......

.......aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

aaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH

AAAAAAAUUUUUUGGGGHHHHHH

Everything you are is screaming.

You? What is “You”?

Wait, but something else is screaming.

“OH I FUCKED UP AGAIN, OH, OH!”

A Voice sends meaning into you.

You blink. Blinking feels incredible, so you do it again forever.

“I DID IT AGAIN, I FUCKED UP, WHAT IS THAT, WHAT IS THIS?”

You loosen, and new feelings flood down out of you. The half of you on the bottom is suddenly “warm” and “wet,” and now “cold,” but still wet. For the first time ever, you are at ease. Now you know about legs, too, one of the main things.

The newness of everything is making your head fizz, and so is the Voice.

“IT’S LOOKING AT ME, FUCK, FUCK CAN IT TALK? CAN YOU TALK?”

You make the thing happen and now your throat’s in the mix. Throats are one of the main things. Here’s what your throat does:

“Guhhh.”

But screaming was more fun, so now you have preferences. The Voice is still going. Its language sears itself into you.

“IT’S TALKING, OKAY, OKAY GET IT TOGETHER! GET IT TOGETHER! HELLO! HI! HELLO!”

You clench out another sound, and you and the Voice share a moment of meaning. This is the first time two things have ever thought the same thing. Nice!

“I THOUGHT ABOUT ME AND THEN I WAS, AND THEN I THOUGHT ABOUT SOME OTHER THINGS MAINLY BIRDS AND MORAL ABSOLUTES AND THEN THEY WERE, AND THEN I THOUGHT ABOUT YOU AND THEN YOU WERE,” the Voice says. “I KEEP THINKING OF THINGS AND THERE KEEP BEING NEW THINGS LIKE SOME TREES, AND WELL FUCK ME NOW THERE’S LIKE TWICE AS MUCH AS THERE ALREADY WAS BECAUSE I THOUGHT ABOUT WHAT THERE ALREADY WAS, STOP, HELP STOP IT!”

“HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW, I JUST THOUGHT ABOUT WHAT THE NEW FAT PINK FILTH THING I’M JUST WILD ABOUT WOULD LOOK LIKE WITH ITS PENIS ON THE OUTSIDE AND I GUESS I GOT DISTRACTED THINKING ABOUT WHAT I MIGHT BE ABLE TO DO AND NOW YOU’RE SOMETHING I’VE GOT TO DEAL WITH, I MEAN, FUCK.”

Wow! For some reason, hearing that makes you feel like a little hole has opened up inside the middle of you, but you can’t find a word to put to it. Oh well, it will probably go away soon enough.

“HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW, I JUST THOUGHT ABOUT WHAT THE NEW FAT PINK FILTH THING I’M JUST WILD ABOUT WOULD LOOK LIKE WITH ITS PENIS ON THE OUTSIDE AND I GUESS I GOT DISTRACTED THINKING ABOUT WHAT I MIGHT BE ABLE TO DO AND NOW YOU’RE SOMETHING I’VE GOT TO DEAL WITH, I MEAN, FUCK.”

Wow! For some reason, hearing that makes you feel like a little hole has opened up inside the middle of you, but you can’t find a word to put to it. Oh well, it will probably go away soon enough.

“YES, DEFINITELY, EVENTUALLY, YOU AND EVERYTHING ELSE, EVENTUALLY.”

Now you know about fate! What a day you’re having.

“YES, DEFINITELY, EVENTUALLY, YOU AND EVERYTHING ELSE, EVENTUALLY.”

Now you know about fate! What a day you’re having.

“UH.”

The Voice falls silent for a while, and as more bits of your mind knit together, you find yourself becoming aware of your surroundings. “Colors” and “shapes” resolve into, uh, colorful shapes you have no words for, things towering and dense in all directions. Sounds and smells bubble up from every angle. It’s dizzying.

The light warms your body, the breeze tousles your hair, your muscles flex and unflex, and like a little tiny tickle, a voice up in you ventures, Hey, maybe this is better than not being. Though on second thought, frankly, it’s still kind of a toss-up.

“OKAY I GOT IT: YOU CAN NAME STUFF, ALL THE STUFF I THOUGHT OF THAT NEEDS NAMES LIKE BEASTS AND ET CETERA, AND I DON’T WANT TO ACCIDENTALLY DREDGE MORE STUFF UP OUT OF MY MIND AND INTO THE WORLD, I MEAN HELL LOOK HOW MUCH STUFF THERE IS TO BEGIN WITH, SO GET OUT THERE CHAMP GO GO ON GET INTO IT.”

“OH MY GOODNESS, ARE WE GOING TO DO THIS WITH EVERYTHING, YES ‘NAME’ JUST CHOKE SOME SOUND OUT AND THAT’S WHAT WHATEVER IT IS IS NOW, WHO CARES, NONE OF THIS MATTERS, I MEAN FUCK IT YOU’RE ‘ADAM’ AND I’M ‘KIP’ OR YOU’RE ‘STOOL-BUDDY’ AND I’M ‘GOD’ OR WHO CARES? WHO CARES? WHO CARES?

