Satan, clearly enjoying himself as well, leaned against a towering redwood and chuckled. “Sorry. I didn’t get that. I don’t speak asshole.”
“While this is amusing and delights me,” I pointed out with a giggle, “we do have the end of the world to discuss.”
“The end times are not on the schedule,” God repeated, confused.
“Wait,” I shouted with excitement as I levitated and alarmed both of my sons. The wind picked up and flowers bloomed all over the place. “Are you saying that if the end times are not on the schedule that they can’t occur?”
“Correct,” God confirmed.
“Then why was the Antichrist at the grocery store?” Satan pressed.
“Just because the end times are not imminent, doesn’t mean massive and deadly damage can’t occur if the Antichrist is up to no good,” God said.
“And is the bastard ever up to good?” Satan rolled his eyes and waited for God to field the question.
“Umm… no,” God replied. “Never up to good. However, as strange as it is that the abomination was in the grocery store, it begs the question of what exactly were you two doing in a grocery store?”
“Ask your mother,” Satan said, glancing over at me with a raised brow.
“She’s your mother too,” God reminded him.
“Today she can be your mother.”
God shook his head and sighed dramatically. He took the longest pause ever. He was famous for his pauses and this one did not disappoint. It was magnificent. However, I enjoyed his loaded silences far more when they weren’t aimed at me.
“Mother, what were you doing at a grocery store?”
How to answer… “Well, I was looking for Bitsy Clicker,” I said sheepishly, wondering if Satan was going to out my real reason.
God raised his brow in confusion and waited.
“I meant Boopsy Cruiser,” I amended quickly and then banged my head on a tree creating a smallish avalanche. “No. Not Boopsy Cruiser. I was searching for Betty Cornholer.”
Dammit, God could tell I was lying. Occasionally, it was a bummer to have the best son in the Universe. Satan was of no assistance at all. The little shit was laughing at me.
“Fine,” I said, stomping my food and causing a tornado to whip through Nirvana. If we kept going at this rate, I didn’t have to worry about my boys destroying Nirvana. I would do fine all by myself. “I was at the grocery store to kidnap Boopsy Canker.”
Satan’s grin was so wide I wanted to smack it off his handsome face. “Don’t you mean Barbie Cracker, mother?”
“NO,” I shouted, feeling horrible that God was now aware I was taking humans hostage. “It’s Boobie Croaker.”
I paused and thought for a moment. Boobie Croaker was definitely not her name.
“Mother,” God said gently. “Tell me what you have done.”
“Will you forgive me?” I asked.
“Of course,” he said with a wink. “Forgiveness is divine—like me.”
Satan gagged. “I could eat a bowl of alphabet soup and crap out a less conceited statement than that one.”
“You should talk to a proctologist about that,” God shot back and then turned his attention to me. “Go on, mother.”
“Mmmkay,” I said, screwing up my courage to confess that I wasn’t perfect—even though I was. “I invited the Crème de la Crème Society for a luncheon and it went a bit left of center.”
God paled as did Satan at the mention of the big-boned Immortal society ladies. They scared the pants off of everyone.
“How left of center?” God asked with a small shudder. “And how does this relate to you and Lucifer going to the grocery store to collect hostages?”
“I’m getting there,” I promised. “Soon it will all be clear.”
“As mud?” Satan questioned.
“Cakehole. Close it or I’ll make you sample the cookies,” I snapped.
Satan chuckled and made the international zip the lip motion. Clearly, my cookies were an outstanding weapon.
“I want to join their club,” I admitted. “Soooo, I invited them for a luncheon and I cooked for them.”
“Oh shit,” God whispered.
“Did you just swear?” Satan demanded with a delighted grin.
“When the situation merits it, I do. So, the answer is yes,” God replied.
“For the first time ever, I agree with you,” Satan said, patting his brother on the back.
I was pleased that they had come together. I was not pleased it was at my expense. However, throwing a fit would be counterproductive. Even though the end times weren’t on the schedule—and who knew there was a schedule—bad things were definitely brewing.
