“Welcome to Herman!” a small angel screams at you.

“Yes, that is what I said. My name is Donner, and I will be your Hermanly Host for the next 500 billion years, assisting you with whatever you need while you’re acclimating to life inside the pearly gates.”

“Because after that I will enter my chrysalis stage and transform into a pelican.”

“Herman can be a wonderful place, but it can also be a not-so-wonderful place,” Donner screams as your childhood dog hurtles through the sky behind him, giving you a brief preview of the glories that await. “It all depends whether you get on God’s good side or his bad side.”

“Well, for one, he’ll let you use his Sonicare toothbrush, which is way better than a normal toothbrush. And sometimes he’ll take you for a ride in his private golf cart and let you sit on his lap and pretend to drive. Oh, and sometimes he’ll let you watch the personalized episodes of King Of The Hill that he made for himself after realizing that he couldn’t relate to the original series—I hear they’re really good, too.”

“Yes, it is. But what’s really amazing is if you become God’s favorite. If God chooses you as his favorite, you get to live in his house with him and basically be a god yourself. He lets you partake in his holy vegetables and sleep next to him in a matching sleeping bag. He lets you hold the walkie-talkie that receives all of mankind’s prayers. But the coolest part is that he lets you into his private trophy room to look at all his trophies—truly, there is no greater privilege.”

“Well, there are a number of things God could do to make your life unpleasant, but if you really get on his bad side, he’ll sentence you to live in Judas’ Bog. That’s the fucked-up swamp of sadness God invented for Judas because he didn’t think Hell was a severe enough punishment. It is said that everyone there is constantly flying around jetpack-like with the most brutal diarrhea imaginable, and there’s no toilet paper, so you have to use a communal Nerf football. And every time you open your mouth there, a sickly old bat flies into your mouth and makes love with your tongue, and then it lays a clutch of sour eggs on your tongue, and if you try to spit them out, a tiny Tom Hanks in a police uniform runs up and shatters your knees with a billy club. The tiny Tom Hanks is an asshole, and he’s always hitting you for arbitrary reasons. Every day in Judas’ Bog is a stupid fiesta of nightmares, and I hope you never have to go there.”

“Hey, speaking of God, here’s your ride now to go meet him,” says Donner as a tramcar piloted by a gorilla pulls up. “Good luck, and let me know if you need anything. You can find me in the bathroom toilet of your condo, which is where I live.”

“I don’t know what the hell this is, but thank you,” says Donner, eating the $5 bill.

You get on the tram and start flying through Heaven to meet God. You see all sorts of neat stuff through the window, such as a gold-plated CVS and two angels electrocuting a giant squid with their powers.

You ask the gorilla how he likes it in Heaven, but he just sits there like an idiot and doesn’t say anything. Annoyed, you find an empty beer can on the floor and throw it at the gorilla’s head to try to get his attention.

Then, without saying a word, the gorilla extends his hand back toward you in a manner that suggests he wants you to hold his hand.

The moment you take the gorilla’s hand, you feel a powerful surge of energy explode through your body, and suddenly millions of images and sounds are rapidly flashing through your mind.

You see drunk, muscular angels blasting you with a firehose and mocking you for not being as sleek and hairless as them. You see a lionlike beast covered head to toe in gorgeous lips singing a ballad about how he flew to Earth the morning of 9/11 and put all of your bananas in the North Tower and how you cried when you saw the footage of them exploding on MSNBC. You see big-shot Heaven celebrities James Gandolfini and Steve Irwin walking down a golden street holding hands, and as they pass you, you hear Steve yell, “Blimey! It’s Rodney Dipshit!” and they both bust out laughing. Then you hear what is unmistakably the voice of God saying, “Rodney, you useless moron ape! Pack your bags, I am sending you to live in Judas’ Bog for the rest of eternity!”

The gorilla pilot pulls his hand away, and the images stop flashing through your mind. You realize that he has just shown you his memories of Heaven, and you understand that his experience has not been a good one.

Damn, if that’s what it’s like to be on God’s bad side, then you need to do whatever it takes to make sure he likes you.

The tram pulls up in front of God’s house and leaves you at the doorstep.

“Welcome, my child,” says a voice that is somehow both loud and quiet, deep and shrill, American-sounding and Chinese-sounding. “Come in so that I might gaze upon you with my powerful, high-quality eyes and sniff you with my wise, deathless snout.”

The front door opens, beckoning you inside.

“Oh, hey there, buddy. How’s it goin’? My name’s God. What’s your name?”

Holy shit. It’s God.

“Yeah, I already knew that. Funny story, but I actually created you out of some clay and toothpicks and shit, so I pretty much know everything there is to know about you. Weird, right?”

You’re at a loss for words. You’re excited to be talking to God, but also extremely nervous and a bit paranoid, because if he knows everything about you, then that probably means he knows about—

“—the time you got drunk and ran over the mailman with your car? And you didn’t know what to do with the body so you just put some stamps on it and stuffed it into one of those big metal street-corner mailboxes, and nobody discovered the body for months because the guy who normally emptied that mailbox was the guy you killed, and when someone finally did discover him, his corpse was a perfect cube shape because the body had bloated into the mold of the mailbox’s rigid 90-degree corners, and the poor guy had to be buried in a hollowed-out refrigerator since there were no coffins that could accommodate his angular dimensions? Yep, I know about that.”

Whoa, did God just read your mind?

“Yes. I did. And for what it’s worth, that mailman was constantly taking my name in vain, so it doesn’t bug me that you killed him.”

“Sooooo, anyway… did you bring me any offerings?”

Shit. You forgot to bring God an offering. You should’ve stopped at that CVS on the way over.

“Oh, okay, cool. Seems like it would’ve made more sense to just bring it in when you got here, but what do I know—it’s not like I’m omniscient or anything. But, yeah, if you wanna run out and grab my offering real quick, that’d be great.”

You run outside and frantically start looking for an offering to give to God. Luckily, as you’re searching, you notice three things hurtling through the sky that might be able to pass as offerings: a vending machine, a TurboTax Premier software bundle, and the King of Pop, Michael Jackson.