“JUST GO KEEP YOURSELF OCCUPIED BECAUSE I THINK I MIGHT HAVE JUST THOUGHT ABOUT SATAN WHICH MEANS THAT NOW THERE’S SATAN SO NOW I HAVE TO GO DEAL WITH THAT, JESUS CHRIST, OH WONDERFUL NOW I’VE GOT TO DEAL WITH HIM TOO OKAY FUCK GO BYE.

“OH AND STAY AWAY FROM MY POTENT TREES FOR EVERYONE’S SAKE.”

The presence of the Voice dissipates, letting whatever’s between your legs relax. You’re alone now, in what you decide to call a “glade.” Hey, that’s kind of fun!

What will you do?

mmmmmmmhhhhh....

mmmmmmmhhhhh....

ooouuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...

ooouuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...

aaauuhhhhhhhhhhhhh...

nnnnghhhh...

aaauuhhhhhhhhhhhhh...

nnnnghhhh...

What an experience. You coin a new word to describe luxuriating in your body.

The untamed wilderness stretches in every direction, pregnant as fuck with possibility. What’re you gonna do, young man?

What an experience. You coin a new word to describe luxuriating in your body.

The untamed wilderness stretches in every direction, pregnant as fuck with possibility. What’re you gonna do, young man?

You lift up one leg and immediately topple forward, “beaning” your “noggin” against something jutting from the “ground,” sending “white” and “horrible” through the whole thing that is you. Okay! You’ve never moved around before; no need to be hard on yourself.

You make a mental note that cutting yourself a reasonable amount of slack is now named “radical self-care.”

Better get on with it, though.

As soon as the Voice or Kip or whoever mentioned important trees, you knew exactly where you were headed. You’re not totally sure what a tree is yet, but you figure you’ll know it when you see it. Boy, you can’t wait to do whatever it is one does with a tree!

Only, who’s this luminous joker?

With a burst of what you decide to call “confidence,” you ask this luminous joker who he is.

“I am a servant of He most high, He of many names: the Main One; the Six-Day Kid; Kip; He who is called Jeremy God. I am Seraph Uriel, and because my Lord accidentally thought up some goofed-up and powerful trees, He has charged me with babysitting you, the Only Guy.”

That’s a lot of new words! Better do as he says.

Uriel glides along to a tree “plump” with choice fruit. The middle of you makes brand-new sounds and feelings like, Hey, shove something into me, you dip, and the hole in your face gets wetter. You can’t wait to use what you’ve dubbed your “pearly little chompers.” Yeah, you know what to do, buddy!

“Here is the tree of Eleven Hundred Dollars U.S. Bestowed upon all those who bite of its fruit is the blessing of eleven hundred dollars U.S., but beware, O Man: Such wealth comes at a cost most dear....”

Without hesitation, you rip one fruit off a bough and jam your face into it hole-first. Moments later, you’re eating the first thing anyone’s ever eaten, and it’s spraying sweet juice hither and thither. Uriel watches with visible disgust.

A tickle against your hip cues you to look down in time to see a little wad of something flat and thin pop into being before it flutters apart on its way to the ground. Before you can reach for it, a blast of the unknowable force you’ve been calling “wind” carries it off, never to be seen again.

“See, O Man? For no sooner is eleven hundred dollars U.S. in your grasp than your lack of pockets snatches it away anon! But come now, big boy; there is more fruit for the chomping.”

“Look ye now upon the tree of Tito Puente’s Memories. Each bittersweet fruit holds within it the whole fullness of the life of El Rey de los Timbales, the undisputed grandaddy of Latin percussion: the highest highs, the lowest lows, and all the in-betweens. Dare you step into the mind of Puente?”

Dare you?

The flavor nearly overwhelms you, piquant and brisk, smoky and explosive, beating out a bomba rhythm on your palate. You reel back as seeings and hearings blast into your head:

Adjusting a satin bow tie;
Picking drumstick splinters out of your big, thick sausage fingers;
The heat of the stage lights and the roar of the crowd as you clutch your Latin Grammy;
Making strained chitchat with some goddamn muppets;
Doing drumming...

The totality of Puente fills you up, threatening to obliterate what little subjectivity you’ve eked out in your hour or so of existence, but with a great, defiant gag, you puke up the hunk of chewed pith. Tito subsides, and you get on with your day.

Uriel leads you to a gorgeous tree laden with shimmering golden fruit. Even in your naive know-nothing state of total tabula rasa, you recognize that gold has inherent value. Looks like you gotta have that important fruit.

“Those are lemons,” says Uriel. “Lemon trees are very pretty, and the lemon flower is sweet, but the fruit of the poor lemon? Impossible to eat. So don’t eat them. Just come on.”

