So here's an idea that I've been tooling around with for awhile now. I thought that since God apparently made us in his own vision, maybe he shares the same problems with the bullshit minutae that us regular, everyday folk, go through. Some of you have seen different versions of this first act before. It was actually taped for a final project of mine at Columbia where friend of the group, Jeff Phillips, played one of the characters. You can see his work here http://www.theigloooven.blogspot.com/
So now, I'm going to post the 1st act, and finish the rest of the story within the coming weeks. I hope you enjoy. Also, this is my first stab at writing something that isn't autobiographical or a spec script, so now I'm free to create and develop characters however I see fit. Uncharted territory, for the most part. So please leave feedback, any is appreciated...
PS - I'm not married to the title, I just couldn't think of one at the moment.
It's an average Tuesday evening in the suburbs of Heaven, when a beige Toyota Prius pulls into the driveway of a house that looks strikingly similar to that house on Family Matters.. Remember that show? It had that fat, twinkie-eatin' cop from Die Hard.. I think he played a cop in the show, too. And then there was that "Did I do that?" kid.. I think he died.. I also heard that he was gay, well, before he died, of course. Well, that's if he's even dead at all.. I heard that the house was torn down, too...
Anyways, I digress.
The car pulls to a stop, and God steps out. He's wearing the standard white robe that everybody imagines that He would wear along with those brown, roman-esque, sandals. He's also wearing a brown, wide-brimmed, hat circa 1940 and carrying a fancy leather briefcase that His dad gave to Him as a birthday present (June, 3rd). This ensemble is accompanied by hair so long, white, and luxurious that even the hairiest of the hair bands pale in comparision- Sebastian Bach ain't got shit on God. His beard is so thick, it makes it look like somebody glued a couple of salt-and-pepper colored pubes collectively onto the chins of every member of ZZ Top. Chuck Norris would shed a single tear if he were in the presence of God's beard. If only that were possible, then cancer would be cured.
But, despite the majestic appearance that's to be expected of the creator of everything, He has a demeanor and disposition slightly reminiscent of someone like an Al Bundy or even an Archie Bunker, except maybe not as racist. I mean, what else would you expect from somebody that had to take over the family business because His bachelor's degree in tele-communications couldn't even get Him out of His one bedroom apartment. And, having Jewish parents, you can rest assured that He was reminded of this on an almost daily basis.
As God walks into the house, He sets his keys down on the coffee table, puts His hat on the coat rack, sits in His spot on the couch, picks up the remote where He left it last, and lets out a day-drained sigh right before He turns on the TV. Meanwhile, as God attempts to unwind, all He hears is the clanging of pots and pans, with the occassional foot-stomping, coming from the kitchen. He knows something is wrong, but right now He's more concerned about quenching His thirst,
"Hun, can you grab me a beer?"
A few moments pass. The noises do not cease, and God does not have His beer, "... Haven't got all day..."
Finally, the commotion in the kitchen halts and God's life-partner, Michael, comes storming in with a beer in his hand. Michael is an average thirty-something. He's not drop dead gorgeous, but he's not ugly by any means. He doesn't have a job, but he's constantly dressed business-casual. And it's not that lame, denim blue, button-down shirt/khaki brown slacks combination that you can pick up at Target for twenty dollars, either. Everything that touches his skin is at least some kind of polyester blend that you can find at any K and G Super Store. I mean, it's not exactly the Men's Wearhouse, but it's almost just as good. He's just like any other guy, except that he prefers the company of another man in between his sheets.
I guess the best way to describe Michael is that he's a "Midwestern" kind of gay; a pragmatic homosexual, if you will.
But right now, and above all else, Michael is visibly pissed off. He comes in, slams the beer down on the farthest end of the coffee table, and storms back into the kitchen. The noises in the kitchen resume, and not a word has been spoken. And just as before, God doesn't seem too distressed at Michael's actions. Instead, He's more annoyed that He has to get up to reach His beer, and on top of that, He has to open it.
A few moments pass and God sips His beer as He flips through the channels. Meanwhile, sounds coming from the kitchen continue to grow louder. At first, God responds passivie aggressively just by turning up the volume. But, eventually, the sound of copper and stainless steel slamming against each other gets the best of Him,
".. Alright, alright. What's got you so wound up?"
