The C.I.U. was up in heaven, having afternoon drinks by the pool with his favorite consort, Marilyn Monroe. The blond bombshell was as beautiful as ever.
He had recently taken a liking to the name Ormazd, because he liked the sound of it. It had a ring. “Ormazd the ormazing maker of mazes…” He, rather, disliked being called “God”, because it sounded too pretentious and officious. Not that he minded that much. Whatever people wanted to call him was, actually, fine, but he sure wished they´d stop making him out to be some kind of vengeful dictator, which he, definitely, is not. And he didn´t want praise. A little acknowledgement was fine. It was an old name, one he had used before, as the ancient Persian Zorastorian´s chief imaginary deity, the principle of good, creator of the world and guardian of mankind. It had been the matrix of many religions that had followed.
Actually, he seldom took anything that went on down on earth very seriously. After all, he had designed it so that it would take care of itself and evolve on it´s own, but it was a vast source of entertainment for him. It was a work in constant change – he could create, well, into infinity.
On the table next to his lounge chair, he had a small, portable T.V. with gold rabbit ears. It looked like something out of a Jetsons cartoon. He used it to monitor events down there. It was his favorite comedy show.
Marilyn was laying on her own cheap plastic chaise-lounge, over on his right hand side, wearing a skimpy bikini and her big sunglasses. “Marilyn” was the name she had been using since the middle of the last century, when she had been a movie star and a major pin-up doll. She was also the Virgin Mary in a previous incarnation. She did errands for the old man from time to time, just helpin´ to tweak his creation a bit, which it needed every now and then, in exchange for the good life.
Ormazd was laughin´ his head off, watchin´ the latest show on his T.V. He´d come up with this scheme to play an elaborate joke on the world´s biggest ego-maniacs, he loved practical jokes, and also, to teach them a little lesson in humility. Marilyn thought it was a hopeless cause, but he was havin´ fun, and that´s what mattered.
She thought, sometimes, that he had a lot in common with them, but she knew that it wasn´t really true. They were, basically, a bunch of bores, and none of them had his laissez-faire or terrific sense of humor.
On the walkway between the house and the pool, was a pile of filthy rags, and a pair of old tennies, held together with duct tape, where he had changed into his customary, white, Colonel Sander´s suit with white shoes and spats. The reekin´ pile was attractin´ a lot of flies. Flies were among Ormazd´s favorite creatures. He had created a lot of them. They were humble, yet persistent, in their efforts to annoy, even the highest and mightiest of delusionists.
“Marilyn, dear, would you mind fetching me another drink please? I don´t want to miss anything on the T.V.. Maybe another one of those fuzzy navels. I´m really getting to like those. I may get quite drunk this afternoon. I haven´t had this much fun in eons!”
He turned back to the T.V. as Marilyn got up. “Look at those idiots! They don´t know whether to shit or go blind! Damn, they take themselves seriously!”
Marilyn replenished their drinks at the pool-bar and came back with them. She re-adjusted her sunglasses and towel and laid back down as Ormazd watched her in his peripheral vision. Then, something caught his attention on the little T.V., and he burst into fit of laughter. He looked back at her with tears in his eyes. She gazed back at him with wonderment. “Gawd, how she loved older men!”