You grab Michael Jackson and bring him to God as an offering.

“Whoa, holy shit!” says God. “You got me my own Michael Jackson? Badass, bro! I’ve always wanted one of these.”

“Hee-heeeee!” Michael Jackson sings as he moonwalks around God’s living room. “Shamone!”

“Oh, cool, he’s doing all the things!” God exclaims. “Damn, this offering rules. You have pleased me greatly. Keep this up, and I can see you becoming my favorite in no time.”

You quickly run outside and grab Michael Jackson, hoping that God will like the King of Pop more than he liked your first offering.

“Whoa, holy shit!” says God. “You got me my own Michael Jackson? Badass, bro! I’ve always wanted one of these.”

“Hee-heeeee!” Michael Jackson sings as he moonwalks around God’s living room. “Shamone!”

“Oh, cool, he’s doing all the things!” God exclaims. “Damn, this offering rules—way better than that bullshit you brought me before. Dang. You have pleased me greatly. Keep this up and I can see you becoming my favorite in no time.”

“Now, before I send you on your way, are there any questions you’d like to ask me? You can ask whatever you’d like—no topics are off limits.”

God sighs deeply and rubs his eyes with exasperation.

“Yes. Yes, there is.”

Good to know!

“Anyway, I think that’s enough questions for now. But thanks again for giving me Michael Jackson—you definitely earned some brownie points with that one. Lemme know if you need anything, and don’t be a stranger. Adios, amigo!”

“Ah, I see what you did there. Fun.”

“Bradley’s. Are there any other questions you’d like to ask me?”

“Okay, well, it was cool meeting you. Thanks again for giving me Michael Jackson—you definitely earned some brownie points with that one. Lemme know if you need anything, and don’t be a stranger. Adios, amigo!”

There is a long, awkward silence.

“Please ask me a different question.”

“I have eight birthdays. I am allowed to have as many birthdays as I want because I am God. Do you have any other questions?”

You grab the TurboTax software bundle and bring it to God as an offering.

“You gotta be shitting me,” says God, anger creeping into his voice. “Seriously? Tax software? What the hell am I supposed to do with this? Did you see anything in the Bible about me doing taxes? Come on. God doesn’t do taxes. That’s nerd shit.”

You’re getting the sense that God doesn’t like your offering.

“I’m not sure why you’re trying to clown me, bro. You knew this was a junkass offering, but you gave it to me anyway. And that’s shitty. Maybe I should banish you to Judas’ Bog to teach you a little something about respect. How’s that sound, eh?”

You grab the vending machine and bring it to God as an offering.

“Ummm, what the hell is this?” asks God, anger creeping into his voice. “Seriously, what the hell is this? A fucking vending machine? Come on. It’d be one thing if you just brought me a pile of snacks, but instead you’ve brought me a pile of snacks locked inside a giant box, and I have to pay my own money to access the snacks. So, essentially, the gift you’re giving me is the option to spend $1.50 on Certs.”

You’re getting the sense that God doesn’t like your offering.

“You realize that I’m the creator of all things, right? So, if I wanted snacks, I could just will them into existence, like this.”

God snaps his fingers and a nine-foot mound of Corn Nuts materializes.

“You shouldn’t have clowned me, bro. You knew that was a junkass offering, but you didn’t care. You didn’t respect me. So I’m thinking maybe I should banish you to Judas’ Bog to teach you a little something about respect. How’s that sound, eh?”

“Ah, c’mon, man. Don’t grovel. That shit’s pathetic. That shit bums me out. Don’t embarrass yourself.”

You get up off the floor and stop groveling.

“Well, anyway, thanks for stopping by and saying hello. I would say to stop by again some time, but honestly, you just kind of seem like a person who I’d never, ever want to hang out with or interact with in any capacity ever again. No offense or anything. But hopefully you’ll enjoy it here in Heaven. I’m gonna do you a solid and hook you up with some nice digs in this charming little place called Judas’ Bog—I think you’re gonna love it.”

Ah, fuck. You blew it.

“Adios, ding-dong! Enjoy the afterlife!”

As you’re walking out of God’s house, you hear a voice trying to get your attention.

“Psst,” the voice says. “Psssst. Pssssssst. Hey, new guy! Psst. Psssssssssst. Hey, look over here! Psssssst! PSSSST! Pssssst. Pssst. Psst. I am to your right. Psssst. Psssssssttttt!”

“Looks like you’ve figured out that right is left and left is right in Heaven—good for you!”

Oh, whoa, it’s Pope John II.

“Pardon my eavesdropping, but it sounds like things went really well in there. Seems like God really, really likes you.”

“Yes, I know many things about God, because I am his favorite. I live here in his house with him and partake in his holy vegetables, and I intend to continue partaking in his holy vegetables forever and ever, because I won’t let anyone usurp me as his favorite. So don’t get any funny ideas. Capiche?”

“It means, ‘Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?’ Specifically about me being God’s favorite? And how I’d like to continue being God’s favorite? And how nobody better fuck with this good thing I’ve got going?”

“Listen, you little rat. If you knew what was good for you, you wouldn’t fuck with me. I am a pope and a goddamn bona fide saint, and no one deserves to sleep next to God in a matching sleeping bag except me. Got it? So stay in your lane, fucker, or I will wreck you.”

“What’s going on out there?” shouts God from the other room. “Pope, I hope you’re not being an asshole to our new friend—that wouldn’t be very me-like.”

The pope shoots you an angry glare, which catches you off guard because you thought you were just making friendly small talk with the guy.

“You’ve made a powerful enemy today,” says the pope through gritted teeth. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

You step outside, and the tram is waiting there to take you to your condo. You take a seat in the back so you don’t have to be near the gorilla pilot, who is crying.

You arrive at your condo, and the place fuckin’ rules. There’s rich-people shit everywhere, and the couches are so soft that they feel like they’re upholstered with that stretchy skin from puppies’ bellies—a fact you later confirm by checking the tag on one of the cushions.

“Welcome to your new home!” you hear a voice call out from the bathroom.

It’s your heavenly host, Donner!

