In the beginning god created mini bars.

“In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth” he read and paused, wondering why there was no comma after beginning, and why god was spelt with an uppercase g. Apparently, he realized, the bible has been open to interpretation, editing, rewriting, and burning for almost 2,000 years, and no one has bothered to work on its punctuation.  With a shake of his head and a smirk he moved on to the next hurdle in his attempt to read this book that according to millions was a great read, he had never met anyone named God, had never heard of anyone named God, and yet somehow a name for a heavenly being used throughout all languages, cultures, and people since the beginning of man had spontaneously become a name. Was that it? Is that how Christians had stealthily won the theological war? By trade marking, as it were, the word god into a name?
God this was going to be a long read, not that he had much else to do in his hotel room. He cracked open another of the mini bottles from the mini bar in the mini fridge in his mini room, and considered seeing what kind of porn he could order, did hotels offer anything with midgets or a couple of girls and a cup? He doubted it, and besides, the company would probably frown on paying for Midget Munches Mindy’s Muff or Tiny Tim Tag Teams Tilley’s Twat. His eyes refocused on the bible in his hands as he considered switching to the Mormon bible, also thoughtfully provided in a bedside table drawer, but he was not one to give up so easily. After downing the tiny bottle of Jack Daniels (which he thought was a much better name and definitely deserved its uppercase stature) he tossed the empty into the pile with the others and flipped to a random page. Ah, psalms, he could go for a song about now. His eyes scanned the page and came to a rest on Psalm 60 (Was that really the title? No wonder pop stars sold more records than Jesus) “Let’s see here.” He mumbled, eyes trying to take in the mass of strange words associated with it, skipping to the ditty. “O God” he recited out loud triumphantly noting the “G” yet again,
“Thou hast rejected us. Thou hast broken us;
Thou hast been angry; O, Restore us.”
He stared at the first few lines for a long moment, and scratched his head with a pen from the hotel stationary. “So wait, he rejected them, broke’em, is generally pissed off with’em and they’re asking for his help? That’s like getting your ass kicked in a fight then asking the kicker to help you up and grab you an ice pack, and help you find your missing tooth!” He stared at the page in a state of confusion, amusement, consternation, and vague curiosity. “Is this guy bi-polar or something? Get’s them to worship him, kicks their asses, then if they beg him, picks’em up, slaps’em on the back and says ‘Hey, good job, sorry about that the missus was being a real bitch today.’ Sounds like a prick to me.” Of course, the thought of a Mrs. God made him wonder if there is indeed one, and if god is omnipotent, does he actually manage to win an argument with her? Doubtful but if so, he might just have to read the rest of this book and figure out his trick. Was it wrong to join a religion not to save his soul from hellfire and damnation, or to become the pope, but to win an argument with a woman? He decided it probably was, and defeated, tossed the book on the bedside table, cracked another mini bottle, and grabbed the remote, thinking “Screw the company, better put on Girls Gang Bang Geese before I wind up running around the hotel in a sheet with a tambourine singing ‘Hairy Krishna’” to elevators.

Word Count: 666