Yesterday, God watched a boring CBC mini-series.
It was a coming-of-age story set in rural Saskatchewan.
God felt a wind at his back, and briefly considered
smiting every paved road between Toronto & Avonlea.
He thought that maybe smiting the prairies into a
theoretical Blank Slate might make them more entertaining.
In the end, God let this destructive impulse fade away.
He was in a much more mature headspace nowadays.
For a while though, he was a bit too fond of The Smiting.
Unbeknownst to him, God’s childhood was full of
negative associations that impeded his consciousness.
In truth, he didn’t like to dwell on those days, so instead
he switched to ABC & caught the season premier of Lost.
The show was in the middle of a John Locke flashback.
In the flashback, John was popping wheelies in his
wheelchair, cackling madly, and pouring camping oil
all over his father’s Dean Koontz paperback collection.
‘I’m doing this to get over you,’ shrieked John.
‘The Lost creators sure have Daddy issues,’ God said.
‘Plus, Locke’s being pointless; those books are super
bestsellers, and his con-man Dad can just buy more.
And then Dean Koontz just gets richer, while Canadian
melodrama remains embarrassingly under-funded.’
God suddenly felt too emotionally invested in Locke,
so he flipped back to the CBC out of filial obligation.
‘I’m too self-aware,’ God said. ‘This is no way to live.’
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