“I tell you what, you must’ve made a great first impression with God, because he set you up with one of the nicest condos in all of Herman!” exclaims Donner, giddily splashing around in the toilet water. “And he even left you a personalized gift basket in the kitchen! Wowee! I gotta say, I’m really excited to be living here with you, and I hope that we’ll become best fr—”

You close the toilet lid on Donner so you don’t have to talk to him anymore. You’re much more interested in checking out this gift basket that God left for you.

You go to the kitchen and find the gift basket from God. It has 30 eggs and some paperclips in it. Also, there’s a handwritten note tucked inside.

Wow, a personal invitation to hang out with God—seems like he really likes you! Maybe if you keep building a rapport with him, you can eventually become his favorite.

It occurs to you, though, that you don’t really know a whole lot about him, and you’re not sure what you can do to make him like you more.

You go to the toilet and ask Donner for some pointers on how to make God like you more.

“If you really want to win God over, there are three things you must do. One, you need to make him feel funny. Two, you need to show him that you can remain strong in the face of great temptation. And three, you need to show him that you’re willing to make an extraordinary sacrifice for him. History shows that if you can succeed at doing these three things, God will bestow his favor on you.”

Laugh at God’s jokes, resist temptation, and make a big sacrifice. Got it.

You put some money in the toilet to thank Donner for his help, but then you accidentally flush the toilet out of habit, and you can hear his head knocking pretty hard against the bowl as he swirls around.

You’ve got a few hours to kill before you’re supposed to go hang out with God. What do you want to do in the meantime?

You take the private escalator from your condo and venture out into Heaven. Contrary to what has been widely reported on the news, there don’t seem to be any streets of gold here. As far as you can tell, there are just a bunch of long moving walkways linking together a vast constellation of celestial landmasses, and you can either travel around on the walkways or take the gorilla-piloted tram system.

If you’re wondering what Heaven smells like, it smells like a hotel with an indoor pool.

The first thing you encounter while exploring Heaven is some giraffes submerged in a cloud.

“Howdy, stranger,” one of them shouts to you. “Come join us in the Ecstasy Cloud.”

“It feels incredible on my huge, ridiculous legs,” says the other. “I am twitching with pleasure.”

Next, you enter a place called the Hall of Fabulous Cash Prizes. Seems like the basic gist of it is that you walk in, ask for a fabulous cash prize, and then a fabulous cash prize rains down from the ceiling. You can do this as many times as you want, and you can get your memory erased between each go so that every fabulous cash prize feels just as exciting as the first one.

“Holy shit,” the man in front of you yells as money falls down on him from above. “I just won a huge cash prize! This is the best day of my life!”

He then runs off, gets his memory erased, and comes back to do it again.

“Holy shit,” he yells as a second fabulous prize rains down. “I just won a huge cash prize! Stuff like this never happens to me! Wow!”

Well, that was fun. And now that you’ve got all of the tourist shit out of the way, it’s just about time for you to head over to God’s place to watch King Of The Hill.

The next place you find is a beautiful tropical beach. There are foxy angels playing volleyball all over the place, and a magnificent blue whale keeps beaching itself to blast candy and free video games out of its blowhole for all the beachgoers to enjoy.

Then, as you’re walking down the shore, you happen to spot none other than Jesus Christ himself! He is dragging his cross around and hamming it up for his fans. One angel comes up and asks for a picture, and Jesus lets him hold the cross and pretend to play it like an electric guitar.

You wander into a dark corridor and—oh, no! It’s a mummy! And in Heaven, of all places!

Who could’ve seen THAT coming?!?

“I vant to suck your blood!” he cries. “Boooooooooo.”

Quick, run!

You stumble upon a heavenly choir singing a hymn of praise.

“O Lord our God, we thank you for the gift of salad / It is so nice to fill our mouths with leaves / We love to feel the limp, wet taste on our palates / This shitty meal we graciously receive.”

Wow. You have never heard anything more beautiful in your life.

What the hell is this? Some sort of oil refinery or something?

“That’s Irish Heaven,” says an angel flying past you. “The Irish decided they wanted to build their own private section of Heaven, and this is what they came up with. Took 200 million years to construct.”

Hey, it’s your old neighbor Ronald who died when you were 9 years old! Sure is nice to see a familiar face.

“Hello,” says Ronald. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you. The last time I saw you, you hadn’t gone through puberty yet. Your older brother had gone through puberty, and your mom had gone through puberty, and your dad had gone through puberty. But you had not gone through puberty, and neither had your younger sibling. I can see now, however, that in the years since my death, you have indeed managed to complete your full maturation through puberty, and it pleases me to learn that you have succeeded in that regard. Well, anyway, it was good catching up. Goodbye.”

Ronald bursts into flames and melts into a puddle of wax.

The farther you wander into Heaven, the less spectacular and wondrous things seem to be. Here you happen upon some sort of ear cello or something? And for some reason it’s chained up? And it’s somberly playing the Jeopardy! theme in a minor key?

And apparently this part of Heaven is just an old Lockhorns comic? Not sure why God would put this here, but okay.

As you’re wandering, you’re suddenly stopped by some kind of security officer.

“Halt,” he barks. “You are not permitted beyond this point without special authorization from God. Please turn around and vacate the area, or I will have to whistle at you with my loud whistle. Or should the whistle fail to deter you, I will squirt you with my squirt bottle of vinegar.”

Damn, this guy is really serious about whatever he’s guarding. You can’t help but wonder what’s at the top of those stairs.

“I can see that you are wondering about what’s at the top of those stairs,” he continues. “You must be new here, because pretty much everybody knows that at the top of this staircase is the entrance to the Garden of Eden, which God rebuilt here in Heaven after it got all fucked up on Earth. The only people who are allowed to enter it here in Heaven are God and the pope.”

Wow. The Garden of Eden. You would like to go to there. Maybe that’s something you can talk to God about when you see him tonight.

Speaking of, it’s getting close to 7 o’clock, and you should probably head over to God’s place if you don’t want to be late.

“Hi, Jesus!” you say.

“Hi, sport!” he replies.

