by Sam Schreiber
God chuckled at that, a basso rumbling that tickled the hairs on the back of your neck. He said He remembered buying the Sergeant Pepper LP like it was yesterday, which made a sense when you stopped to think about it. Then He told you how He met Paul McCartney at a bar in Manchester in the seventies. How they had both agreed over rounds that the rumors of their respective deaths had been greatly exaggerated.
It’s not hard to see why so many people love Him. Of course, long before you were born God was considered something of a bad boy, at least within the theological community. You’ve seen William Blake’s painting with His shaggy hair whipping through the air like a rock star’s and His byzantine muscles gleaming with cosmic power. Somewhere down the line, you think around the Italian Renaissance, God started to mellow out a little. These days His hair is white and puffy like Christopher Lloyd’s, but the look works for Him. He’s also put on a little weight over the last few centuries but that just makes Him feel safer somehow. Like a big, tame animal.