“I don’t like half the folks I love.”

— Paul Thorn

So I invited God over to our camp for a visit the other day. He accepted with the caveat that no Taylor Swift music would be playing. When I assured Him it wouldn’t be, He agreed.

“You can sleep in the guest bedroom,” I told Him.

“Oh, I haven’t slept since that whole D.B. Cooper thing … where the Devil did he get to, anyway?”

Taken aback, I responded with, “You’re asking me? You’re God for Chri … oh, sorry … for goodness sakes.”

God responded with, “You think too much of me, kid.” (He liked to call me kid).

The day arrived and the cabin was spotless. I’ve always heard that cleanliness was next to Godliness, so I figured I’d better straighten up a bit.

At exactly 12 noon, there was a large thunder clap which was odd given the forecast. Then there was a banging on the door and a booming voice saying “Let me in, for pity’s sake! Let me in!” I ran to the door and through the brilliantly clean window saw an older man wearing old coveralls and a tattered, old railroad engineer’s striped cap surrounded by a huge swarm of black flies.

Opening the door, the man rushed in waving his hands around his head swatting away black flies. “I swear … a rain of toads and pestilence would be better!”

“Uh, sir … I’m kind of expecting a guest today. Do I know you? Is there something I can do for you?” “Of course you know me, kid. I’m God! Haven’t you been to the Sistine Chapel? There’s a picture of me up there on the bloody ceiling, although Michelangelo missed my Shirley Temple side.”

Not convinced given his appearance, I asked, “Okay … if you’re God,” holding up my Poland Springs water bottle, “turn this water into wine.”

“Parlor tricks,” God said with a sigh, “Always with the parlor tricks they want.” Feeling like I caught this imposter, I smugly took a swig of water and waited as he simply cast his eyes on my bottle. Not only did it turn a Cabernet red, but my mouthful of water also turned into wine. Not expecting this, I spit it all out, spraying this “God” with it.

“Okay, look … you want the God I’m supposed to look like? You got it!” Just then a whirling rush of air and something else circled like a twister around this man or bum or whatever he was and what emerged, made me back up and fall over an ottoman until I was sitting in an armchair face to face with God: Flowing white beard and hair, wearing a white robe, sandals and a smirk … he kind of resembled Charlton Heston “You were expecting, maybe, Morgan Freeman?”

Unable to collect myself so quickly, I mumbled, “No, I, I …”

“Yeah, I get that a lot. Relax, kid. I’m just an old friend that’s come to visit,” waving his hand slowly up and down in my direction. Suddenly I felt a calm wash over me.

“Man, I don’t remember the black flies being this bad, ever! And that goes back quite a long way,” God said. “Hey, where’s your lovely bride?”

“Um, uh … she went to the market for … a few things,” I responded lamely.

God looked at me with a knowing grin. “It’s okay,” He said, “she’s not the first atheist I’ve come across. Now let’s talk about the Boston Red Sox … or would you rather talk about the black flies?”

“Oh, they’re just awful this year,” I responded, “I’d rather talk about the black flies.”

As God took a seat on the sofa, I asked, “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Oh, well … let me see now … I know! How about a spot of mead with just a touch of that Egyptian honey that Tutankhamun is always bragging about?”

Seeing the lost expression on my face, God followed that with, “Or a Coke … a Coke is fine.”

I walked into the kitchen and continued. “These black flies are so annoying. No disrespect. I mean, I know they’re your doing and all …”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! God cried. “Back up the bus, big boy … black flies are not my doing. There are a few things on this particular planet that I had nothing to do with. Black flies being one. Those mindless Great Whites are another … crazy buggers. And the fitted sheet … even I can’t fold one.”

“Then who, or what or where did they come from?” I asked innocently.

God sighed, “His name begins with an ‘S’ and it ain’t Sammy Davis, Junior.”

“Ahhh,” I replied as it began to sink in. “Only he, and I use that word loosely, could have invented, then infested my beautiful blue ball with such evil.”

God continued, “He claims they’re not evil, but good for human kind.”

Shocked, I had to ask, “You talk to Satan?”

“Oh, sure,” God said, “We have a weekly card game. When he wins, he takes a species, like the Wooly Mammoth, or the western black rhinoceros. When I win, I get to introduce a new wonder to this world. Like FlufferNutter.”

“Seems fair,” I lied. “Now getting back to black flies … any way you can at least reduce the numbers?”

To that question, He followed with a question: “Do you like fish, Jack?” “Of course … I love fish,” was my answer.

To that, he asked, “Then why do you want to starve them?” He had made his point.

“As much as I hate the little suckers, I at least get my revenge by having them be on the menu everyday at the most popular restaurants that my fish frequent. Now, if I eliminated them all, which by the way, I can do despite what His-Royal-Pain-In-The-Tuchus might think, I might as well eliminate fish.”

“Oh, I get it,” I said, not completely satisfied with His answer. “Black flies are fish food.”

“You’re a dope, Jack,” God said, “But I like you. Look, I need to get going now, but here’s a little something,” He said as He walked toward me cupping something in His hands. “Think of it as a small souvenir from our visit.”

He opened his hands and there, floating in mid-air with an aura glowing all around it was a can of Deep Woods OFF!

When I looked up, God was gone without a trace. So I shook the can, sprayed my neck and arms and walked outside to greet my new friends.