“Thanks for dying for my sins!”

“Sure thing, pal!”

Jesus then runs out into the water and surfs on his cross like a surfboard. Cool!

Mmm, yes, this rules. It’s not comparable to any sensation you ever felt on Earth—there’s something transcendent about it that you can’t really explain. It feels like there’s a warm tornado rolling around on all your individual cells and filling them up with nourishing soup and your skin is burping out satisfied soup burps and also it is your birthday.

You’d think it’d be sexual, but it’s not.

You quietly march in place for three hours and have a nice time doing it. It’s nearly 7 o’clock when you finish, which means you should probably head over to God’s house.

You take the gorilla tram over to God’s house to watch King Of The Hill.

“Hey, buddy, come on in!” you hear God say. “I’m firing up the ol’ Blu-ray now.”

“The party has arrived! So glad you could make it, bud. What’d you think of those eggs I sent you? Pretty sweet, right?”

“Hey, let me introduce you to the fellas.”

“This is my friend Cassiel. A fun fact about Cassiel is that he was the archangel who accidentally crashed into the Challenger shuttle and made it explode. Pretty neat, huh?”

“And this is my personal trainer, Sneaky Ivan. I call him that because he’s always sneaking into my house to exercise.”

“This is my friend Moses. He led the Jews out of Egypt.”

“And over by the window is my friend Job, who you might know from the Bible. Job and I have this fun thing where I’m always doing these big pranks on him, like destroying his family or ravaging his herds with natural disasters. It’s all in good fun, though. Right, Job?”

Job nods silently. A single tear rolls down his cheek.

“And this here is Dog Guy. I created Dog Guy because I thought it’d be a riot to have a half dog/half guy to hang out with. And I was right!”

Dog Guy woofs and does an amusing little tap dance.

“And, lastly, here’s my favorite guy, Pope John Paul II—although I believe you two have already met.”

The pope just sits there and stares at you like a dick.

“Okay, well now that everyone’s met each other, let’s go ahead and watch King Of The Hill. Now, just to clarify, this isn’t an episode from the original series but rather a personalized episode that I created in order to make the show feel more relatable to my own experiences as God. Hope you enjoy it!”

God sits down on the couch, and you and the pope both race over to try to grab the seat next to him.

As you’re both rushing toward the couch, you yank the pope’s pants down, allowing you to grab the seat next to God while he scrambles to pull his pants back up. Nice. As an added bonus, the pope accidentally lets a little fart squeak out while everyone’s looking at him, prompting the whole room to burst out laughing.

“That is incredibly humiliating!” snorts God as the pope trudges red-faced over to an empty chair on the other side of the room.

As you’re both rushing toward the couch, you trip the pope, and he topples forward and slams his head on the coffee table, allowing you to take the seat next to God. Nice. The pope lies on the floor and moans for a while before getting up and taking a seat on the other side of the room.

God hits play on the remote to start the show. The opening credits are pretty much the same as they are in a normal King Of The Hill episode, but things get pretty different after that:

We open on Hank at Strickland Propane, where there is a big Fourth of July sale happening. Five thousand Canaanites converge on the store and declare to Hank that they do not believe propane to be the one true cooking fuel. They then sacrifice a fattened calf atop a burning altar of charcoal briquettes while singing psalms of praise to a false idol. Hank is outraged and says, “Bwaahh!”—his trademark wail of distress. He is so angered by the Canaanites’ idolatry that he turns all 5,000 of them into pillars of salt, sparing not even the women and children. There is great mourning and gnashing of teeth all through the land.

So far, the episode isn’t very funny—if anything, it’s disturbing. But you remember what Donner said about how God really likes it when people make him feel funny, so maybe you should give him some laughs.

You laugh loudly, but the pope laughs even louder, wheezing and slapping his knee in an over-the-top manner.

“That is SO funny, God!” the pope shrieks. “My favorite part is how Hank punishes the Canaanites for their wickedness. Ha-ha!”

“Well, thank you—I suppose it is pretty hilarious, huh?” says God, clearly pleased by the pope’s flattery.

You try to top the pope’s flattery, but God shushes you and points to the TV screen.

“Silence,” he says. “Here comes the best part.”

Hank, having successfully slain the Canaanites, is now arriving home after a long day’s work. However, just as he’s about to relax in his recliner and watch some football, he sees something mortifying: Bobby, his only son, is out in the backyard hanging from a pink, glittery crucifix, wearing a flamboyant tiara of thorns and one of Peggy’s dresses.

“Bwaahh!” Hank cries. “Bobby, get down from there before the neighbors see you!”

“But, Dad, I’m just trying to die for their sins!” replies Bobby.

“Not dressed like that you aren’t! Go put on a normal crown of thorns and nail yourself to a normal, rugged cross—like the kind you should’ve learned to make in shop class.”

We see Boomhauer peeking over the fence, smirking.

“I tell you what, Hank, dang ol’ Bobby [indiscernible] dang ol’ [indiscernible] lookin’ like [indiscernible] dang ol’ child of Sodom,” says Boomhauer, playfully ribbing Hank for his son’s flamboyant attempt at dying for mankind.

Hank, annoyed, proceeds to turn Boomhauer into a pillar of salt.

Hmmm, this episode is only getting more and more disturbing. But you need to keep pretending like it’s funny so that God will like you more.

You laugh even harder than you did before, but so does the pope—it seems that neither of you is willing to be out-laughed. You each keep laughing louder and louder, trying to overpower one another with sheer volume, to the point where you both sound insane.

At first, God seems delighted by all the laughter, but as it escalates, you notice him looking back and forth at you and the pope with a skeptical expression on his face.

You double down and laugh even harder, hooting and screaming and violently convulsing on the floor. You laugh so hard that your nose starts bleeding and the capillaries in your eyes burst, filling your field of vision with nothing but blurred shapes and floating purple dots. The pope, meanwhile, stops laughing entirely and just stares at you, as does everybody else in the room. Frankly, everybody seems a little unsettled by your performance—everybody, that is, except God.