This was 100 percent a mistake.

The bad fruit is a hateful fiasco. You choke it all down and make a mental note to never again trust your own judgment. And in that moment, perhaps you’ve finally become truly...

Human.

“Are you done?” says Uriel. “Because God said that after I show you this main important tree, I get to go gorge myself on seeds.”

The last lemon already stripped all the enamel from your teeth, so it’s even worse this time around. You are truly one genuine dullard.

Uriel stops in front of a perfectly ordinary-looking fruit tree. You’re basing that off of the three fruit trees you’ve seen, but still. You reminisce about the topsy-turvy times you’ve had lately until you realize Uriel’s speaking:

“This is the only tree in all the garden you must never eat of, the Tree of Calling ’Em As You Sees ’Em and Telling It Like It Is. To taste its fruit is to gain the clear-eyed perspective of the Almighty Himself, allowing one to speak luminous truths as a new God. It will blow your damn mind out the side of your pink, little head, so please, just don’t even try to eat it.”

Game time. What’s it gonna be?

Without even wiping the visible drool from your slack jaw, you lunge for the all-important Tree of Calling ’Em As You Sees ’Em and Telling It Like It Is, and slam your whole meaty body right into Uriel’s twinky little torso with a sound like a salmon slapping a ceramic wind chime. Not that you know what any of that is, but that’s what it sounds like.

“Were you listening to anything I just said, or were you lost in a fruit-related reverie?” Uriel says angrily. “God says you’re not allowed to eat this fruit, so there’s no way I’m going to let you. Now scoot along, little guy, and let me gorge myself on those good seeds, the food that angels prefer!”

Damn! What a bust.

You fret your way off into the untamed forest, feeling a horrid sucking sensation in your middle that you decide to call “disappointment.” You unconsciously recalibrate all of your expectations and make yourself a little more distant from the world so that you never have to feel this way again.

Well, time to go discover that death exists and then find a way to kill God.

Only, who’s this luminous joker?

Probably smart not to defy the will of God on your first afternoon on Earth. You’ll scheme up a way to scarf down that fruit eventually. Like, maybe you’ll discover that death exists and then find a way to kill God? There are no bad ideas on this young Earth.

Even so, as you make your way off into the untamed forest, you can’t help but feel a horrid sucking sensation in your middle that you decide to call “disappointment.” You unconsciously recalibrate all of your expectations and make yourself a little more distant from the world so that you never have to feel this way again.

Only, who’s this luminous joker?

The untamed wilderness stretches in every direction, pregnant as fuck with possibility. What’re you gonna do, young man?

The untamed wilderness stretches in every direction, pregnant as fuck with possibility. What’re you gonna do, young man?

You lift up one leg and immediately topple forward, “beaning” your “noggin” against something jutting from the “ground,” sending “white” and “horrible” through the whole thing that is you. You’ve never moved around before; no need to be hard on yourself.

You make a mental note that cutting yourself a reasonable amount of slack is now named “radical self-care.”

You tramp off to find something to name, twigs and brush tearing your soft, new-formed skin to ribbons.

Oh, gross. These must be some of the beasts Kip was screaming about. They’re, like, twice as big as you, and filthy, and they’re all yammering away at each other in a big pile of wet. Fuck! Today got so bad so fast!

“HOW DID WE HAPPEN?” they’re howling. “WHAT GIVES? WHAT GIVES? HOW DID WE HAPPEN?” Ugh, get over it, nerds!

You reach inside yourself to where truth lives and pull out a name for these disasters:

“Hey!” you clench out. “From now on, you’re called ‘Mother’!”

They’re too busy thrashing around in the wetpile to respond, and then you can’t see them, and they don’t come back. In this way, you learn about loss.

Hey, but what’s that thing?

“Hey!” you clench out. “From now on, you’re called ‘The Intimacy Bus’!”

They’re too busy thrashing around in the wetpile to respond, and then you can’t see them, and they don’t come back. In this way, you learn about loss.

Hey, but what’s that thing?

“Hey!” you clench out. “From now on, you’re called ‘God El Dos’! I met God, and you’re the other one!”

They’re too busy thrashing around in the wetpile to respond, and then you can’t see them, and they don’t come back. In this way, you learn about loss.

Hey, but what’s that thing?

“Hey!” you clench out. “From now on, you’re called ‘Some Kind Of Horse’!”

They’re too busy thrashing around in the wetpile to respond, and then you can’t see them, and they don’t come back. In this way, you learn about loss.

Hey, but what’s that thing?

“Hey!” you clench out. “From now on, you’re called ‘Special Guest Greg Proops’! I’m excited on your behalf!”

They’re too busy thrashing around in the wetpile to respond, and then you can’t see them, and they don’t come back. In this way, you learn about loss.

Hey, but what’s that thing?

“Hey!” you clench out. “From now on, you’re called ‘HENK.’!”

“‘HENK.’!” you repeat helpfully.

