The God

God: the source of all moral authority.

“I am not a god-damned fucking cheese, so can you please put down the fucking cheese wire?”

“You’re not much of a human being, either, you know?”

“You’re fucking drunk.”

“And you’re generally fucking stupid. What was it Churchill said? You’re ugly, I’m drunk, et cetera.”

“…tomorrow morning—”

“—yeah, exactly. You’ll still be fucking ugly.”

“And you’ll be hungover and as unintelligible as ever.”

“Unintelligible? Still better than an ugly fucking corpse.”

“Damn it, do you have to swear so much?”

“Jesus-titty-fucking-Christ, look who’s talking.”

“You know I have a condition.”

“Well, it’s not one you’ll have to worry about for much longer.”

“Oh, look at you, Mister Fucking Big Man. What… what finally brought this on? What did you find?”

“What do you have to find?”

“Er, nothing.”

“You sure?”

“Of course I’m fucking… just fucking unbind me and we can talk about this like adults.”

“Big words from a little man.”

“Don’t go taking the piss out of my height again.”

“Or else what? You’ll untie yourself, jump up and hit me in knees?”

“Mate, I’m fucking five foot nine, that’s not short.”

“Well, it’s not tall.”

“That wasn’t the… titty-fucking-Christ, just untie me.”

“Now you’re mad.”

“I… look, it’s okay. We all get stressed from time to time.”

“…”

“Mate, it’s okay.”

“You sure?”

“I promise.”