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First there's God, and God bemuses himself and says 'Well, now let's see, I must make a perfect world, that's what I must.' So he makes men and women and looks at them with that judicious air of a carpenter getting his boards and nails together. 'Hmm,' God says, and he walks away with his hands clasped in back of him, deep in thought, and all the little human beings jump up and down yelling 'When do we start? Yiss! Yiss! When do we start?' God strides down to the world and watches what happens. God sits down on a fire hydrant and watches how everybody disports themselves in the world. That's when all the trouble starts, everything, all the things they cry about in books and newspapers, wars, crime, violence, adultery, deceit, and whatnot parlous. God says to himself, 'Now I will see just exactly how to make a perfect world. Hmm. There's a mistake here, it won't do! Poof! He plucks up a little derring-do human being of a nobleman's son and throws him in the pot. Then he sees a little girl there and she's not doing right and poof! To the pot with her! This one won't do! Poof! Poof! In the pot! And this one won't do! - same thing! In the pot! This one will do, this one is a nice, a pilgrim or something, john Bunyan, great man, and a Jude the Obscure sort of guy walking around down there in the field and deliberately not stepping on the worms. Nice! Nice! - but there's the but you see, there's always the but, because a perfect world is in the making and no one is perfect. God's trying anyway. This is not the finished copy. In the pot with John Bunyan, in the pot with the Jude the Obscure man, in the pot with the whole lot! Yiss! God's real busy, sometimes he gets tired, his heart's overworked and his endodermis protrudes painfully. But he's got a goal, a goal! And the little human beings who haven't been plucked yet are looking around and wondering, and they're laughing and jumping up and down, no they're crying, now they're beholden to what they see down there and to what they thing they see upstairs. Oh nice! Nice! They keep saying it's nice, they write poetry about the trees and bees. Suddenly poof! They've been snatched up and thrown in the pot. And finally the time has come. The world is over, it's the end of the world and God rests. He goes over his notes. He boils up the contents of his pot and takes a million years extracting the juice and elixir that he wants just right, he smacks his lips, tasting it like a French chef, and says -Ah sacre-bleu! C'est ca! He's got just what he wants! And now he's got his drop of splendid juice and he goes over to the ocean and dumps the whole thing in the ocean. For the sharks. He has got to feed the sharks. And then he's going to start all over again a billion years from now.

aim: west of sara

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