“See, now this guy gets it,” says God, impressed by how hard you’re laughing. “He sees the comedic genius in my King Of The Hill episodes—unlike my so-called favorite over here, who barely even chuckled.”

God scowls at the pope. He then looks back at you warmly and pats you on the head.

“You’re really growing on me, kid. Glad I didn’t send you to Hell.”

After the King Of The Hill episode finishes, God declares that it’s time for everyone to go home. But as people are getting ready to leave, God pulls you aside and says he has something he wants to give you.

“Open your hand,” he says. “I got a treat for you.”

You open your hand, and God gives you a key card of some sort.

“So, you know the Garden of Eden? Well, a few million years ago I decided to build a replica of it here in Heaven. And this key will get you into it. Normally only me and the pope are allowed in there, so don’t tell anyone else that I’m doing this for you. But you seem like a pretty cool dude, and I thought you might like to check it out.”

Wow, what an honor: a key card to the Garden of Eden. You thank God for the wonderful gift and promise you won’t tell anyone about it.

You go to the Garden of Eden. It is the prettiest jungle you’ve ever seen—even prettier than the one in Banjo-Kazooie. But it’s still a jungle, and jungles are basically just the woods but with more cobras. There’s nothing to do but look at plants, and you immediately get bored.

As you’re looking around the boring garden for treasure, you hear a dumb, loud voice.

“Hey! You! Over here!”

As you’re leaving the boring jungle, you hear a loud, dumb voice.

“Hey! You! Over here!”

There is a wet animal talking to you.

“Hey, guy, you wanna see something cool?” it asks.

“Okay, well I’m gonna show it to you anyway. It’s, like, the coolest thing in this whole garden.”

“Check it out. It’s the mouse for God’s own personal computer.”

“That’s the computer where God keeps all his coolest stuff. Stuff like his diary, the Excel sheet where he catalogues all of mankind’s sins, his stash of next-level God porn, the doc that shows you how all the different celebrities are gonna die. It even has the blueprints to the universe on it.”

“And guess what? I know where the computer is. If you want, I can take you there.”

Hmm, this is an intriguing proposal. On the one hand, there’s literally nothing that sounds more boring to you than looking at a computer—even if it’s a computer that holds the secrets to the universe. But on the other hand, you have absolutely zero interest in going to look at a computer.

Seems like the choice here is pretty clear.

“Great, just follow me then,” he says. “My name is Bad Tennis Ball, by the way. God named me that because I was his botched first attempt at creating a tennis ball.”

You start following Bad Tennis Ball through the Garden of Eden. He is fast at hopping.

Wow, look at him go! Boy, can he ever hop.

Look at that, he uses blades of grass just like they’re monkey bars! Such a nimble little guy.

“Almost there!” he calls back at you.

“Halt!”

Uh oh. A gross dog of sorts has stopped you in your tracks.

“Just where do you two think you are going?” the dog asks.

“None of your business!” shouts Bad Tennis Ball.

“You better not be going to look at God’s private computer,” says the dog, briefly lifting its chin to reveal an engorged pair of veiny, hairless breasts. “That’s against the rules.”

“Because,” the dog says, gliding forward and bringing its face within inches of yours. “The computer contains forbidden knowledge that only God may know. And any man who receives this knowledge shall become like God himself.”

“Bullshit,” says Bad Tennis Ball. “It’s perfectly fine to look at the computer. Every damn animal in this garden has looked at it, including this fucking dog here. In fact, just the other day I saw him watching hockey videos on there, and he had a huge red boner, and he was rubbing an ear of corn against the boner, and he was clapping, too.”

“I do not recall this,” says the dog.

Hmm, sounds like you have a tough choice to make here. While you’re very tempted to follow Bad Tennis Ball and go look at God’s computer, there is a dog here telling you not to. But dogs and tennis balls are both stupid by nature, so, if you’re being honest with yourself, it’s probably not a good idea to trust either of them.

You decide to take the dog’s word and not go look at the computer. Bad Tennis Ball seems real pissed about it and storms off in a huff. But you don’t care because he is an animal and his feelings don’t matter.

“You made a wise choice,” says the dog. “That Bad Tennis Ball fellow? He was just the pope in a frog costume. The pope was trying to trick you into using God’s computer so that God would get angry with you.”

“I don’t know. You also seem to think that I am a dog of sorts, when in reality I am an abandoned washing machine. I’m not even talking to you right now; you’re just imagining it in your head. Perhaps you have a brain tumor.”

Yes, perhaps.

“Anyway, best of luck on your mission to become God’s favorite. While I might be a figment of your imagination, I will leave you with a lesson that is very real: Be careful who you trust, as you never know when you might encounter a pope in frog’s clothing.”

You arrive back at your condo to discover that God has left you several more gift baskets full of eggs and paperclips. There is also another note.

Wow, seems like you’re really starting to win God over. By making him feel funny at King Of The Hill night and resisting temptation in the Garden of Eden, you’ve already done two of the three things Donner said you had to do to become his favorite. The only thing left on the list now is to make some sort of extraordinary sacrifice for him.

But what kind of sacrifice do you want to make?

Well, it’s a shame it had to come to this. Donner’s been a fantastic host to you here in Heaven, and killing him will be a huge bummer, what with all the sad sounds he’ll make as he’s dying and everything. It’ll truly feel like you’re making a big sacrifice.

Oh, well.

How do you want to go about killing the little fucker?

Okay, sounds good. The only problem is you don’t know where to find a powerful biblical beast.

You ask Donner if he knows where in Heaven you might be able to find a powerful biblical beast.

“Why, sure, I know a place where you could find one! Although just curious, why in the heck do you want to find a powerful biblical beast? Those things are very scary!”

Fuck. You weren’t expecting any follow-up questions.

“I guess that makes sense,” Donner says, fooled by your brilliant lie. “Well, if you’re dead-set on finding a biblical beast, I suppose I could take you to Moriah’s Pond, home of the most horrible beast in all of Herman: Pixar!”

“It had a much scarier ring to it before the movie company came along,” he explains. “But give me a few minutes to take out my leisure hearing aids and put in my activity hearing aids, and then I’ll take you down to see him.”