They’re too busy thrashing around in the wetpile to respond, and then you can’t see them, and they don’t come back. In this way, you learn about loss.

Hey, but what’s that thing?

“Hey!” you clench out. “From now on, you’re called ‘Eughliax’! Deal with it!”

They’re too busy thrashing around in the wetpile to respond, and then you can’t see them, and they don’t come back. In this way, you learn about loss.

Hey, but what’s that thing?

You trudge your way toward that thing. Whatever’s between your legs slaps around your “thighs” with the pleasures of rhythm. It gives you an idea for later that you decide to call “trout.”

From up high, that thing regards you in silence, taking sips of its friend. You like it, but you don’t think it likes you. After a hot ponder, you decide to call it something:

“Listen up,” you bark, “you’ve got a name now, and it’s ‘Mother.’ I get to decide things! Me! I’m the one who does that!”

You feel a rush of something you decide to call “power.” You never want to feel any other way!

Fuck! But what’s that other thing?!

“Listen up,” you bark, “you’ve got a name now, and it’s ‘Ladies And Gentlemen, Johnny Airshow Disaster.’ I get to decide things! Me! I’m the one who does that!”

You feel a rush of something you decide to call “power.” You never want to feel any other way!

Fuck! What’s that other thing?!

“Listen up,” you bark, “you’ve got a name now, and it’s ‘A Blessing.’ I get to decide things! Me! I’m the one who does that!”

You feel a rush of something you decide to call “power.” You never want to feel any other way!

Fuck! What’s that other thing?!

“Listen up,” you bark, “you’ve got a name now, and it’s ‘Additional God.’ I get to decide things! Me! I’m the one who does that! And I truly believe there should be more Gods!”

You feel a rush of something you decide to call “power.” You never want to feel any other way!

Fuck! What’s that other thing?!

“Listen up,” you bark, “you’ve got a name now, and it’s ‘Liar!’. I get to decide things! Me! I’m the one who does that!”

You feel a rush of something you decide to call “power.” You never want to feel any other way!

Fuck! What’s that other thing?!

“Listen up,” you bark, “you’ve got a name now, and it’s ‘The Main Ape.’ I get to decide things! Me! I’m the one who does that!”

You feel a rush of something you decide to call “power.” You never want to feel any other way!

Fuck! What’s that other thing?!

“Listen up,” you bark, “you’ve got a name now, and it’s ‘Ol’ “Tiptoes” Goward.’ I get to decide things! Me! I’m the one who does that!”

You feel a rush of something you decide to call “power.” You never want to feel any other way!

Fuck! What’s that other thing?!

You burst into a clearing to get a good look at the other thing. Never in your whole life to date have you seen anything like this thing. And whatever is between your legs is going positively buck-wild in the presence of this thing, so now you’re pretty sure it’s for detecting these things.

“Oh man,” says the thing, “oh man oh man oh man, I can’t wait until bread exists, oh man!”

Quick don’t think just name it:

You get real up close to the thing and hunker down “eye” to “eye.”

“Oh man!” says the thing.

“You’re ‘Jason’ now,” says the thing that’s you. “Good luck to you, my sweetness.”

Towering above the trees, there’s another thing that needs your unique abilities.

You get real up close to the thing and hunker down “eye” to “eye.”

“Oh man!” says the thing.

“You’re ‘Anti-Jason’ now,” says the thing that’s you. “Good luck to you, my sweetness.”

Towering above the trees, there’s another thing that needs your unique abilities.

You get real up close to the thing and hunker down “eye” to “eye.”

“Oh man!” says the thing.

“You’re ‘Mother-God’ now,” says the thing that’s you. “You’re two things. Good luck to you, my sweetness.”

Towering above the trees, there’s another thing that needs your unique abilities.

Oh yeah. You know exactly what this thing is called. You’ve had it cocked and ready to go, and you’ve never been so certain of anything in the whole hour you’ve existed.

“I AM GIRAFFE,” says the thing. “SATAN SAID I AM GIRAFFE.”

It just clicks. This thing is 100 percent Trout. You feel “swollen” with a good thing called “pride.” Good idea, God!

“I AM GIRAFFE,” says the Trout, but you’re already on to the next thing.

Fuck!

If that thing was a Trout, then what’s this? You’re somehow even more certain that this is a Trout than that other thing was, but you’ve just now decided that you’re a man of something called “integrity,” and you can’t go back on a name. Better call this flat catastrophe something else:

Perfect. It’s no Trout, but it’s the next best name, no question.

Well, that’s every single beast there probably is. What a day so far! But now, it is of course time to go discover that death exists and then find a way to kill God.

Only, who’s this luminous joker?

With a burst of your trademark confidence, you subject this joker to the third degree.

He laughs a laugh that sounds like how yogurt’s water tastes, and speaks in a voice that sounds like teeth on a belt sander.

“You know God, right?”