With a wave of my hand, I covered both boys in flowering vines. They looked ridiculous. Extricating themselves would take a few minutes and could finish my story in peace—or at the very least without being insulted again.
“Anyhoo,” I went on. “They said I poisoned them. I would love to call bullshit on that, but now I’m not so sure. And even if I did, they’re Immortal and will live through it.”
“They’re mean enough to live through almost anything,” Satan pointed out as he removed daisies from his dark hair. “Why exactly do you want to be a part of this group?”
“Because I wasn’t invited,” I told him.
He nodded and emptied the roses from his pockets. “Makes sense to me.”
“Not to me,” God said, trying to pull the lilies from his softball cleats. “Still don’t understand how this relates to the grocery store.”
“Trust me, it does,” I said, sitting down in a bed of ferns. “I decided that maybe there was an off chance that I couldn’t actually cook and might need some assistance.”
Both of my children wisely kept their traps shut.
“I went on the internet and looked up the cooking goddess Benny Castrator.”
“You mean Betsy Cocker?” God inquired with a wince.
“YES! Thank you. Betsy Cocker. I found her address on the internet and went to kidnap her so I could learn to cook without having to watch my guests sprint to the toilet during my parties,” I explained to a seriously confused God and Satan. “I was going to forcibly bring her to Nirvana to teach me how to cook.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Satan acknowledged.
“Not,” God added.
“So that’s why we were in the grocery store. Betsy wasn’t there so I must have written the address down incorrectly, but in the end, I believe we were supposed to be there since Jim Bob Bob-Bob was there.”
“I’m sorry. Who?” God asked, perplexed.
“The Antichrist—Jim Bob Bob-Bob,” I replied.
God shook his head and his sparkling blue eyes narrowed. “That is not the Antichrist.”
“I beg to differ,” Satan ground out through clenched teeth. “It was the Antichrist. I saw his eyes.”
“It’s his son,” God growled. “This is why I wasn’t alerted. I have no jurisdiction over the spawn of the abomination.”
“Do I?” Satan inquired.
“Did you have a dream?” God asked in all seriousness.
Satan pressed the bridge of his nose and let his head fall back on his shoulders. “I thought you were supposed to be the smarter one. However, light travels faster than sound, which might be why you appear bright until you speak. What in the HELL does a dream have to do with any of this?”
God eyed Satan and ran his hands through his thick blond hair in annoyance. It took a lot to perturb God, but Satan was gifted in that department.
“Occasionally it’s wiser to keep your mouth shut and give the impression that you’re a dolt rather than open it and remove all doubt,” God chided his brother. “The one chosen to deal with the spawn of the Antichrist will get a warning in a dream. The Antichrist pops up every ten thousand years or so. He’s not due to cause any destruction for another eight thousand years. However, his son has his own agenda. That is why I inquired.”
“Whoops, my
bad,” Satan said with a shrug.
“Shit,” I shouted, causing a flock of a hundred parrots to appear.
“Literally,” Satan groused as he ducked the flying turd producers.
With a wave of his hand, God subdued my frantic pets. They settled themselves quietly and peacefully in the trees.
“Nice move,” Satan said. “I would have blown them up.”
“I thought about it,” God admitted with a small grin as he wiped the poop from his shoulder.
“So, let me get this straight,” I said, ignoring the banter between my boys. “If someone gets a warning about the end times in a dream, they are the one charged with solving the issue?”
Both of my children glanced over at me with interest and alarm.
“Umm… did you have a dream, Mother?” God asked, concerned.
Nodding, I hopped up from the bed of ferns and began to pace my garden. I was so lost in thought that I didn’t realize that every step I took produced mounds of flowers in my wake. It wasn’t until I couldn’t find my sons in the flora and fauna I realized what was happening.
“Are you still here?” I called out, worried.