As Donner scurries off to change out his hearing aids, you quickly write an email to God requesting that he meet you down by Moriah’s Pond for a special surprise. You want him to be there when you sacrifice Donner so that he can see firsthand just how truly devoted you are to him.

“Okey-dokey, got my ears ready!” announces Donner, returning to the room just moments after you hit SEND. “Let’s go!”

You and Donner hail the gorilla tram and tell the pilot to take you to Moriah’s Pond. While you’re riding, Donner tells you all about Pixar.

“Boy, oh boy, is he ever scary!” Donner exclaims. “Imagine if King Kong and Godzilla and Predator and Freddy Krueger and Jaws and Frankenstein and Hurricane Katrina and Jafar all had a terrifying baby together, and they gave the baby lots of steroids so it would be incredibly strong, and they surgically replaced the part of its brain that regulates kindness with Osama bin Laden’s testicles so that it could only have evil thoughts, and then they taught it to be racist. That’s what Pixar is like, but 10 times worse. They say that even God is scared of Pixar—and he created him! Now, if that doesn’t make you shiver in your…”

After 10 brutal minutes of listening to Donner’s annoying monster facts, the tram arrives at your destination.

Donner leads you down to Moriah’s Pond, which looks way shittier than all the other stuff you’ve seen in Heaven so far.

“Okay, here we are! They say that Pixar lives right here in the trees along the water, and if you want him to come out, all you’ve gotta do is leave a little snack on the shore for him as bait and call his name three times. What kind of snack do you want to leave out for him? I brought some Gardetto’s and a tin of Altoids.”

You tell Donner that you won’t be needing his Gardetto’s and Altoids, as you’ve brought a special snack of your own. You explain that you must’ve dropped it on the walk from the tram to the pond, and you tell him to stay put for a second while you run back and retrieve it.

“Okey-doke!” says the poor little bastard, happily plopping down on the ground near the water. “I’ll just wait here and smile at things ’til you get back.”

You walk until you feel like you’re far enough away to not get eaten, then you turn around and take a deep breath, trying to muster the cojones to summon the beast. It’s just then that you see God arriving off in the distance. Perfect timing. You wave him over to you so that the two of you might share in the special moment when Donner is sacrificed.

“Hey, buddy!” says God, sidling up next to you. “What’s this big surprise you’ve got for me?”

The hour has come. It is time for you to sacrifice Donner so that God will proclaim you as his favorite.

Do it.

You shout Pixar’s name three times and immediately the beast bursts from a bush near the water, roaring mightily in a voice that is basically identical to Ray Romano’s. He charges hungrily toward Donner, licking his lips and yelling, “Num, num, num, someone done gived me a shaven ape child fer brekfust,” while Donner just sits there smiling, oblivious to what is unfolding.

“Oh, dude, what the fuck!” God cries. “Why the hell did you summon that guy?”

Just as Pixar’s about to sink his fangs into Donner’s soft, dumb head, he hears you and God talking and stops dead in his tracks. He glares fiercely in your direction, then relaxes his face into a sinister grin once he realizes he’s in the presence of God.

“Well, well, well, look who done came to visit rotten ol’ Pixar,” he sneers, instantly losing interest in Donner. “It’s the teeny little God-baby, creator of all things! The muhfucker who coulda fixed me into somethin’ pritty like a ballerina dancer or an arma-dillo but electid instead to whip up a mizzerable, skunk-ass’d, good-for-nuttin’ pond monster who ain’t nobody could ever love. Thas a lousy trick you pulled, sir. A lousy trick indeed, and I been feelin’ salty ’bout it my whole dad-gum life. So I reckon it’s due time fer ol’ Pixar to teach yer holy ass a lessun!”

Suddenly, Pixar drops down and explodes into a full-on sprint, charging toward God with murderous ferocity, fangs bared and ready. He is closing ground quickly, and unless you do something right now, he’s going to sink his claws into God and shred him to pieces.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” screams God.

You bravely fling your body in front of God just as Pixar leaps to go in for the kill. His fangs, which were aimed squarely at God’s skull, now sink powerfully into your clothed ass and shred apart the gluteal tissue with ease. Fuck, it hurts so much. Pixar continues to savagely rip and claw into your ass, and it seems that, in his blind rage, he has yet to realize that he missed his target. This fact has not eluded God, however, and you can see the Almighty scurrying away out of the corner your eye.

“Hey, look over here, you mutant piece of shit!” shouts God at the beast devouring your ass.

Just as Pixar looks up, God throws his hands forward and blasts him with a titanic bolt of energy that immediately renders him unconscious. As you scramble to crawl to safety, Pixar wriggles and twitches pitifully in the dirt, gasping for air.

“Wait for it,” says God, anticipating something.

As if on cue, you hear a loud hissing noise, and Pixar’s body suddenly starts shrinking and withering down, halving in size every five seconds. Releasing a sour cloud of steam as it shrivels, the once-mighty beast’s carcass continues getting smaller and smaller until, eventually, it achieves its final form: a cherry. Yes, the monster who just moments ago was feasting on your buttocks has now, much to your relief, been transformed into a harmless red cherry, just like you’d buy at the grocery store.

“Quick, bring that little fucker over here and feed it to me,” God instructs you, his voice sounding weak. “I transferred all my power into that dude when I blasted him, and now all my mojo’s concentrated in that cherry. I gotta eat it to get strong again.”

You take God into your arms and carefully feed him the cherry. As soon as he swallows it, you feel a surge of energy course through his body, and you sense that his powers are slowly restoring.

“It’s just gas,” says God, correcting your assumption. “I’ll have lotsa toots and shits for a day or two, and then all the power will come back.”

You try to chuckle, but the intense pain from your shredded ass cheeks causes you to wince with discomfort. It is only now that God seems to realize the extent of your ass injuries. His eyes widen.

“Damn, buddy, that monster literally ate your ass. Like, there’s nothing there anymore. You’ve got a little mudflap of skin hanging on at the top still, but other than that, it’s a fucking void. It looks stupid as hell.”

