God Doesn't Live Here Anymore (bedtime stories for the child inside) series 2

God Doesn't Live Here Anymore.

Hello again boys and girls.

Lying comfortably? Then we'll begin.

Our story starts at the pearly gates. The gateway to heaven (if you didn't
know).
There is a queue formed which is getting out of hand.
A rather irate older gentleman is talking to Saint Peter. 'What do you mean,
the big man's not at home? Where is He?'
Peter steps back, holding his hands in the air in resignation. 'I'm not going to
say it again. We've had some complications up here and we're trying our
hardest to make the best of a bad situation. That's all I'm prepared to say
at this point.'
A largely overweight lady moves forward. 'I think you'd better start saying
a bit more than that, little man. These people aren't going to stay calm for
much longer. Am I right people?'
The chorus of shouts and bellows heard, seemed to indicate that the others
in the crowd were in agreement.
Some of the crowd move closer to the gates, attempting to prize them open.
A rather shocked Saint Peter brushes them authoritively to one side.
The anger building in him. 'I told you earlier. We're experiencing problems
that are beyond our control.'
A short, fiesty man now calls out. 'What do you mean, 'beyond your control?'
Your boss is the control. He controls the bloody universe doesn't He?'
More murmurs from the growing crowd.
Having had enough, Peter turns on the gathering hoarde. 'Well, He's not here
anymore.'
The short man again. 'What do you mean. He's not here anymore ? Where
the bloody hell is He ?'
Slumping against the gates to what was once heaven, he slides down to sit
on the clouded floor.
With his head in his hands, shaking from side to side. 'He's been evicted. He
left this morning.'
They listened on, astounded. None daring to say a word.
He continued. 'I tried to get Him to stay at my place, but He turned me down,
telling me, I had enough to worry about on my cloud, what with my dear wife
being sick with the gout again. He really is a thoughtful man.'
A shuffling in the crowd. 'But He's not a man, is He ? He's God, for God's
sake. How can this happen to Him ?'
Bunching his outstretched fists. 'I keep asking myself that same question. It's
been coming on for weeks now. The back stabbing. The hastily hushed tones
as we walked by. They've wanted Him out for a while now. Something about
bringing in 'New Blood'.'
A wisened old lady asked. 'What do you mean, 'New Blood ?'
Snorting derisively. 'Exactly that. Somebody new to take the helm. I have my
suspicions as to who it could be, and there have been rumours floating about
the place. And I dare say, if those rumours are true, that person would be an
excellent replacement. But, still. Who could really replace, Him ?'
The elderly gentleman moved closer. 'Is it that Bonio fella, from that band ? I
heard me son say he does good by everyone.'
Peter couldn't believe his ears. Getting angrier by the second. 'Fella from that
band. Are you taking the pi...'
He managed to take a deep breath and calm himself. 'No.' He said, trying to
gather the retreating crowd back to him. In hushed tones. 'Word on the grape
vine is...Father Christmas.'
He stood back, expecting to see the looks of wonder and amazement, but all
he saw instead were looks of confusion.
He just stared back at them. What the bloody hell is there for them to be so
confused about.
He's a good man.
Big white hair and beard.
Likes to put on a bit of a show.
Not shy of a mince pie or two, and is getting on in years.
He's a dead ringer. Swap the red suit for a white smock, and, hey presto. No
one would be any the wiser.
Sneakily unlocking the gates and squeezing himself through, as they were all
distracted by the news, he locked up behind him and made a dash for it. The
noise behind him was slowly drowned out by the rushing sound of his blood,
as it coursed through his head. God. That was close.
He looked around him, then thought. 'Well! He's not here to hear it, is He.'

Meanwhile. Down on Earth.