“I am his opposite. His antithesis. He is good; I am evil. And everything God does, I do the flip’em of it

“God made this Earth? I made an opposite one on the other side of the sun, where nothing is as it seems. You should see it; it’s wild.

“When, 800 years from now, God guides a bullet into President Kennedy’s head, I’m going to hollow out a moon and fill it entirely chock-full of President Kennedys. Hundreds of frozen Kennedys choking out by Saturn! God’s going to hate that.

“Hey, name a thing God might do. C’mon.”

“See, I would do the opposite of that, for I am Satan, the Original Jerkoff, the Standoffish One, the Dark Prince of Causing A Mess!

“And when God does something like, say, create a forbidden Tree of Calling ’Em As You Sees ’Em and Telling It Like It Is, I do things like, say, suggest you distract its guardian angel, Uriel, with a fistful of tasty seeds, the food that angels prefer.

“And because God gave you life, I get to do jacked-up opposite acts like this one right now.”

The Viceroy of Full-Bodied Cruelty hefts up something you decide right real quick to call a “rock,” and, with languid ease, wings it straight and true right at your soft, new-formed noggin.

THOCK

........aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

With a wet-mouthed howl, you burst back into consciousness. Satan is nowhere to be found, but there’s a splitting pain in your top part, and in your side part, and a little bit everywhere else.

The sky rumbles and cracks, and whatever’s between your legs tenses in the presence of the divine.

“HEY, I MADE YOU SOMEONE,” says the Almighty God, Lord of Hosts. “TOOK A FEW TRIES BUT I THINK I FINALLY NAILED IT, DO YOU WANNA SEE?”

God extends a ray of light to lead you into the forest, chattering as you stroll.

“HEY SORRY I FREAKED OUT ON YOU LIKE THAT EARLIER, I JUST HAD A LOT ON MY PLATE BETWEEN CREATING THE UNIVERSE, CREATING BIRDS, CREATING MY DARK OPPOSITE, AND CREATING HUMAN CONSCIOUSNESS, BUT IT SEEMS LIKE YOU’RE DOING OKAY OUT HERE COMING UP WITH NAMES FOR STUFF AND ALL.

“ANYWAY TO MAKE IT UP TO YOU I FIGURED I’D RIP OUT PART OF YOU AND MAKE IT INTO ANOTHER YOU BUT I BEEFED IT A FEW TIMES, LIKE WITH THIS GUY FOR EXAMPLE!”

“OBVIOUSLY YES.”

God extends a ray of light to lead you into the forest, chattering as you stroll.

“HEY SORRY I FREAKED OUT ON YOU LIKE THAT EARLIER, I JUST HAD A LOT ON MY PLATE BETWEEN CREATING THE UNIVERSE, CREATING BIRDS, CREATING MY DARK OPPOSITE, AND CREATING HUMAN CONSCIOUSNESS, BUT IT SEEMS LIKE YOU’RE DOING OKAY OUT HERE COMING UP WITH NAMES FOR STUFF AND ALL.

“ANYWAY TO MAKE IT UP TO YOU I FIGURED I’D RIP OUT PART OF YOU AND MAKE IT INTO ANOTHER YOU BUT I BEEFED IT A FEW TIMES, LIKE WITH THIS GUY FOR EXAMPLE!”

“I GRABBED ONE OF YOUR BIG TOES AND MADE THIS GUY OUT OF IT BUT I THINK HE’S STUCK LIKE THAT!”

You’re not sure what a toe is, but you’re definitely missing some parts.

“HONESTLY IT’S A WONDER YOU WORKED OUT AS WELL AS YOU DID, I MEAN LOOK AT YOU HONEY YOU’RE GORGEOUS, ANYWAY KEEP UP.”

Something awful is happening in a clearing.

“THAT ONE I MADE OUT OF YOUR NIPPLE.”

God falls silent for a moment.

“I DON’T REALLY KNOW WHAT HAPPENED THERE.”

Uh.

Euhhhhhh...

...

...

...

...

You walk on, using every rudimentary trick in your feeble young brain to push that thing out of your memory. God’s next failure you nearly step on.

“THIS POOR GUY I USED ONE OF YOUR MOLARS FOR AND HE WAS PRETTY MUCH D.O.A.

“BUT THAT GAVE ME THE IDEA TO USE A RIB, AND THE RIB AS WE KNOW IS MOSTLY PRECIOUS STEM CELLS, AND LO AND BEHOLD...”

Lo and behold, through the brush, you espy a figure...or is it the feminine version, a figurine? The light dances on what you decide to call its “hair” like watery spit on a windshield, and mischief twinkles in its eyes as though there’s mischief lodged in its eyes.

“ISN’T SHE PERFECT, SHE’S PERFECT, SHE’S 5-FOOT-9 AND CAUCASIAN AND OBVIOUSLY I’M INTO EVERY RACE BUT CAN’T A GUY HAVE PREFERENCES?