“No, it’s cool. Honestly, I really appreciate it. You sacrificed your ass for me, buddy. And that’s a big sacrifice to make. So, thanks.”

God reaches his arms out for a hug, and the two of you share a warm embrace.

“Say, how ’bout we go back to my place and I give you a tour of my trophy room. How’s that sound?”

“But I thought that was a privilege reserved for your favorite?” you say, confused.

“Exactly,” says God.

Oh, wow. Wow. Hot damn. God just said that you’re his favorite now.

This fucking rules.

Good idea. You will force Donner to drink alcohol until he dies. And when God hears that you have sacrificed his exquisite baby angel creation, he will be so happy and proud of you.

You go to Heaven’s liquor store and ask the man behind the counter for a fatal quantity of booze.

“Sure thing,” he says. “Who are you planning on killing with all the booze?”

“Unfortunately, Heaven’s liquor laws forbid the sale of alcohol to infants or those intent on providing alcohol to infants, as the legal drinking age here is 7. I regret the inconvenience.”

Shit. Looks like you won’t be able to drown Donner in booze. Guess you’ll have to go with plan B.

The new plan is to feed Donner to a powerful biblical beast. The only problem is you don’t know where to find a powerful biblical beast.

“Do you promise it’s not a baby?”

You decide to sacrifice your own child in order to make God like you more, but you quickly realize there’s a slight problem with this plan, and that is that you don’t actually have a child of your own to sacrifice.

You head down to Heaven’s daycare center and find a whole shit-ton of children. Which one of these little stinkers do you want to claim as your own?

Yep, that’s the one.

You take the child and claim him as your own. You decide to name him Grebb, as this was the first thing that came to mind.

Yet even though you’ve claimed the boy and he is now officially your property, something doesn’t quite feel right. You still don’t feel like he’s your child. Maybe you need to spend some quality time with him first to develop that special parent-child bond.

You take Grebb fishing. He sucks at it, but he seems to be having a nice time with you.

“Are you having a nice time, Grebb?” you ask.

“Grebb.”

After 15 minutes of fishing, you decide that you’ve developed enough of a bond with him for him to truly feel like your own child, and you head back to shore.

You sacrifice Grebb.

You excitedly tell God about how you sacrificed your only child, Grebb, for him, but he does not seem very pleased.

“First off, that kid’s name was NOT Grebb,” says God, making very little effort to sound grateful. “His name was Kyle, and his real dad is Sneaky Ivan, who you met when you came over to watch King Of The Hill. So it’s gonna be super awkward next time I have to see that guy. Second off, it is extremely fucked up to sacrifice a child, and you’re a dick for doing it. Seriously, what the hell.”

You apologize to God and promise him you’ll find something better to sacrifice next time, but it doesn’t seem to make him any less mad at you. Instead, he just gets super pissy and decides to banish you to eternity in Judas’ Bog.

This one?

Yep, that’s the one.

You take the child and claim him as your own. You decide to name him Grebb, as this was the first thing that came to mind.

Yet even though you’ve claimed the boy and he is now officially your property, something doesn’t quite feel right. You still don’t feel like he’s your child. Maybe you need to spend some quality time with him first to develop that special parent-child bond.

Okay, well what do you want to kill instead?

You decide that the Phoenix Suns basketball team would be a good thing to sacrifice to impress God, so you set out to do just that.

With help from Donner, you break into the production facility where God creates all of the natural disasters to send to Earth, and you build a big deadly meteor. At first, your plan is to just blow up the Suns’ stadium, but since you’re not sure if the team’s at the stadium or not, you err on the side of caution and blow up the entire city of Phoenix.

The whole process only takes, like, 20 minutes.

You go and tell God about how you blew up the Phoenix Suns as a sacrifice to him, but unfortunately he doesn’t seem very impressed.

“First of all, you did not sacrifice the Phoenix Suns to me, as they have a road game in Detroit tonight and are therefore not even currently in Phoenix,” says God, not sounding the slightest bit appreciative. “Second of all, even if you had managed to blow up the Phoenix Suns, how would that have qualified as a sacrifice? You wouldn’t have been personally giving anything up; you would’ve just been arbitrarily killing some guys. And third of all, why the fuck did you blow up the entire city of Phoenix? That’s, like, over a million people you just obliterated. That’s so fucked up.”

You apologize to God and promise him you’ll do a better job of sacrificing the Phoenix Suns next time, but it doesn’t seem to make him any less mad at you. Instead, he just gets super pissy and decides to banish you to eternity in Judas’ Bog.

You don’t own a costly digital watch. Therefore, you cannot sacrifice a costly digital watch.

You don’t own an inexpensive digital watch, either. Stop pretending like you own watches; it is a huge waste of time.

Emboldened by your belief that tennis balls are inherently more trustworthy than dogs, you decide to listen to Bad Tennis Ball and follow him to God’s computer. He leads you out of the jungle and down onto a beach, where you find a cave.

“Okay, the computer’s in there,” he tells you. “Just walk right in, and it’ll be the first thing you see. The login password is ‘soccerstud8528.’”

There it is: God’s computer. The holy of holies.

You walk up to it and enter the login password. As you’re taken to the home screen, a little welcome jingle plays that goes, “Boys got peens and girls got cooters / But God’s private thing is his computer!”

You open up the menu and get ready to dig into the good stuff, but just as you do, you hear someone walk into the cave.

Ah, fuck, it’s the pope.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” he says with an evil grin. “Looks to me like the new guy is using God’s private computer to access forbidden knowledge—which is majorly against the rules.”

“Yes, you clearly are. And I should know, because I’m the one who brought you here!”

You get the sense that he wants you to say something like, “What do you mean you brought me here?” so that he can reveal some sort of grand, insidious scheme that he pulled on you, but you really don’t have the energy to play his games right now.

“Okay, well you know that ‘Bad Tennis Ball’ you followed here? That was actually me in a frog mask. And that dog out there who tried to persuade you not to look at God’s computer? That was just an abandoned washing machine. It wasn’t talking to you at all; you just made that up in your head.”

Ah. You’ve been played.

