Then, some misty business came all up from the ground and God was all, “Whoah, did I do that?” He did. It was cool. It was like the fog machines that God would help people invent years later only it made a lot more fog. Misty fog. God couldn’t see shit. And He was cool with that for a while.
When the misty-fog cleared, God reached down on the ground and pulled up a dirt clod. With no one to throw it at, He shaped it into a little dude. He used a little stick to form details like rockin’ ab muscles and God was pleased with himself, having never had any formal art training.
God ate a breaf-mint and then blew some breaf into Little Dude, and Little Dude came to life. It was epic.
God needed a place for Little Dude to live, because having lived alone since the beginning of time, God really didn’t want someone all messin’ with his shit at home and leaving the toilet seat up and creating piles of crap around that weren’t His.
So God made a sweet, sweet living place called the Garden of Eden. And He thought that was a pretty good name. He presented it to Little Dude and Little Dude just shrugged his shoulders and said, “Eh” and this irritated God to no end. Little Dude was already an entitled asshole and God wondered if he had made a mistake by making him.
God said to Little Dude, “Look. I’m giving you all kinds of cool shit. Here’s a Playstation 3.” God pointed to a Playstation 3 under a fruit tree. “And here’s an i-Pod so you can listen to music. I’ve already downloaded some Lynard Skynard on there for you.”
And since Little Dude was born singing “Sweet Home Alabama,” before he even knew what Alabama-pride was, he was excited about God’s gifts.
“But,” God commanded Little Dude, “you are to never, NEVER, listen to track 4. Do you understand me?”
Little Dude did not understand God. And he did not yet know how to form a question, so he sat there slack-jawed, with a little drool coming out the of the corner of his mouth.
“Track 4,” explained God, “is a podcast from Rush Limbaugh. It came with the i-Pod purchase, and despite all my attempts, I cannot erase that track. You’ll just have to skip around it.”
“Ruuuuuuuushhhhhh,” Little Dude mumbled.
“Not to be confused with the entire “Moving Pictures” album, which I downloaded on there for you.” God then did his best air guitar and made some Tom Sawyer guitar solo sounds and Little Dude was impressed.
“There’s Rush,” God clarified, making frantic drumming sounds, “and then there’s Rush.” Now God was pantomiming a jolly, if not completely dumb, Santa type. “Ho! Ho! Ho! Women are whores! Ho! Ho! Ho!”
Little Dude did not quite understand this last part. He did not catch the mystery. Nor catch the drift. But he secretly wanted to listen to track 4 and find out what these “women” and “whores” are that God was speaking about.
“Rush Limbaugh,” God shouted, “is a NO-NO!” And then God proceeded to smack Little Dude on the nose with the i-Pod before handing it over.
God left Little Dude alone to listen to music and play video games in the Garden of Eden.
By nightfall, Little Dude’s eyes were glazed over and he fell into a deep sleep, the sounds of “Call of Duty” still in his little head and the Playstation controller still cradled in his arms.
God looked down upon Little Dude. “The world is….the world is,” God thought. But then that thought was over. And the next one came: “Love and life are deep,” God decided. But Little Dude only knew of life; not love. And this was sad, thought God.
“Oh, well,” thought God. “I can probably make something out of this.”
God took a flower and put it on top of the rib. He attached some wax lips onto the front of the rib and made a little dress out of leaves. He sat back and look at what He had made.
It was hideous. Little Dude would never want to mate with this rib, no matter what it was wearing. So, God ate another breaf-mint and blew his breaf on it.
The rib transformed into a smokin’ hot lay-day. When Little Dude woke up, he was really happy and they got busy. But not totally busy. Just kind of busy. It was epic.
Smokin’ hot lay-day was very curious. The next night, when Little Dude wanted to get busy (but still not all the way busy), Smokin’ Hot pretended to be asleep. When Little Dude gave up and went to play video games, and then fell asleep in front of “Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2,” Smokin’ Hot got up and reached for Little Dude’s i-Pod.
She had to know what was on track 4.
She listened. And she listened some more.
She tried to listen in silence. She really did. But her blood boiled and her rage became unbearable.
This is when she lost it. She screamed and swore, although her language was not quite developed yet, so it came out more like "Mwaaaahhhhhoooorrrr!" with lots of spitting and hair pulling.
Little Dude awoke and knew not what to make of this. Smokin' Hot seemed to be in touch with some reality beyond the gilded cage.
God heard all of the commotion and came down to the Garden. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!" he yelled. Little Dude immediately pointed at Smokin' Hot, absolving himself of all responsibility.
Smokin' Hot, having no other human to point to, pointed to the first thing she saw moving- a snake. "He made me do it," she said. But, again, it came out more like "Nerrrrwallllluhhhguh."
Snake was all, "Aw, HELL NAW, woman!" and slithered away.
"Didn't I tell you to STAY AWAY from track 4? Didn't I? You listened to Rush, didn't you? DIDN'T YOU?!"
Little Dude replied, "I have no heart to lie. I can't pretend a stranger is a long awaited friend."
"That doesn't even make sense," said God.
"And the energy you trade, he gets right on through the friction of the-"
"Knock it off," said God. "And YOU!" He was addressing Smokin' Hot now. "YOU LISTENED TO TRACK 4!"
And this is when Smokin' Hot muttered her first words: "No birth control for me. Birth control is for whores."
"Oh, no!" God put his head in his hands. "I never thought this could-"
"Whore slut women whores-"
"THAT'S IT! EVERYONE'S IN TROUBLE!" God's voice was booming and made all of the leaves fall from the trees. "Little Dude! You allowed this women to be ruined. You will run around your whole life and play video games and live in your mom's basement where you will return to dust."
Smokin' Hot giggled. "AND YOU!" yelled God. Smokin' Hot jumped and peed herself just a little bit. "YOU will have gnarly-ass menstrual cramps every month." Smokin' Hot grabbed her belly and squinted.
Snake didn't get punished because he didn't really do anything. And he's a snake. Which pretty much already sucks.
But that snake- the one that was hiding under the tree with the unusual zipper running the length of it's body- that one was in for some of God's whoop-ass.
"YOU!" God yelled, and he picked up the snake and with mighty force, ripped apart the zipper and pulled out the doughy, cowering man hidden inside. "You think I didn't see you in my garden? I'm GOD! You're just a radio talk show host!"
Rush peed himself a lot.
"You," God angry-whispered right into Rush's ear. Close enough that little God-spittle was mixing in with Rush's nervous forehead sweat. "You were cast by the devil in this unlikely role, and even so...you are ill-equipped to act."
"He's got insufficient tact!" yelled Little Dude. God turned and nodded, but he was not smiling. Not even a bit.
With one mighty swing, God threw Rush into the universe, where he exploded into an impressive display of pyrotechnics.
"Wheeeeeeee!" shouted Smokin' Hot.
"Fuck yeahhhhh!" yelled Little Dude as he got out his lighter and held it overhead.
"Get out of here, you two," mumbled God.
And they went.
You so rock!!
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