The barman passed a third cocktail over the bar. 'Has anybody ever told you
that you look just like Santa Claus ?' He smiled.
The old man sat at the pool bar laughed, the water lapping around his rotund
belly, warmed by the bright Jamaican sun. 'Hmm, a few have mentioned it in
passing.'
The barman served a pasty looking couple sitting at the opposite end, before
making his way back to the man, still sat idling with a bright torquoise drinks
umberella. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he was drawn to this man.
He just had a certain way about him. Authoritative, yet welcoming.
His prescence, like gravity, pulling you toward him.
Weird.
Placing a paper coaster under the man's drink. 'So, what brings you here ?'
The seated man laughed to himself. 'It's a long story.' He said. Then shifted
in his seat. 'No! Actually, it's not.'
God, and his new companion laughed and smiled, drew breath and shook
their heads, and consoled eachother, as they recounted their personal stories
to one another. Both seemed to have suffered the same fate, at one time or
another.
The barman patted his new friend on the shoulder. 'I knew that there was
something different about you...But, God...That I didn't expect.'
Smiling. 'Ha! I know. But, try to keep it to yourself, eh. I don't want to have
to start wiping peoples memories again.'
Excited now, like a mischievous child. 'Have you done that to anybody here?
Have you done it to me?'
God waved his fingers in front of the man's face, like a magician. Seeing the
expression on his face, he sniggered. 'No.I haven't done it to you, or anyone
else here.'
He paused, then leaned in closer, so as no one else could hear. 'But...I did
have to do that when I first came down here. I started out in Bangkok. Went
to a bar, slightly less exotic than this one, as you can imagine. Met a beautiful
looking lady there. Went to her place. She starts to get a bit frisky, so I help
her out of her things, when suddenly. Boing!!! Out pops this thing, and nearly
has my eye out.'
The barman almost doubled up with laughter. 'So, what did you do?'
Continueing. 'Well! What could I do?..No one told me about these lady boys
here on Earth. So, a quick zap, and off it comes, to be replaced by what I'd
thought was going to be there in the first place. So! A nice night in the end,
and 'he' woke up a 'she' in the morning, mind wiped, none the wiser...It pays
to be me, sometimes.'
Picking himself up. 'That's the wildest story I've heard so far, my friend. The
next one's on the house.'
God looked down at his fresh new drink. 'It does annoy me, when people
think they can mess around with my work...Plastic surgery this and that. You
wouldn't put a pair of breasts on The Statue of David, would you? Or put a
clowns smile on The Mona Lisa. So, why try to change my masterpieces?'
After a short while, He bade the barman goodnight, and made his way to his
hotel room, to sleep it off.

Three months later.

After another night on the town, Gods' legs swung heavily over the edge of
the mattress, as he ceremoniously scratched at his privates. On opening his
eyes, he lazily blinked and rubbed them, as the image staring back at him,
was not his own.
He reached out an unsteady hand, to touch what he thought should be his
reflection. Immediately retracting his hand, as he felt hair and flesh, instead
of glass, realising, as he'd man-handled the face before him, that that was the
hand with which he'd satisfied an itch with only moments before.
Now focusing. 'Peter. Is that you?'
A broad grin spread across his face. 'It is, Sir.' he said, now frowning. 'If
you don't mind me asking, God. But what the hell has happened to you? You
look awful.'
God finally caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, as Peter sat down beside
him on the bed. 'I seem to have let myself go, down here on this wayward
planet. There's a lot of fun to be had down here. Goodness me, you wouldn't
believe the debauchery.'
He gripped Peter's arm tightly, smiling. 'Oh, Peter...As long as you're down
here, try to avoid what they call, lap dancing bars.' Now playfully squeezing
his arm. 'Especially the one where they proclaim 'She smells sweeter than a
Bangkok ping pong ball' on the billboard.'
Peter didn't know what to say.
God sat back on the bed. 'So! What brings you down here? Shouldn't you
be back up there, with your new boss?'
Peter looked at him, almost pleadingly. 'That's why I'm here. They want you
back.'
He shook his head in his hands. 'It's complete chaos up there.'
God gave a look of concern, but was inwardly hiding a wry smile. 'But. I
don't understand. It should be working like clockwork. Mr Christmas is a
more than capable man. Meticulous and kind.'
Peter stood up. 'But, that's it. That's the problem....He's too kind. He hasn't
got that edge that you've always had...Some say a mean streak. But, I tell
them that it's just your way of keeping everyone in line.'
God stood in front of his friend, taking him by the shoulders. 'Peter. Peter.
Peter. Your loyalty has always been a blessing to me. I trust your judgement
and always will...If you say that they need me back. Of course I'll come...
But, believe me when I say, I think mankind could do with a bit of a break...
It's the rest of the universe that's going to feel my sandle up their backsides.'
He strode to the window and looked out. 'And humans think they've got it
bad, with illegal aliens.'
He gave a smile as he turned to his friend. 'They should try sorting out the
universe some time.'
For a moment they laughed. Then they were gone.

All was well and good down on Earth.

That was,Until...

The Devil In Denim waltzed through town, with his assless chaps and his
decadent ways.