“I WANTED TO NAME HER ‘FEMALE EVEL KNIEVEL’ IN HONOR OF THE GREAT AND NOBLE SOUL WHO WILL ONE DAY SLAM A MOTORCYCLE OF PURE LIGHT INTO MY GOD-BRAIN AND FINALLY DESTROY ME BUT THAT SEEMED LIKE A REAL MOUTHFUL SO JUST CALL HER ‘EVE.’

“ANYWAY YOU’RE MARRIED TO HER; I’LL LEAVE YOU TWO ALONE TO GET ACQUAINTED, I MEAN I WON’T ACTUALLY LEAVE YOU ALONE, I’LL BE WATCHING, THAT’S THE WHOLE POINT.”

Eve looks you over. You look Eve over. It’s weird.

“Eve,” says Eve. “I was your rib, but now I’m a guy, and I’m doing everything in my power not to think about that too hard.”

Hey, she’s getting the hang of this whole “being a bodied soul” thing quick! Quicker than you by a long shot. You make a mental note to humiliate her in front of God if you get the chance so she remembers who came first here.

“I’m not sure, but I can’t imagine He had anything hard and fast in mind,” says Eve. “He seems like He really has a lot of trouble concentrating. I’m not sure He’s well.”

Well, she’s not wrong.

“I honestly have no idea,” says Eve. “Are you?”

“There’s just no way to know,” says Eve. She falls silent. The wind rustles the boughs above you.

“I know,” says Eve. She falls silent. Nearby critters stir the brush.

hhhhhhhhhhnnnnnnghh...

pppppsssshhhhhhh...

dddddddnnnnnggghhhhh...

uuuuuuaugh...

Definitely a body. Your doubts have been fully put to rest.

“Thanks!” says Eve. “I didn’t know I had that.”

What now?

This is wrong. Very, very wrong. You were one guy, and now you’re two guys? Your mind (the seat of your consciousness, you’ve decided) reels; your heart (whatever that is) boggles. You’ve got to fix this, you explain.

Eve stares at you placidly, not quite comprehending. What’re you gonna do?

You lift up your hands in supplication, and Eve follows suit. Together, in unison, two hearts beating in sync, your naive benediction pours out, lubricated by holy purpose:

Awesome God, mighty God;
He who thought up birds;
Hear us now, O Jeremy God;
Listen to our words:

We are two guys who would be one,
Beaned by rock, and split.
Don’t leave us to our separate fates,
Here on Planet Shit.

(Centuries later, the humble monks of the Divine Order of Just The One Guy will chant this morning, noon, and night.)

“I’M NOT REALLY A ‘GRANTING WISHES’ TYPE OF ENTITY,” says God. “MORE OF A ‘DO A THING AND MOVE ON WITH MY DAMN LIFE’ TYPE, LIKE WHILE YOU TWO WERE BELLYACHING I CAME UP WITH MATH.

“TOUGH SUGAR MY NUGGETS, YOU’LL LEARN TO DEAL,” adds God.

You take a running start and slam the front of your lithe, unwieldy body against hers, though she manages to keep her footing. Still not yet one guy again, you go to get another running start, only to discover you’ve accidentally plugged into her with yourself. This is new!

Well, you would, only as you do, something starts happening to whatever’s between your legs, like the rush of power you got from getting to name something, or from devouring a whole fruit, only between your legs. A phrase you come up with on the spot is “pleasures of the flesh,” and also you accidentally say it out loud.

“Pleasures of the flesh,” you say, and wiggle back a bit.

“Pleasures of the flesh,” agrees Eve.

“Pleasures of the flesh,” you say again, helpfully nudging forward.

“Pleasures of the flesh,” agrees Eve.

You pull yourself away from Eve with a sign, a sensation, and a noise. Despite your best efforts, it looks like you’ll never just be one guy again. Eve gives you a reassuring pat on the arm.

The sun warms the skin of your face.

Despite your best efforts, it looks like you’ll never just be one guy again. Eve gives you a reassuring pat on the arm.

The sun warms the skin of your face.

Ever since your conversation with Satan, you can’t stop thinking about the forbidden Tree of Calling ’Em As You Sees ’Em and Telling It Like It Is. What would it be like to not only be able to call ’em as you sees ’em, but to take that knowledge, turn around, and tell it like it is? You would be as God, and that’s a pretty good goal!

You’ve got a plan. Eve listens attentively as you bring her up to speed in hushed tones so God can’t hear.

“WHAT?” says God. “WHAT ARE YOU GUYS SAYING, WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? C’MON DON’T EXCLUDE ME.”

“ALL RIGHT ALL RIGHT, NO NEED TO GET SALTY, BUT YOU BETTER NOT BE PLOTTING TO OVERTHROW ME, BECAUSE THE MINUTE ANYONE TRIES TO OVERTHROW ME I’M GOING TO COME UP WITH THE IDEA FOR SPANISH, JUST YOU WAIT.”