“Still here,” God answered, buried somewhere in my garden. “You might want to tamp back the magic a bit, mother.”
“Or I can set Nirvana ablaze,” Satan called out. “I would love to start a fire right now.”
“Nope,” I yelled as the flowering vines climbed higher. It was lovely but not very conducive to a family get together. With a clap of my hands, the riotous blossoms receded. “Sorry boys, I got a little distracted.”
“Clearly,” Satan said. “I’ll be pulling petals out of my ass for weeks.”
“That will be easier than pulling your head out of your ass,” God pointed out.
“Hilarious story,” Satan hissed. “Which chapter is it in where you shut your fucking mouth?”
Tension was riding high—much higher than my vines had crawled. I could taste it.
“One shot,” I instructed with an exasperated sigh. “You each get one shot at each other and then we shall play nice. You feel me?”
“Seriously?” God asked with a grin.
“Fantastic,” Satan added, rubbing his hands together with glee.
“No killing blows,” I said. “Not that either of you can die. Nothing aimed at the face or the testicles and weenie area.”
“You did not just say testicles and weenie,” Satan mumbled, shaking his head in horror.
“Should I say nuts and pecker instead?”
“Umm… no,” God said, biting back a laugh. “Let’s move forward.”
“Yes. Let’s,” Satan said. “Do you prefer fire or lava, brother?”
“Fire,” God said. “Lightning or locust?”
“Lightning,” Satan affirmed.
“On your mark. Get Set. GO!” I shouted as they proceeded to blast each other with blows that would have killed even the strongest Immortal.
They were laughing like idiots as they tried to dodge shots from each other. It was strangely heartwarming to hear them shrieking like little boys while watching them try to set the other ablaze.
“Ouch,” God yelled as a fireball landed on his shoulder, sending his pristine white softball uniform up in flames.
“Son of a bitch,” Satan yelled with a grunt of laughter as God retaliated with a bolt of lightning that singed his Gucci suit beyond recognition. “You suck.”
“You suck,” God yelled back with joy.
“You suck more,” Satan said with a wide grin, preparing to toss an enormous fireball.
“ENOUGH,” I bellowed, loud enough to be heard above the crackling flames. “I said one shot. You two have taken at least ten apiece.”
“Fourteen,” God admitted sheepishly.
“Fifteen,” Satan said as he blasted God one last time.
“You cheated,” God grunted as he snapped his fingers and doused the flames that engulfed him.
“Your point?” Satan asked with a naughty grin.
God laughed so hard that Satan joined him. Goodness, I wished every day could be like today. Well, not exactly like today. Today minus the son of the Antichrist and all of the destruction. It made my heart sing to see my boys together and laughing.
“No point,” God said, still laughing. “A simple observation.”
“Are we done?” I asked, smiling as I waved my hand and tidied up my children’s singed clothes. It wouldn’t do to have my grown sons running around the garden naked.
Both boys nodded and Nirvana magically reverted back to its former glorious beauty.
God sobered quickly and took my hand in his. “You had a warning dream?”
“I did.”
“The one who has the dream is the one to outwit the Antichrist—or rather his son in this instance,” God explained.
Satan’s eyes widened and his head dropped to his hands. I was certain I heard him laugh. Double shitshit.
“It’s not funny,” I hissed and whacked him in the head.
“Call me crazy,” Satan began.
“Crazy,” God volunteered.
Satan’s eyes narrowed and I was fairly sure he was about to zap his brother even though set your bother on fire time was over. As pure and sweet as God was, he was big on retaliation where his brother was concerned.
“You set yourself up for that one,” I told Satan.
“Actually, I did. Point to the do-gooder,” Satan conceded. “However, my point—before I was so childishly interrupted—is that fate makes no mistakes. If the warning was sent to you, it is your mission to take.”
“What do you two think of aprons?” I asked.
“Have you finally lost your mind?” Satan demanded as God simply stared at me perplexed.
