"

"Attorney, can I have a light?" He said.

I forgot I had a Marlboro on my mouth. I quit earlier in the morning though. I just started smoking again that evening. The nicotine delivery business is making a killing out of suckers like me who can't kick the nasty habit. I figured he knew me and maybe I know him somehow and I can't just remember who he was--I get this a lot, because in the back of my head, I conceitedly think that I have some sort of fame or infamy thing going on--so I reached for my right cargo pocket and handed out my cheap Cricket automatic. I never hand out my own cigarette to anyone whenever somebody asks for a light for their own if I can help it--especially to strangers I meet on the street. I think that's too dirty a practice even for me.

As I was handing the lighter to him, I took notice of his footwear. "What a queer choice!" I thought. He was wearing the gayest pair of gay Cole-Haan's I've ever seen. Too square and too damn clean.

I looked on his face, or where it should be, but I can't make out anything. The shadow from his hood was heavily obscuring his facial features. This is where I noticed that his cigarettes were those slim deals with orange or lemon flavors. I remember some girls from law school who smoked them artsy-fartsy type of smokes. He lit that shit up and handed me back my lighter. I don't know why, but I asked him, "So where you've been?" I was not too paying too much interest on who he was exactly, or what the heck he was doing on my street, or what the fuck he wants from me apart from the light. I was just too bored and he felt too unimportant to deserve my time. That sort of rude attitude is another bad habit of mine.

"Hell." He said.

"Excuse me?"

"Attorney, don't you recognize me?"

"As a matter of fact, I really don't." I confessed.

He pulled back his stupid hood and there it was, a face I haven't seen before in my entire life. He's Eastern European from the looks of it, alright, but he speaks perfect Californian English. You know it, the kind Filipinos do when they stay over a month in LA, or San Diego. Hell, even my sisters-in-law speak that way. The kind of English where the speaker sounds not too sure of what he's saying. A la Claire Daines, Drew Barrymore, or Ben Stiller or Keanu Reeves in Bill & Ted's. "You know, like, somewhat, what-ever..."

" Who the fuck are you?"

He just smiled. Like the fat fag on Project Runway, with his free hand hoisted on his waist. Then as I was staring at him, thinking hard if he was someone I've met before in a dog fight, two antler-like and curly spikes grew--like the way we see those bean-sprouts grow in fast-motion on National Geographic--on both sides of his forehead.

"No way!" I said.

"Yes, I am him." He said in self-satisfaction.

"Fuuuck, you're that deer guy on cable!!!"

At this point, he dropped to his knees and started bashing the earth with the bottom-side of his fists.

"No, no, no!!!" Then a whip like tail of sorts grew out from his ass, and its end resembled a harpoon blade.

"Stand up, you dumb sumbitch, I was only kidding." I said. It was embarrassing. people could've seen us. Queers, all they bring to the world is shame.

He stood up, and said, "Really? Now you recognize me?"

I said, "Yea, you're that tiger guy on the Ringling Brothers' Circus, how can I not?"

"How can I help you?" I added.

By this time, he really went crazy. Like the way my Mama does when I won't immediately obey her militaristic commands when I was a little kid. "Jorge, go sleep on your room..." "Jorge, clean up the table..." "Jorge, take out the trash..." "Jorge, clean up after your dog..." Most of the time I just sat there like I've heard nothing, continued reading my book or playing my video-game.

"WAAARRRGGGHHH!!!" This time, he let it all rip. Huge bat-like black wings with a span of twelve to thirteen feet easy grew out of his back, flapping hideously in the night air, and goat like hooves tore his gay Cole-Haan's not too different when Marvel's The Hulk does his thing. The damn unholy transformation made me drop my BBQs to the ground. That sight was some scary shit. There are only two times in my life where I've been scared as all hell and this moment was one of them. The other was when I was around twelve, or thirteen, my Mama took out my father's old Springfield Armory M-1 Garand Rifle, cocked it, and pointed it at my skull and was going to really pull the trigger if my father hadn't come in the nick of time to save my naughty ass.

I ran. I ran as fast as I could into the house. The damn monster was chasing me, I reckon hovering fifteen to twenty feet in the air behind my back. As I got inside the gate, I looked back and the damn sumbitch was breathing fire as it talked some German.

