You know how it is when you accidentally shift the omniscience into drive when you’re stumbling out of bed in the morning? Well, funny enough, that’s exactly what I did this very AM. You know how I hate that. It invariably pisses Me off. That’s not the funny bit. The funny bit is that you thought you could get away with it. You thought I wouldn’t find out that you kept Guardian Angels on the payroll after I expressly told you to lay them off.
Beside the fact that I am Gawd and you’re just a poncy Archangel; beside the fact that the Cold War is over and cut-backs had to be made; beside the fact that even though I’m on vacation I’m still the Chairman of the Board – there’s a whopping great, Me-Damned depression in the making! How do you think I’m going to afford five-star Transylvanian hotels and angel salaries at the same time?
One thing I could do is cut the salaries of useless, silly Archangels who moonlight as managers of Holy Land Hooters. How does that sound? Better yet, How does “Cherubim 3rd Class Michael” sound to you? That’d clip your wings, wouldn’t it, boyo? Then maybe I’d promote Colin to Archangel. He’s been itching for your job for millenia. Sure, he dropped a meteor on the dinosaurs, but he never had to be reprimanded for “wrestling” with Jacob and he never endangered My vacation!
Right. I’ve had a few minutes to cool down and I’ve had a drop of the Holy Spirit. This is what you’re going to do. First, you fire every last one of the Guardian Angels. No severence, no two-week notice and you can take the heat from their union. Next, you – and I mean you personally – find every person on earth who got any un-earned and un-paid-for luck on My dime and you get it back. I don’t care what you have to say and I don’t care what you have to do, just get it done. And when I say “done” I mean done by the time I get back from touring Transylvania. If Santa can deliver toys to all the good children on earth in one night, then you can repo a bunch of lost car keys and near-death experiences.
Finally, and this is the most important part, I want you to auction it on eBay. If The Mavericuda can get two-million for some old plane, I expect a frick of a lot more for all that repoed luck.
If you do all that right I may, I say may, think about keeping you on as head of the Israel office – at reduced pay. If you screw up, though, I will bust you down to assistant Seraphim and have you dancing on the head of the pin that holds Donald Trump’s hair in place until The Second Coming of Thomas H. Cruise.
Wish You Were Here,