When I arrived, God was sitting with someone else and seemed to be halfway through his second bottle of San Miguel Premium All Malt Beer. I also saw in their table some sizzling 'shrooms. Yummy. I haven't ate since morning, and it's already thirty minutes past my 3:00 'o clock appointment with the Creator. So I approached their table and made my prescence known.
Me: "Hey, God, what's going on...Uhm, I'm sorry I'm late." Although I really wasn't. I'm really getting tired of following God's every command. "Be here, do this, do that, etc., et fuckin cetera.."
God: "..." He meant, "Sit down my son, order a drink." Remember, God doesn't need to move His Holy mouth in order for you and me to understand what He wants to say. You just understand, like a command from your brain to your pinky toe.
Me: "So my Lord, who's this rocker-type dude?" I meant and motioned towards the skinny tall feller who was drinking with God, who by the way, looks like Ozzy during the late sixties--except the clothes of course. This guy dresses more like Rico-goddam-Blanco. Fit muscle shirts with very little muscle. The guy was drinking San Mig Light--a beer I can't stand for its wateriness.
God: "Do you not know him, child?" Damn it, here we go again. Would I ask if I already know? Getting to know God sometimes is a drag. It always seem that you know very little compared to Him. It's like his knowledge is the ocean and yours is capable of being held in a small pail.
Me: "Uhm, No...my Lord and dear Savior." I answered. Just to continue the flow of the nature of things. I feinted curiousity, God fulfills my heart with answers to every question.
God: "Introduce yourself, brother." God said to the young Ozzy.
Young Ozzy: "Call me Migs pare." He said in a Corinthian/Forbes accent. Then and there, I knew that this fella is Achangel St. Michael, who vanquished Satan into the depths of hell with his great Ishmaelan sword. Migs, short for San Miguel.
Me: (shaking Migs' hand) "Jorge po, boss." Migs' hands felt like cold marble. Not unlike the kind they use for mausoleums.
God: "So what are you having?" God asked me, while magicking a waiter to appear in a blink of an eye before us. God is that impatient.
Me: "Premium, of course." San Mig Premium is probably the best tasting beer in the whole damn world.
Migs: "Wala ba tayong, Chicks pare? Its so boring if its just the three of us guys here drinkin'. Classic na looser trip, 'di ba? And we're not loosers, right, pare?"
Me: "Wala boss eh. Teka, baka I could call someone and introduce her you..." I scrambled for my cellphone and browsed for some straggler cell-numbers of girls past. I know I have erased most of them since my wife doesn't like them too much.
God: "Try that, and I'm going to do the same. I just have to get my cellphone from the car." Upon saying that, the driver-side door of a crystal-black Mercedes-Benz CLK 300 magically opened and out came flying a cellphone towards the hands of God. Cool car, I thought. God always have the coolest shit.
And there they came, out of thin air, three (3) insanely beautiful girls wearing seemingly identical little black dresses. It reminded me of the fact that God was also called "The Creator."
When they approached however, I was stunned. One of them was my lovely little wife.
"Oh, my God!" I exclaimed out loud, in disbelief and amazement at the same time.
"You shall not commit adultery." said God, "Do you not remember, my child, that is one of my commandments? Michael, basa."
Migs read a passage from a bible, which, yes, you'vve guessed it, magically appeared out of thin air: "Exodus 20:2–17, I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery...etc., etc.."
"We'll I'd be damned!"
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