Oct. 28th, 2011

The Almighty has a problem. He knows it; he'll tell you so himself. He sits on a stool in a small casino in rural Louisiana and mechanically presses the buttons on a slot machine. He plays this machine not because he enjoys it; he isn't actually paying attention to what he's doing, and doesn't care that he's lost eighty dollars in the last hour. God plays this machine because it's on the edge of the row, and from here he can watch and hear the action at the craps table.

"Yeah," says Jehovah, smiling wryly. "Pretty screwed up, huh?"

God will come right out and tell you that gambling has ruined his life. "Oh, yeah," says God, smiling as he thinks about the way his life used to be. "I was on top of the universe, no question about it. I created everything, stayed on top of things, really had it all together." He nods somberly.

"And of course you never set out to screw up, do you?" God continues. "I mean, it started small. Little stuff. Quantum fluctuations, you know? Entanglements? Shoot, to me it wasn't even gambling, not back then." The Almighty sips his Jack and Coke. His mane and beard of white hair looks like a rat's nest and his robe doesn't smell good. God describes himself as being 'between addresses'.
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