“Possibly. Never mind about the aprons. Where is Elle right now?” I asked as the wheels in my brain began to turn.
“With her mother teaching the Sirens that it’s a no-no to eat your paramours after sex,” Satan replied. “Do I need to call her back?”
“No,” I replied firmly. “Not yet.”
“Not sure that calling her back is prudent,” God said. “Fate—or Luck—must go where the winds of change take her.”
“Tis true,” Satan said. “I’ve racked up many miles following my mate around.”
“When did you last see her?” I questioned, trying to figure out if my hunch was correct.
“A few days ago,” Satan said, eyeing me with curiosity. “Why?”
“No reason,” I lied. “I’m tired—going to take a nap. You boys are dismissed.”
“What?” God asked, confused by my abrupt behavior. “I thought you needed our help.”
Pursing my lips and wanting to throw a tantrum, I counted to twenty and held myself in check. I was definitely going to continue sessions with my Demon therapist. The counting thing wasn’t so bad.
“Keep your cell phones on, boys,” I advised as I raised my hands high. “I’ll call you if I need you.”
With a slash of my hands through the air, I sent both of my bewildered and beloved sons back to their respective Kingdoms. Peach glitter rained down from the same sky that was shared by Heaven, Hell and Earth alike. Heaven was not above just as Hell was not below. That was a myth. We were all simply on different planes.
The sparkling enchantment tickled my skin as it danced through Nirvana. Normally I would sit and enjoy my magic, but not now.
I needed to talk to Bill and then it was time to take a nap.
Hopefully, I had a date with Fate… or Luck, as she liked to be called.
Chapter Five
“That son of a bitch, Jim Bob Bob-Bob snapped a damn plastic horse in half,” I ground out, clenching and unclenching my fists to release the anxiety building inside of me. The need to do some destruction was intense. I was on the verge of turning every piece of furniture in the Garden Palace into a flowering bush. That would be awful as there would be no place to sit. However, it would be far better to turn the Palace into a g
reenhouse than to blow it up, which was my other option.
“Mmmkay,” Bill said with a perplexed smile. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
“Well, shit,” I said with an eye roll aimed at myself. “My bad. I was so busy trying to bake cookies for the boys that wouldn’t poison them, I forgot to tell you something rather large earlier. When Satan and I were trying to kidnap Betty Cookware at the grocery store we ran into the son of the Antichrist.”
Bill’s smile left his beautiful face and his eyes narrowed. “Rather large is a bit of an understatement, lover.”
“Yessss, I know,” I agreed, giving up on trying to control myself.
With a wiggle of my nose and a wave of my hand, I incinerated the massive flat screen TV. I considered blowing up the bed, but I was hoping to put it to use. I was in serious need of some orgasmic tension relief or the Universe would be in more peril than it already was at the moment.
“Here’s the thing though, it’s his son, not the actual Antichrist, which is good… I think. God said the end times aren’t on the schedule for at least another eight thousand years, so… umm… we might be okay here.”
“God has a schedule?” Bill asked, squinting at me.
“Apparently.” I threw my hands up in frustration and accidentally blew up the crystal chandelier. “Damn. I liked that one,” I muttered. “Anyhoo, yes. God has a schedule. I find it incredibly rude of him to have kept this a secret for eternity. And Jim Bob Bob-Bob—the ancient asshole with missing teeth—is the son of the Antichrist. Oooohhh, and whoever has the dream has to solve the issue—which means me. This is sucktastic news, but shit happens. Also, I let God and Satan beat the Hell out of each other. A good time was had by all.”
“Umm… okay,” Bill said, running his hands through his hair. “They’re both still breathing?”
“Yes. No decapitation—just fire and lightning.”
“Sorry I missed that,” Bill muttered as he began to pace. His face went expressionless and his eyes blazed an eerie green. “However, let’s go back a bit, lover. You say this Jim Bob Bob-Bob—the son of the Antichrist—snapped a white horse in two?”
A Fashionable Fiasco Page 5
