Mister God

Famous now, I finish jacking off in the first groupie’s face while the second tongues my asshole. I roll out of bed, light an imported cigarette and pull on my leather pants and mesh shirt, complimented with a silver cape. I stroll outside to my car where the driver is sleeping at the wheel, waiting. Waiting for me to tell him what to do.

The paperboy buzzes by on his bike. “Good morning, Mr. God,” he says, handing me the paper.

“Fuck off, you little shit,” I snarl.

I get into the car and crush my cigarette out on the driver’s face to wake him up. He screams and I spit in his wound and he shuts up because my spit is curative, as are all of my fluids.

“Where to, Boss?” the driver asks.

“Take me to heaven,” I say, laughing. “Take me to fucking heaven.”