“You shouldn’t have fucked with me, kid. You should’ve just accepted that I was God’s favorite and carried on with your life. But you didn’t, and now you’re gonna pay for it.”

Shit. The pope’s gonna rat your ass out to God unless you do something right now to stop him.

“That wasn’t a tennis ball. That was just me in a frog mask. And that dog out there who tried to persuade you not to look at God’s computer? That was just an abandoned washing machine. It wasn’t talking to you at all; you just made that up in your head.”

Goddamnit. The motherfucker pulled a fast one on you.

“You shouldn’t have fucked with me. You should’ve just accepted that I was God’s favorite and carried on with your life. But you didn’t, and now you’re gonna pay for it.”

Shit. The pope’s gonna rat your ass out to God unless you do something right now to stop him.

You try to stop the pope from ratting on you, but you’re too late. Before you can reach him, he yells “So long, dickhead!” and vanishes in a wisp of smoke, his departing words echoing annoyingly off the walls of the cave for several minutes.

Then, out of nowhere, you hear a clacking coming from the computer’s keyboard. You look over at the screen as six simple words materialize behind a blinking cursor: “YOU DONE FUCKED UP THIS TIME.” Moments later, 13 more words appear: “BY THE WAY, THIS IS GOD—I AM USING MY POWERS TO TYPE.”

You ease off the laughter, while the pope continues to laugh with the same maniacal intensity. Unfortunately, God doesn’t seemed very pleased with your decision.

“Hey, why aren’t you laughing anymore?” God asks you. “You were laughing really hard before, but now you’re not all of a sudden. Don’t you think my King Of The Hill episode is funny?”

You log onto Yahoo! Answers, the place on the internet where idiots help each other. You post a question asking what someone can do to make God like them more, and then you go stand in the corner for a while. When you’re done standing in the corner, you go back to the computer and there is a response waiting from someone named koolbeans00120:

“hi, i happen to know god very well and the one thing he likes more than anything in the world is if you go in front of his house and throw a bunch of breadcrumbs in the air. but you gotta throw them really really high, otherwise he won’t like it. trust me on this!!!!!”

Hmm, okay. This isn’t quite the answer you were expecting, but at least it’s something. Couldn’t hurt to try, you suppose.

You go to God’s house with a garbage bag full of breadcrumbs.

“A surprise? For me? That’s so nice of you! I’ll come to the window now.”

God comes to the window and waves at you.

“Okay,” you say. “Here goes nothing!”

You grab a fistful of the bread and throw it as high in the air as you possibly can, and the bread just sort of floats off into the clouds.

“Oh, no!” screams God through the window. “Why the hell did you just do that?!?”

You try to ask God why he’s so upset, but your voice is drowned out by a sudden, thunderous rumbling off in the distance.

You look up and see hundreds of angels soaring toward the breadcrumbs at top speed, desperate to get a little snack.

Then something horrifying happens. A missile suddenly launches from out of nowhere and destroys the angels in a great ball of fire. You stand there with your jaw open in awe as the smoke clears and torched halos and ashen wings fall from the sky like rain.

“You fucking idiot!” cries God. “You triggered my missile defense system! Nobody’s supposed to enter the airspace above my house! Fuck! You just killed hundreds of my beautiful angels!”

“Mama mia is right, bro,” says God. “That was a real dick move of you to blow up my beautiful angels like that, and now you’re gonna pay for it. I’m sending your ass to Judas’ Bog.”

Fuck!

“Aww, that’s too bad,” says the pope, butting into the conversation. “You know, I’ll admit I had my reservations about you at first, but I was really enjoying getting to know you on Yahoo! Answers. Too bad we’re not gonna get to hang out anymore.”

Get the fuck out. Koolbeans00120 was the pope! What a little fucker!

You charge at the pope to kick his ass, but God blasts some of his powers at you, and you realize that he is teleporting you to Judas’ Bog. Goddamnit.

“My favorite?” laughs God. “Are you shitting me? No way, bro. The only thing you are is fucked. That was a real dick move of you to blow up my beautiful angels like that, and now you’re gonna pay for it. I’m sending your ass to Judas’ Bog.”

Fuck!

“Aww, that’s too bad,” says the pope, butting into the conversation. “You know, I’ll admit I had my reservations about you at first, but I was really enjoying getting to know you on Yahoo! Answers. Too bad we’re not gonna get to hang out anymore.”

Get the fuck out. Koolbeans00120 was the pope! What a little fucker!

You charge at the pope to kick his ass, but God blasts some of his powers at you, and you realize that he is teleporting you to Judas’ Bog. Goddamnit.

You pull down your pants and try to blast Donner with hot piss, but nothing comes out.

“Ha-ha, you silly goose!” Donner laughs. “There’s no pissing or shitting in Herman! Your celestial body doesn’t produce any waste!”

“Because how else would you flush meatballs down to the sewer cherubs?”

For five minutes, you strain as hard as you can to eke out some piss, and finally you manage to muster a little squirt that splashes Donner squarely in the forehead.

“Ha-ha, wow, you did it!” Donner squeals, extending his hand out of the toilet bowl to give you a high five. “Just goes to show that anything is possible if you put your mind to it!”

“No, look the other way. In Heaven, right is left and left is right. Psssssstttt!”

“Yep, there you go.”

Oh, whoa, it’s Pope John II.

“Pardon my eavesdropping, but it sounds like things went really well in there. Seems like God really, really likes you.”

“Huh,” says God, looking just a tiny bit pissed. “I mean, that’s cool—no worries. Normally people bring me offerings to, y’know, demonstrate that they respect me and are grateful I didn’t send them to Hell. But, really, it’s no big deal. It’s not like I sent my only son to die for your sins or anything.”

“Yeah, no, it’s totally cool. Don’t sweat it. You’re probably feeling a bit jet-lagged still from transmigrating to the heavenly realm, so it’d make sense for you to be a little scatterbrained. Why don’t you just go to your new home and get some rest, eh? I’m setting you up with some nice digs in this charming little place called Judas’ Bog—you’re gonna love it.”

Ah, fuck. You blew it.

“Enjoy the afterlife, prick!”