"Ich bin der Teufel!"

"Ich bin der Teufel!!"

"Ich bin der Teufel!!!"

He said that shit three times. It was totally like a scene from a B-grade horror movie. He was thrashing at our gates like a madman. I went inside, got into the room and got my black clutch bag. I never thought I would actually use this thing for real but I guessed, it's now or never. I came out at the garage, where only the cheap iron gate (which my father-in-law had made for a small fortune) separated me from this deranged mutated gay clown-bat-manta ray-deer guy. I pulled out my Sig P229, released the safety latch and pointed the finest piece of hand held ordnance man has ever created into the motherfucker's face.

"Now, back off! Stupid motherfucker! This gun has cyanide tipped hollow point bullets...even a scratch would surely kill your dumb ass..." I said out of fear. The gun only has regular bullets. I'm not too sure if the ones in the magazine I put in were reloads. My father has a friend who has a friend who has his own bullet reloading machine. As you know, my father has a lot of friends who have friends.

"Ich bin der Teufel!!!" He shouted again. I cocked the slide.

"In English, motherfucker!"

"I just want you to recognize me! Don't you recognize me?" The R-18 bat-winged mutated version of Sesame Street's Cookie Monster said.

"English, God damn you!!!" I said in fury.

"I am..."

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

One, two, three...thirty four shots. Someone had shot the monster from outside the gate. The gay-bat-freak-show dropped to the ground like a manequin riddled with lead-filled holes.

I looked out the gate and saw my little brother's sporty little Civic hatch parked a few meters out, with both doors open. He had his Glock 19 out smoking and on his right side, it was God Almighty, with a Sig not unlike my own. Apparently, they emptied all of their bullets into the stranger. Seventeen bullets apiece.

"Who the fuck was that?" I asked God, and my little brother.

"He's the Devil." God said to me, without even moving His mouth. That's the way God talks. Directly into your brain. He doesn't need to move His holy mouth.

"Good God, is he dead?" I asked as the Devil's remains disintegrate into ash.

"No, he's not. He can't die. He's the Devil. He's an angel. A fallen angel." said David, my little brother who has a constantly itchy trigger finger and heavy gas pedal right foot.

"Oh..." I knew that. I asked the question out of stupidity. Then, I felt sorry for myself for not being able to fire even one lousy shot.

"I'm starving. Kuya, do you have something to eat in there?" asked David.

"I was about to have dinner...you're ate (my lovely wife) is still at work, and I bought BBQs, but I dropped them when this shit-head came along and scared the bejeezus out of me...umh... I'm Sorry, God." I explained, then pointed to the direction where I dropped the BBQs.

A little later on, the three of us decided to have supper at the Korean restaurant on the next block. Their BBQ is great, but I prayed to God not to make me eat that disgusting Kimchi. Yuch.

I am Noah

Seven days ago, God Almighty appeared to me. He said, "I am who I am, The God of your father, your father's father, the God of Jacob, Isaac, and Abraham, Ozzy Osbourne, Jimmy Page, and the God of Elvis, the King of Rock n' Roll." At first, I was doubtful because I really thought God was a little bit taller, but when He said he was the God of Elvis...believe me baby, I believed!

In the beginning, I could not look unto his face, as I was overwhelmed by the light that is bright as the noon-time sun which surrounds His face. But then he moved a little bit to the left and then I realized it was the noon-time sun that blinds my vision. I was lying down on the soft grass reading Professor Azucena's little green book on Labor Law.

God is about 5'8" I think. He's about as tall as me, and he has this really bad-ass silver beard like a Hell's Angel or an old-time rocker dude from the late fifties to the early sixties--the moment in time before the age of aquarius and all that flower-power bullshit. If you still don't get it, it's the age before the shitty Beatles. Now that I come to think of it, He has this uncanny resemblance to Jerry Garcia of the great band "The Ungrateful Dead." Yes, God is Hispanic.