The divine presence dissipates listlessly, and your groin relaxes.

“Fruit time?” says Eve.

As what you’ve decided to call “the sun” sets, the two of you wend your way through the wilderness toward the grove where God plopped down His potent fruit trees, including that all-powerful main important tree of Calling ’Em, et cetera. The forest really just lays into you; at this point, your milky skin is a tapestry of scrapes, cuts, and oozing gashes.

As you walk, you and Eve discuss what grass is, and where things go when you close your eyes, and how you each feel about being at the mercy of an unstable deity. You discover that laughter is a thing you can do, and hash out a rough design for a rudimentary transistor. It’s nice not being alone.

Remember, though, if you want to get anywhere near that tree, you’ll need to distract its guardian angel. Better grab something:

Hey, clever! Angels love the word of God, and if you can get Uriel to read the Bible, he’ll get so engrossed that you’ll be able to sneak past him no problem.

Unfortunately, you don’t seem to have a copy of the Bible handy. Maybe Eve does?

“No,” says Eve, “I don’t own a Bible. Sorry.”

Fuck! And how’s a guy supposed to get a Bible out here in the damn woods? It could be what you’ve decided to call “days” before you find one!

Better use something else—but what?

Good thinking! With a little bit of foraging, you manage to find a young Peter Gallagher crouching in a thicket. And as you coax him out with a handful of herbaceous sprigs, who else should creep out but a young Daryl Hannah? They’re wary, but once they have your scent, they warm to you and follow eagerly.

Hey, yeah! Satan’s words ring in your head: Seeds are the food that angels prefer! And if you lure Uriel away with seeds, Eve can swoop in for that sweet, blessed fruit. It’s the perfect prelapsarian crime.

Luckily, since the Earth is so young, most plants are just seeds right now, so it’s hardly a half hour before you’ve got a great big pile of them.

Seeds in hand, you mosey up to the main important tree, where Uriel is sulking around. He perks up a whole lot upon seeing you.

“Oh, howdy there,” he says, “I’ve been going kind of crazy here; there’s fuck-all to do on this planet and I’m stuck on guard duty. Hey now, what’ve you got there?”

“Oh my,” says Uriel. “Seeds. Sweet, succulent seeds. As an angel, I prefer them. Gimme gimme please?”

Slowly but surely, you coax a visibly salivating Uriel away from the tree, always keeping the seeds just out of his reach.

“C’mon,” he says. “C’mon c’mon c’mon. C’mon!”

Over his shoulder, you can see Eve wriggle out of the brush and start pulling down forbidden fruits. Soon enough, she’s got an armful. Time for the getaway.

You leave Uriel to pat his belly and scurry to a nearby clearing, where Eve dumps unspecified fruit after unspecified fruit into your outstretched hands. She’s grinning all big, and there’s unspecified fruit smeared all over her face. She looks like a real dunce.

“It’s amazing,” she says, breathless. “I see everything differently. And I’m not afraid to tell it like it is. I can’t wait for you to experience this. Eat! Eat!”

Uriel tucks into the seeds with a squeal, and his tongue tickles your palm!

Boy, this guy sure was hungry. Seconds later, your hand is empty and slick with shimmering effluence.

“Thanks,” he says, suppressing a belch. “You’re good people. I think we’re going to like hanging out in this garden together indefinitely.”

You’ve whipped him into a seed-related frenzy, and with a whoop, Uriel scrambles off into the forest to gorge himself.

You, meanwhile, scurry to a nearby clearing, where Eve dumps unspecified fruit after unspecified fruit into your outstretched hands. She’s grinning all big, and there’s unspecified fruit smeared all over her face. She looks like a real dunce.

“It’s amazing,” she says, breathless. “I see everything differently. And I’m not afraid to tell it like it is. I can’t wait for you to experience this. Eat! Eat!”

The first bite of the fruit of Calling ’Em As You Sees ’Em and Telling It Like It Is is bliss, and so is the second, and before you know it, you’ve sucked down the whole thing.

All of a sudden, your head is screaming like someone tomahawk-dunked the whole sun right into it, like you’re being created all over again. Colors, shapes, and colored shapes swirl before your eyes. Your groin hums with mystic energies.

Eve laughs at your jubilant whooping up of it. You feel giddy, powerful, ready to pull God out of the sky and piss in God’s mouth.

“Quick,” says Eve, grinning, “are you naked?”

You check.

“Me too,” says Eve. “I’m also naked too.”

It’s true, and for the first time in your short life, you’ve seen it and called it as such, in the form of telling it like it is. Right there between your legs, plain as day, is your penis, out and about like a stroller on Sunday. You can’t even conceive of not being aware of it now.

“It’s my penis,” you say.

With this power inside you, and no threats to your well-being whatsoever anywhere, there’s no end to what you could accomplish. You could even—

“FUCK!” screams the Almighty God. “OH NO NO NO NO NO DAMN IT NO!”

