Author: R. J. Erbacher

“So, what is it that makes you a god?”

Well, let’s see. I’m pretty powerful. Can leap a tall building in one jump.

“That makes you Superman, not a god.”

I can kill you with a pencil.

“Is that a serious answer?”

OK, so we’re not the same species and yet we’re conversing.

“Big deal. Back on earth I spoke three languages and I can understand two more interplanetary dialects as well. That doesn’t make me a god.”

Did you want to be?

“No, of course not. But you’re claiming it. Yet, here you are sitting in a spaceport freighter bar getting drunk with the rest of us. Not real god-like behavior.”

I like to visit with the little people, every now and then. Keeps me grounded.

“The little people? That’s a bit racist.”

Not at all. All of you are of a diminished composition compared to me. Psychologically, intellectually, in stature. It’s just a demonstrative term for… non-gods.

“Back to my original question, what makes you – special?”

I have a hammer.

“Like Mjolnir.”

No, it’s just a regular claw-head hammer but it’s great for driving in nails. Or crushing skulls.

“You see, that’s another thing. You keep talking about killing. With weapons. That’s kind of ungodly.”

Look, it’s not like I’m riding on a bus in New Jersey and shooting people with a Desert Eagle.

“But if you were a real god, you could kill people with a single thought.”

Thoughts can be weapons.

“I’m talking about physical weapons. All the bad shit that people do to each other. Wars and stuff. Why do you condone that? If we are all created in your image, why are we so self-destructive?”

Whoa, whoa. I said I was ‘a’ god, not ‘The’ God. Different article. I had nothing to do with creation. Besides, no matter what species that has ever been generated, you all wind up killing each other eventually. It’s in the nature of living things.

“That’s the first thing you’ve said that makes you sound remotely wise enough to be a god.”

I have my moments.

“How many gods are there?”

Eighteen thousand and seven.

“Damn, that’s a lot.”

It’s a big universe. We have regions we have to cover.

“What’s your region?”

Ahhh… Let’s just say I’m between positions at the moment.

“Wait a minute – did you get fired? From being a god? What did you do?”

I didn’t get fired. I was ‘chastised.’ I took some liberties… with some of… the little people.

“So, you’re a sucky god.”

Be careful. I’ll turn you into a newt.

“I don’t believe you could do that.”

No. But I could hit you with a bolt of lightning, that’s allowed.

“How about buying me another drink.”

That I can do. Barkeep, two more Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters please.

“Scotch, straight. Thanks.”

What about you? Are you married, have a family?

“I’m a space trucker. I’m gone for months, sometimes years at a time. That’s not conducive to a family lifestyle. It’s a lucrative living but it’s a lonely job.”

Tell me about it. Try being a god for a couple of eons. There’s only so many games of solitaire you can play.

“If you are a god, you’re the stupidest one I’ve ever met.”

Met a lot of us, have you?

“Thanks for the drink. Think I’ll head out.”

To thine own self be true.

“Shakespeare? That’s the best parting advice a god has to offer?”

The ducks on the lake in the park are free. You can take them home.

“What the…? Goodbye.”

Bye. Barkeep, can you make me a flaming rum punch. It’s a wonderful life.