God, when He appeared to me, was wearing regular clothes--well, sort of, anyway. He got the 501 jeans on, a grey sweater like that of Jack Bauer of "24" and really cool Nike sneakers which I havent seen before anywhere, even on the internet. That last thing got me thinking, though. Did Nike made them especially for God, or did he get the pair from the future? This question almost drove my mortal mind into the abyss of unreason. I know I could've just asked asked him but I was tad bit too shy around God. I mean, it's kind of awkward if you go "Dear God Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth, where did you score those really cool treads?" Maybe God has his own SM or Ayala Center up there. Who in the green hell knows? I just realized that it is the coolest thing to be. To be God. In about 3 to 5 seconds of silence, I bowed my head and pray. I prayed that someday, I'd have sneakers like God's.

As I was praying silently, God spoke. His mouth didn't move, he just looked at me-similar to the weird way when you get looked at by a cat, you know you just have to be the one to be the first to break eye contact-but I heard everything he said as clear as when I use to hear things back in the day when I used to smoke pot all the time. The words did not only have a very beautiful resonance but it had color, texture, and taste.

God said "Jorge, I will punish all mankind for they have become unworthy of my grace and favor."

I said, "Oh my God, why?"

God: "Don't interrrupt me when I am still talking!"

Me: "Oh, sorry my Dear Lord and Savior."

God: "As I have said before, I will punish all mankind for they have become unworthy of my grace and favor. Man has become overly sinful all they do is Eat, Fuck, and Sleep. They don't pray to me no more"

Me: "..."

God: "Go ahead my son, you can ask questions now."

Me: "Uhm...how will you punish mankind our Lord?"

God: "I shall let Satan to become the leader of the free world and particularly, here in your stupid little island country, a midget she-devil shall become your president."

Me: "..."

God: "You do not have any questions my son?"

Me: "Well, George W. Bush is already the U.S. president and lola Gloria is ours...I doubt that punishment would really create that big of a swirl in the dirty water, if you know what I mean..."

God: "..."

Me: "What if You let locusts eat all our crops?"

God: "Naw, I already did that with Moses. Think of something else."

Me: "A Hailstorm of brimstone and fire?"

God: "Been there...another..."

Me: "Turn the river into blood?"

God: "Done that..."

Me: "Kill all the first born with creeping death?"

God: "Look, I've already done all that shit with Moses and I don't want to repeat things that I have already done...can't you think of something else?"

Me: "Well let's see, you are God, and you have already done all of the things I could possibly think of. The two great world wars, Jack the Ripper, the Anti-pope, Khmer Rouge, that big blast in Chernobyl back in the eighties, Barry Manilow...I can't think of a punishment to man that you still haven't tried yet. It's not like you haven't been doing stuff. Isn't there something you may have done in the past that you may want to reprise? Pick some shit that people already forgot about, like Mt. Vesuvius or some really sick shit like that. I don't care. Do what you have to do, man, er, I mean, God, the Most High, Supreme Judge and Architect and Judge of all the Universe."

God: "That is right my son, I am God after all. I can repeat shit that I've already done before. What are they going to do if I do it, even if I break a covenant? Who in the hell will mankind pray to? The Devil, Beelzebub? He's too busy doing the same thing--eating, fucking, and sleeping. Why do you think I sent Him to eternal damnation, anyway?"

Me: "Uh, ok...so what do You plan to do Boss?"

Then God said, "Jorge, build an ark." Then he vanished like old Captain Kirk of the Enterprise after saying "Beam me up, Scottie" but in this case, God never said another word. He just vanished into thin air.

It could all be fine, I'd build an ark, please God and all that shit...who wouldn't? Hell, who'd dare disobey God? He could strike you down in one shot of lightning, for all we know. Nevertheless, knowing the inevitable consequences of my actions or lack of the same in the future, I disobeyed God and did not build the ark. The reason being I have less than a month to finish my preparations for the Bar Examinations. I thought, the hell with it, maybe God will ask somebody else to build another ark and maybe I could hitch a ride or something similar to that effect. What can I do, I've got priorities. It's not like was just eating, fucking and sleeping all day. I've got books to read and all sorts of shit to do. I said to myself, let another do God's dirty work. If he is God, He will understand because God is the fountain of all understanding. If He doesn't, then I need not worry, for He is not God.

Sure enough, naglakad ako sa baha the next day.