(God finds Abraham tending his flock and approaches him.)
God
Abraham, Satan said you love Isaac more than me.
Abe
That’s not true, God. You know you’re my number one, my one and only, my main squeeze, as it were.
God
I don’t believe you. And you don’t believe in me. (God starts crying.)
Abe
God, baby, please don’t cry. What can I do to make you feel better, sweety? I’ll do anything.
(God looks up shyly with teardrops clinging to his eyelashes like early morning dew on blades of grass.)
God
(coyly) Really? Anything?
Abe
Anything, Goddy-woddy, for little old you, poopy-shoes.
God
That’s so sweet. Would you even kill Isaac for me?
Abe
What?! I’m not going to kill Isaac! He’s my only son!
God
All right, hold on a sec. Okay, okay, okay. I know that sounds like a lot to ask. I’ll tell you what, Abe. What if I make a deal with you?
Abe
What kind of deal?
God
Let’s say I agree to kill my only son–
Abe
What do you mean? You don’t even have a son!
God
Surely you jest. You, Sarah, Isaac–you are all my children.
Abe
Well, maybe figuratively speaking.
God
So let’s say my wife and I have a boy a little later on in the story–
Abe
Wife? And who exactly would that be? I didn’t realize you were married.
God
Stop interrupting, asshole!
Abe
Sorry.
God
I promise you I’ll eventually have a son and have him killed for you, okay? Then will you bump off Isaac?
Abe
God, you’re a psychopath! Why would you do such a thing? And why is it so important to you that I slay my son? Are you out of your mind?
God
No, I’m just God.
Abe
Like the oxymoron. Besides, even if you did make a son and kill him for me, you could always squeeze out another one afterwards. For you it’s a snap. Me, on the other hand? I’m 752 years old. Sarah’s only a few years younger. If I knock her up again, our baby would more likely resemble Cerberus than the fine boy I’ve already sired.
God
Oh, Abie, you’re no fun anymore. Remind me to rub out any president named after you.
Abe
Fine. Just please don’t make me murder my son.
God
Thou art such an ingrate. All right, I’ll tell you what. I’ll make a deal with you. Either you brain Isaac with a rock or unseam him from the nave to the chops with your sharpest knife, or I’ll sic a swarm of man-eating bullfrogs on you and have them devour you and your whole family.
Abe
Jesus Fucking Christ, God! You are the biggest putz I’ve ever met.
God
You know the old song–“You Always Hurt the One You Love.”
Abe
You’re the one who wrote it. Very well. Give me a time, date, and exact location and I’ll do the kid in for you. But after that, no more bullshit. Are we clear?
God
Oh, Abraham, you are the most adorable little mortal I’ve ever given birth to.
Abe
And you’re the most insecure, emotionally manipulative, uncompromising fascist in the universe.
God
Oh, Abie, behave! I love it when you play hard to get.
Abe
Go fuck yourself, Yahweh.
(Abraham leaves, cursing under his breath and stamping the ground like a spoiled child.)
God
Don’t forget to know thyself well too, Abe! And tell Sarah the big guy in the sky says hi!
Abe
Tell her yourself, wanker!
(Thanks to Louis C. K. for giving me the idea for this story. May God bless him and his two daughters–without making any unreasonable demands of the conscientious father and busy comedian.)
harmonioustew 