A Little Known Fact About Ducks

Heaven's Greatest Deity

The Angel didn't need another invitation and scrambled out the door leaving behind a puff of feathers.

Mavis appeared, only her head visible as she lent back in her chair, peeping in the door.

"Everything alright, sir," she asked, genuine concern in her voice.

"Call the Big Man, Mavis."

Mavis grimaced. "He's on the golf course, said he wasn't to be disturbed."

"Call him."

-o-

God stood addressing the ball. He stretched his neck, loosening his shoulders, twisting his head left and right. He paused, flicking his long white beard over his left shoulder before again planting his feet ready for the shot.

"Ever thought about shaving that monstrosity off?" Satan asked.

God sighed, his old golfing partner never ceased trying to put him off but it was all part of the game now and he just put up with the annoyance.

"Nah, kind of used to it and besides, it's kind of a trade mark these days, Lucifer."

"A bit like Santa Claus then," Satan quipped, showing a row of sharp, pearl white teeth

"Ye, but I'm real," God answered, not taking his eyes from the ball.

God swung back the driver.

"Oh, before I forget," Satan piped up before God had time to follow through with his swing. "I'm going out for a little tipple with Buddha tomorrow night if you're interested."

God sighed again, lowering the club. "I think I'll pass. Last time I went out with him we ended up singing a duet in some karaoke bar in the West End. Made a complete tit of myself." he replied.

Satan laughed. "Oh yes, someone posted that online, if I recall? Did you ever find out who that was?"

God gave Satan a withering look.

"That's right, it was me, wasn't it," he said, laughing again.

God put a perfectly manicured hand on his hip, pausing. "Can I take my shot now?" he asked.

"Yes, of course, carry on." Satan replied, gesturing at the ball, forked tail wagging impishly.

Again he pulled back the golf club and swung. A split second before the fwack of metal on surlyn, his phone rang. The ball sliced off at a 45 degree angle burying itself deep in the undergrowth on the left of the fairway.

"Christ," God shouted, throwing the driver to the ground.

"Don't think Jesus will help you with that lie, old bean." Satan remarked helpfully. "He's probably chewing his own face off in some dance club in Ibiza or Vegas or some other den of debauchery if I know him."

The phone continued to ring.

"Well, aren't you going to answer it? Could be important."

God angrily rummaged through his robes, unsure which of the many pockets contained the shrill ring. Finally he put his hand on the small vibrating plastic box and produced the ancient black Nokia.

"What the hell is that?" Satan exclaimed, pointing at the phone.

"What, I like it," God replied, feigning hurt. "Besides, it pisses Jobs off no end; I'm sure he's after my job that one."

God puffed out his cheeks, trying to calm his temper before answering.

"Yes, your Creator speaking," God said, not a hint of irony. "U-hu. Yes. I see. Well if you must. It's totally your call. Eyebrow? No, sorry, no Hellhounds. U-hu, u-hu, hmmmm. Yes, I'm listening. Ok, speak soon. Bye, bye."