Ninth of January

I am reclining in my lawn chair on the beach, sipping a piña colada. The sun is gold and the ocean is blue. 

A dolphin swims by & jumps out of the water gracefully, but, at the top of its arc, a harsh noise blasts from its blowhole.

I beg the beast's pardon & ask "Did you just cough?" The dolphin answers: "Yes," then coughs again. So I say "What's wrong, are you ill?" And, while swimming away, the dolphin replies "Not ill; just stressed." 

So I construct a surfboard and drive to the house of the god who owns everything liquid. Long story short, we solve the problem: We filter out the toxins from the ocean & then use a product called "Revamp" to bring back all the sea-dwelling species that had gone extinct. Then we add extra salt to the water. — So, the next time that the above dolphin swims in front of me & leaps & twirls, he is now breathing easy.

That's the good news. But the universe turned even better when I got a job at a casino. First I learned how to shuffle cards and became a dealer for the game of blackjack. People loved playing against me, because they would always lose magnificently, and they felt honored to be beaten in such a classy way. (I'm charming and handsome.) Then eventually I graduated to the position of croupier at roulette. And I had a secret lever that was like a piano pedal underneath my machine: when I tapped this with my foot, it would stop the wheel from spinning; and I employed a very strong magnet to force the metal ball to land in whichever slot I fancied.

I also presided over a game of strategy that consisted of arranging matches in several rows to form the shape of a pyramid. Whoever dared to play against me would be invited to take turns removing any number from a single to as many matches as they desired from only one row at a time. I would allow my opponent to choose which one of us should take the first turn; and the winner was whoever could manage to make the last grab. No one ever beat me at this game.

I also met a woman with beautiful hair who wore a gorgeous evening gown. She had a wonderful personality. We would study philosophy in the trenches during the various World Wars. But after we tied the knot, she left me and moved to the Americas, where she found a businessman who was cold and spoke with a staccato delivery. This man's wish was my wife's command, therefore she married him, despite the fact she and I were still in wedlock. (That is, my wife RE-married without ever divorcing herself from me.) So this icy businessman stole my only true love, and yet, instead of being angry, I was almost proud of this fact, because he allowed me to become his personal attendant. I had never received such impressive compensation for performing low labor. For instance, after I deigned to shine his shoes, he unveiled to me the combo of his corporation's treasure chest, which included all the world's nonlegal monopolies. So, as soon as he faked his death, I became the master of the universe.

Now, the way that the god of the oceans and I solved the mystery of the toxic extinction of all subaquatic species was as follows. (Keen readers will note that when I broke the news above, I said "Long story short"; but, here below, I'll explain the details.) There was a savage man hiding in the forest of the night. This man followed us. When we stopped and lit a fire and began to deep-fry fish, this man leaped out of a bush and attacked us. He grabbed my shield and my sword, and he simply would not let go. Civilized people let go of your shield and your sword, when you offer resistance; but this fellow was wild. So I let him have my belongings, and I began to write him monthly checks, assuming that he was attempting to extort me on behalf of unknown powers. But it turns out that this man was a primitive entrepreneur who was only out for personal gain: that is to say, he was more than happy to return my stuff after I acquired the copyright to his language, and I was able to gift him a trinket in return for his eliminating all the oceanic pollutants. He accomplished this by swimming around at great speed.

Now, when human beings were first created by me and my business partner — the guy who is my wife's other (illicit) husband — they began to starve because we forgot to make fruit-bearing trees. So we paused Paradise and quickly fashioned some vegetation. But our first mistake was that we made the fruit wholly digestible; I mean, every single atom of this fruit was able to be assimilated by the human body. So these people never shat; and this caused us to neglect to bless their offspring with ass-holes (why would we? they never shat). Plus, after the savage man saved the oceans, all the water was pure and clean; so, every time the humans drank it in, they had no need to pass it out: their circulatory system would simply weld each new H2O molecule onto their bloodstream, thus enlarging its rivers. It was the perfect saline solution. Any excess got pissed thru their tear ducts, but one could just lick that up again, and, if you avoid future sorrow, the saltwater works itself back into the infrastructure. 

So everything was advantageous, back before time bombed; hence the legend "Good Old Days". My wife owned multiple husbands, and I would gripe about this, which caused her to feign misgivings. But it was enjoyable. It was nothing more than a parlor game. The seventh husband eventually faked his own death in an spaceship crash, and I took control. My name is Yahweh Elohim. 

Another thing I like to do is roll dice. You take a die into your palm, and then another die, and agitate them by shaking your own bare hands. You spill them out upon the dock; and, if they don't fall into the ocean, you'll see that they reveal any sum from two to twelve. This is probably why my favorite number is one.

And when you go to the filling station, park your vehicle before the fuel pump, and place the nozzle into your motor-coach's receptacle; now think of the opening of DR. STRANGELOVE (1964) — I mean, the credit sequence, where the airplanes are coupling — I really love that... I also love the film's abrupt ending.

Yes, the idea of fire being contained at the tips of torches and also stored within kilns & ovens — this is irksome to me: I wish it would always leap beyond its bounds.