Squirt me she said. She pushed out her chest.

Squirt me she said. She pushed out her chest. He hit her will full force. Hot liquid shot out from the garden hose because it had been laying out. Her neck burned and she

had a farmer's tan that really emphasized the wiry black back hair which was uncommon on most women, but ran rampant in her family. She pulled a semi-warm Coors light out of her

custom taxidermied poodle handbag and blew a soft kiss his way. Hardly the way to start an IRS audit, he thought, but then again, as long as he didn't have to talk about

capital gains that might or might not have occurred due to the purchase and resale of lizard organs, the government would stay out of the whole shebang. The auditor opened his

lizardskin briefcase, drew out a battered business card (with a fake number, I was certain), flung it on the desk, and strode quickly from the room with a decisiveness which

you could cut with a knife and serve with a side of slaw. I gingerly picked up the dented business card on my desk. It read "J.R. Bob Dobbs, God Head, Slack Industries"

I glanced up and asked, "Mr. Dobbs, do you mind recounting some of your experience as a Diety? We've had trouble filling this post with a qualified applicant. The last Divinity

got crushed under a bus. Not lethal, just rubbery." "Well, it's pronounced 'deity'," corrected Mr. Dobbs, still a bit too cantankerous to give us something to worship. Either him

or me, I thought. So I crept behind Mr. Dobbs and pushed him off the window, "I hope your 'deity' has mercy on you, fool" Everybody looked at me like I was their new god, "oh crap"