“Whoa, whoa, hold on now, we don’t necessarily know that we’re naked,” you call out. “We might be! We’re not sure! Everything’s normal and fine!”

It’s no good. God is getting angrier and angrier, like a warthog tumbling down an up escalator.

“YOU DISOBEYED ME,” He howls. “YOU DISOBEYED ME AND NOW YOU MUST PAY, YOU MUST BE PUNISHED, THERE MUST BE A RECKONING, BECAUSE THAT’S JUST THE KIND OF GOD I AM!”

“Yeah! We’re naked as ever, loser!” you call out, shoving another fruit into your mouth and spraying chunks as you yell. “Fuck you! I don’t know if you have a family, but fuck them too! We do as we please all of a sudden!”

“Yeah!” screams Eve. “I agree!”

Well, it’s working. God is getting angrier and angrier, like a warthog tumbling down an up escalator.

“YOU DISOBEYED ME,” He howls. ”YOU DISOBEYED ME AND NOW YOU MUST PAY, YOU MUST BE PUNISHED, THERE MUST BE A RECKONING, BECAUSE THAT’S JUST THE KIND OF GOD I AM!”

“EVE: I REALLY HONESTLY LIKED YOU, YOU SEEMED COOL, AND I FELT LIKE WITH TIME AND TRUST WE COULD HAVE REALLY OPENED UP TO EACH OTHER AND BEEN THERE FOR EACH OTHER WHEN WE NEEDED IT MOST, BUT YOU THREW THAT AWAY.

“REMEMBER WHEN I MADE YOU OUT OF A RIB? THAT WAS WILD.

“YOUR PUNISHMENT IS THUS: YOU HAVE TO HAVE THE KIDS. I WAS GOING TO HAVE IT WHERE YOU BOTH COUGH OUT PARTS INTO A HEAP THAT YOU COULD KIND OF NUDGE INTO BEING A BABY, BUT NOPE, NOW IT’S GONNA CHEW OUT A LITTLE HOLE INSIDE OF YOU AND TEAR ITS WAY OUT SCREAMING WHEN YOU LEAST EXPECT IT SORRY EXCEPT THAT I’M NOT.”

Eve wails and collapses in a heap as God turns his attention to you.

“ADAM: BUDDY, HOW DID IT COME TO THIS?

“I WAS GOING TO MAKE SO MANY COOL THINGS OUT OF PIECES OF YOU; I HAD IT ALL PLANNED OUT, YOU WOULD HAVE LOVED IT; I WAS GOING TO TAKE ONE OF YOUR EYEBALLS TO MAKE A NEW KIND OF GECKO AND WITH YOUR NOSTRILS I WAS GOING TO MAKE A SECOND NEW KIND OF GECKO, BUT NOW WHY BOTHER?

“YOUR PUNISHMENT IS THUS: WHEREVER YOU GO, WHATEVER YOU DO, SOMEONE OR SOMETHING WILL ALWAYS BE CONSPIRING TO BASH YOU IN THE PENIS.

“YOU WILL SWEAT AND STRAIN BUILDING SOCIETAL STRUCTURES AND HASHING OUT SOCIAL CONTRACTS TO KEEP ANYONE OR ANYTHING FROM BASHING YOU IN THE PENIS, BUT A SINGLE MOMENT IS ALL IT TAKES FOR EVERYTHING TO COME CRUMBLING DOWN AND YOUR PENIS TO BE SEVERELY BASHED PERHAPS EVEN BEYOND RECOGNITION.

“YOUR PENIS WILL NEVER BE SAFE UNTIL IT’S DEAD IN THE GROUND, AND WHEN YOUR SOUL GETS TO HEAVEN I’LL BASH ITS PENIS MYSELF ONE FINAL TIME.”

In a flash of darkness, God plucks Satan into the clearing. The dark angel sneers defiantly and looks really cool doing it.

“SATAN MY ETERNAL ENEMY, YOU MASTER MANIPULATOR, YOU TOO HAD A PART TO PLAY IN THIS BETRAYAL AND YOU TOO WILL BE PUNISHED.

“SEE THAT SNAKE OVER THERE ON THAT ROCK?”

“I’M GOING TO RIP ITS LEGS OFF,” says God.

“Aw no, c’mon, don’t!” whines Satan.

“TOO LATE JUST DID,” says God, and sure enough, no legs.

“Aah!” screams the snake, “this is a severe hassle!”

“Ah, shoot. You got me good. You knew how I feel about snakes!” cries Satan, but then he winks at you and whispers, “I could give a fuck about snakes,” before blinking off to elsewhere.

“WHAT?” says God. ‘”WAIT IS HE NOT ACTUALLY PASSIONATE ABOUT SNAKES LIKE HE TOLD ME HE WAS? DID HE PLAY ME FOR THE FOOL AGAIN? SATAN YOU OLD ROGUE YOU’VE STILL GOT IT.”

“Aahhh!” screams the snake, louder.