The noises in the kitchen stop and Michael comes storming in. This time he has a card in his hand, which is waving above his head, "This. This is what's gotten me so wound up."
God doesn't take His eyes off the television, ".. Well are you gonna tell me what it is?"
"Oh don't you play games with me. You already know damn well what this is. It's a dinner invitation from Vishnu-"
God immediately interrupts, "Ah I hate the smell of curry."
Michael stands in front of the TV, "God, dammit, just listen to me! The invitation says 'To God and Guest'. Who is 'Guest'? Why doesn't anybody know that we're married!?"
"Oh my- How many times are we going to have to go over this? I already told you that it's a work thing. And speaking of which, I've been having a pretty rough couple of days: I had to fire my secretary because she's an Athiest, I'm still paying off that weight bench, and KFC gave me a bad Snacker so now I gotta write them a letter. I don't have time for this. All I want to do when I get home is relax, have a beer, and watch Ice Road Truckers.
God's demeanor is changing from irritation to angry. Meanwhile, Michael's is changing from angry to Shannon Doherty, "Oh I see, it's all about you, isn't it!?"
"Yes. Yes it is all about me. I created all of this. Do you have any idea how hard that is; to just think something up one minute and have it come to fruition the next? It's incredibly strenuous, and after a long day of that I just wanna come home to some fucking peace and quiet and some fucking dinner. That's all on your end of the bargain and you can't even do that!"
Never scared off by a couple of F-bombs, Michael fires back without missing a beat, "Well I guess that makes you a pretty crappy God, doesn't it?"
You know that after saying that, Michael wants to bob his head and say, "Mmhmm!", but he won't because this is serious time.
God must now choose His words carefully. Michael didn't bob his head or say "Mmhmm" so God knows that Michael means business. This could turn into a preface for any episode of Cops, and God knows this because Cops was His idea... I think that would be a good idea for a show. Like yea, I get it, Billy-Larry inverted his 4th wife's nose with a crescent wrench who will refuse to press charges. This, of course, is no surprise because her five kids crying from the trailer and her "Frankie says relax" extra large t-shirt tells the viewer that Kelly-Martha is prone to making bad decisions. Been there, done that. But, I think it would be pretty neat to see how that particular spat got started... Oh I'm sorry, let's continue..
Red-faced, God stands up. This little tiff has totally been bumped up to another level, "Oh that's real cute. You have NO idea how this works. Do you realize what would happen if those people down there found out that I was married, let alone to a man!?"
"Well maybe you should take a page from your own damn Book and tell the truth, you spineless hypocrite!"
It's at this point that God longed for a crescent wrench. But to blink one into His hand, and subsequently, Michael's face, would be a vulgar display of His power- There's no practical use for a crescent wrench in Heaven. He bites His lip and decides to take the high road,
"Oh really? Name calling? We're going that route now? Listen, matters like these are a little more complicated to be that black and white; something your little knee-jerk reactions wouldn't be able to understand. Running a civilization requires a lot of tact and diplomacy. The situation down there is as good as it's going to get for the time being and the last thing I need is someone that knows nothing of the process, telling me life lessons!"
Michael stands there, speechless. God finishes His beer and throws the remote back onto the couch, "You know what? I don't need any of this shit right now. I'm going out! If Jesus calls, tell him I'm with Zeus!"
God storms out of the house and slams the door. Michael sits down on the couch to try and gather himself. A few moments pass and the door opens again, "... Forgot my keys... And change your damn clothes! You haven't left the house in ten years! What are you dressed up for!?"
God grabs His keys and storms out again. Michael sighs and mutters under his breath, responding to His rhetorical question, "...You.."
We can hear God yelling from the driveway, "Now you know that I know that I can hear you! That melo-dramatic bullshit ain't gonna work on me this time! Oh, and you got thirty seconds before the roast burns!" We then hear a car door slam and tires squeal as God speeds off, presumably to Zeus'.
Meanwhile, Michael grimaces a tad because he knows that his "soap opera drama" card can never be used again to win an argument. Then he runs into the kitchen. He may have lost this battle, but he'll be damned if he's gonna lose his dinner, too.
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