Friday, May 27, 2005

The other day I walked into my favorite pub to 'quench my thirst', as the old folks might say. Anyway, I was sipping on my first Fosters of the day when I noticed this guy at the end of the bar. Now, aside from the fact that he obviously sleeps under bushes and fishes for lettuce from behind the Price Chopper, he's a goofy looking guy. His beard looks like a rastafarian nightmare, all blondish-grey and frizzed out. He looks harmless, though, so I smile and he smiles and I sip.
Fosters is my favorite beer right now. I know that some people say it tastes likes dingo's piss, I dare them to produce an Australian beer that doesn't! But it's my favorite and so I was focussing on sipping when suddenly I get this... armpit smell. You know, when you grab the wrong tee shirt from the pile, the old shirt? Well, I look up, expecting it to be the reincarnation of Dirty Ray from my Caroline Street days, but it's that goofy looking guy. So I smiled at him, trying all the while to not look like I was smiling AT him.
He scooted onto the stool next to mine and cozied up to his beer. It was like two Irish guys who knew each other, but for some reason hadn't spoken to each other for twenty years. I sipped and he sipped. Then, being the loudmouth that I am, I broke the ice.
"How's it going?" I asked
"Sucks great green greasy eggs, if you ask ME, which you do all the time!" and he sipped.
Wow. So I asked him, "What do you mean, all the time?"
"I mean every freaking time, all the time, it's 'God this and God that'! That's what I mean!" and he snorted a bit and sipped some more and then turned to me.
" It's not a great time being God, ya know? NO, of course you don't. Nobody can know what it's like but ME! That's being 'Godlike' or something. It's not bad enough watching you drinking your dingo's piss over there, but I get to BE you drinking that dingo's piss over there, as well as being the dingo's piss itself! That's called being omnipresent or something. It sucks. And omnipotent! All powerful!? To what avail? Of course I win every debate or arguement with any lesser being, I'm omnipotent! There's no contest. I have no idea... well yes I do, but for the sake of argument let's say I have no idea where those people get the idea it's some kind of WAR going on between one of my flawed creations, his minions and ME? Give me a break. Anything I can create I can uncreate. That's called being ALL-POWERFUL!" He stopped to take a pull on his beer, wipe the foam into his beard, and I took the opportunity to signal for another. My back was starting to spasm, but the entertainment was first rate.
I prodded him with a gesture. Continue...
"You know that passage in the Bible about me knowing the hairs on your head? It's absolutely true! I know every dinky little secret of every dinky little detail of everything in the infinite number of infinite universes! And those damn physicists keep finding MORE!. Do you really think any sane being could stay sane for long knowing the number of pubic hairs on Michael Jackson's crotch? This is not a good thing, this being 'all-knowing' Any sane being would want to find a place where there is not so much 'all-knowing' and get there fast!"
"So, you come to 'The PartingGlass'? You stop being the All-Father and go get drunk?" I asked.
"Have you seen the TV about Sudan? Have you read about the latest sex-crazed priest and the way the Vatican handled it? Wouldn't you want to get drunk?" He finished his beer and started fishing through his raggy pants and coat pockets. Then he stopped and looked up at me.
"Uh, I don't suppose you'd..." he said, and nodded at his empty glass.
I shook my head and dug through my pockets for another $5 and said, "Yeah, sure. Hey, another beer over here for my friend."
"I KNEW you'd say that! I KNEW you'd buy me another beer! That's called 'being all-knowing'! and where's the fun in that? It's no damn good bumming a beer from someone if you always know which schmuck will actually BUY you one! No damn fun at all! But, the other thing is, being all-knowing means you know when to stop. Thank's anyway, son. I better be off. Take care. Oh, I don't have to tell you that!" and he walked away, out the door and down the street, I presume. I didn't follow him. I didn't want God to think I was one of those guys who hits on old men in bars. But then, he wouldn't think that. He'd know what I was doing. He's all-knowing. But he's hard to figure out.What the heck did He mean by that? This calls for another Fosters. Yup.

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