Talking with his drinking buddy, God, the Lord informs the author that Satan brought the Antichrist with him to New York.
I wanted to learn something about the Antichrist, so I gave God the following witticism to inaugurate our chat: Jesus himself became the Antichrist when he stumbled into an anthill and ended up covered with ants. His wild gesticulations drew a lot of attention. Over time, Anty-Christ became Antichrist.
God grinned. “That’s an amusing story,” he remarked, “but Satan created the Antichrist, and he was just as lousy a creator as yours truly. He provided his creation with seven heads, ten horns, and feet like a bear’s. Small wonder that the alternate name for the Antichrist was the Beast!”
“The Beast was supposed to appear in order to announce the end of the world. Did he ever succeed in doing that?”
“He was too embarrassed by the way he looked to make any sort of announcement. Every time he appeared in public, folks would either laugh at him or look away in disgust. Whereupon he would quickly retreat to some proverbial hole in the ground. In the end, he became a veritable troglodyte.”
“Didn’t Satan try to make him feel better about himself?”
“He’d say, ‘Well, at least you’re not nailed to a cross.’ To which the Beast would reply: ‘I’d rather be nailed to a cross than have all these effin’ heads’ Or Satan would say, “You’re gonna be the new Savior — doesn’t that make you happy?” To which the Beast would reply: “No way can I be a Savior when I can’t even save myself!’”
“So what became of the poor fellow?”
“Satan brought the Beast with him to New York, where at last he was accepted…as a physically compromised individual. You’re just as good if not better than someone with only one head and no horns, folks would tell him. Or 666 is really nice number to have imprinted on your buttocks, they’d say. Hey, abnormal is the new normal, they’d also tell him. As a result, he ended up with a very positive opinion of himself.”
“Good news, but how is he earning his bread? After all, New York is a pretty expensive place to live.”
“The answer to your question is simple. He wrote a personal memoir entitled Bleak Lives Matter, and it’s been selling like hotcakes. No more end of the world for him!”
Part of a series detailing Lawrence Millman’s experiences with his drinking buddy, God. Soon to be gathered together, assuming a publisher is interested, as a mini-memoir entitled “Drinks With God.”
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