God drops His keys on the table. He thumbs through the mail, listens to His messages. He flicks on the computer, as He waters His favorite ficus. Damn thing’s still kicking. Even He can’t kill a ficus.
He checks His sports scores. Opens His G-mail. 42 billion new prayers. He closes His G-Mail. Checks the news.
“Again, guys? Seriously?” God rolls His eyes, about to lose what’s left of His infinite patience. “Man, don’t you fuckers know what a buddy system is by now?”
God sighs and falls heavily into His favorite chair, typing furiously, muttering about how He’s only been home for five minutes, and how “from now on, I’m gonna start having to crate you two when I leave the house.”