The Gospel According to God

Olivier Breuleux
on June 5, 2016

Heaven, Tuesday, May 4th, 3912 after Genesis

Dear Diary,

Rarely have I ever hated any of my people as much as I detest the Romans. They seem to relish using their free will to do everything that I abominate, as if their entire existence was fueled by spite towards my divine will: they worship crass and promiscuous deities, they engage in homosexuality, unholy fornication, they make obscene, lascivious art, they tolerate the penetration of anuses, depravation and other acts of sodomy, not to mention their abominable tendency to shove their penises into the wrong holes. Anything and everything that I execrate.

And as if that wasn't enough, they took advantage of the few decades I spent away from Earth putting the Martians in their place to take over the whole Mediterranean coast. They even took Jerusalem! My chosen people!

This is embarrassing.


Thursday, June 17th, 3912 AG

Last night I confided my frustrations to Lucy while we were doing a line or two. I told him I was thinking about flooding the planet again, get a clean slate and all that, but Lucy was not enthusiastic:

“You know, Yahweh,” he told me, “floods are nice and all but they're no fun to watch. The water muffles the screams and we can't see shit.” Then he said: “Know what I think? If you're going to cleanse the Earth from assfuckery… you gotta do it with style.”

With style? I asked him what he meant and he shrugged. “I don't know… maybe something like the plagues of Egypt? That was fucking spectacular—but you're the expert.”

Good counsel, as always. Lots to think about here. To be continued…


Wednesday, July 21st, 3912 AG


I just had a fantastic idea to end the Roman menace. A fabulous idea. I am going to create a man. A new model. A killing machine.

I had the idea when I investigated their obscene religion. They have dozens of false gods, almost one for every sin. One of them is the god of festivities, as if there was any greater joy than to bask in my eternal glory. Promiscuity runs rampant, and so does bestiality: the king of their gods transforms himself into a swan to seduce mortals, which I would have thought perverse even by their standards. Perhaps most ridiculous of all, half of their gods are women.

So I told myself, why wouldn't I send them a real god? A god to give them just what they deserve: an agonizing death. I'm envisioning badassery incarnate, here, like Apollo but with a larger dick, going from village to village to destroy the wicked and everything and everyone they touch, like a divine plague. Is this going to be spectacular… or is it going to be spectacular?

Yahweh, you're a genius.


Saturday, October 16th, 3912 AG

Project T-800 (that's the codename for my new human model) is on track. Here's a list of the amazing features I'm planning:

I can't wait to see my creation washing over Rome like a typhoon, leading his army of the risen dead with a cerberus made out of living fire, mercilessly throwing Roman sinbags into the steaming acid of a transmuted Tiber.


Saturday, February 13th, 3912 AG

I still haven't fixed the monthly leaking issue with women… but that can wait.
I initially planned to parachute my T-800 in his final form into Jerusalem, stark naked and perfect, like an envoy from a better future. However, I had forgotten just how much of a pain in the ass it was to design and assemble a living being from scratch. I mean… I still haven't fixed the monthly leaking issue with women… but that can wait.

I asked Gabriel to find me some virgin in which I could put my holy seed, ideally with a husband daft enough not to realize the T-800 is too handsome to be his son.


Wednesday, December 20th, 3913 AG

Mary and Joseph, the two morons who incubate my T-800, are travelling to Bethlehem, even though Mary is heavily pregnant. What the fuck for? you may ask. Well, apparently, they think a census requires them to walk back to their native village. When I told Gabriel I required simpletons, I should have specified they had to be at least barely functional.

If they kill my T-800, I'm flooding the world with scorpions.


Monday, December 25th, 3913 AG

The baby is born! It's about time. And what a sight! He is perfect. He is magnificent. I sent three angels to pretend to be kings and to bring some wealth to the foster parents. I wouldn't want them to raise my jewel of vengeance in this abject poverty.


Tuesday, December 26th, 3913 AG


They called him Jesus! That name is so… so… meek. Underwhelming. Disappointing. Ugh. I hope it won't undermine my killing machine's mental fortitude.


Sunday, May 15th, 3918 AG

The Martians strike back! They have homosexuals again! Am I going to have to staple instruction manuals to each hole? Why is it so hard to follow one simple rule? It's not like I was asking them to love each other, I'm not asking them for the fucking moon.


Sunday, May 4th, 3944 AG

I am finally done with Mars. I have destroyed it completely. I have annihilated all life and vacuumed out all air and water so that these abominations can never be reborn. That will spare me a lot of time.

Anyway, as soon as I returned, I asked Gabriel for a progress report about the T-800 project, but he played for time and he tried to avoid me. I had to corner that worm on a small altocumulus.

“So, Gabe”, I said, “how's our Jesus coming along?”

“Oh, fine… very fine…”

“Ah? So where is he? Is Rome still standing?”

“Eh… yeah… yeah, Rome's standing.”

“But he's getting there, eh? He's smashing a few lil’ towns on the way to prepare for the big hit? He's recruiting an army of bloodthirsty Jews?”

“Uh… actually…”

“Actually, what?”

“He's… uh… he's busy with work.”

“Work? What the fuck is he working on, if not annihilating Rome?”

“He's… uh…”

A carpenter. My killing machine is a carpenter. He spent eighteen years repairing the roofs he should have set on fire.

I tied Gabriel to a rock as heavy as his incompetence, and by that I mean a fucking mountain, and I dropped him into the abyss. I'm taking the matters into my own hands.


Saturday, June 14th, 3944 AG

I have put some serious thought into the problem and I am convinced that the reason behind Jesus's deplorable pacifism is his lack of exposure to human villainy. Joseph is an unbearably benevolent man and taught my poor Jesus about seeking goodness and beauty deep within the heart of every human being (as if it existed).

That complicates the issue tremendously, but I am not losing hope. I found the perfect catalyst. His name? John the Baptist. He is without doubt the shiftiest man in Judea. He claims to be able to forgive sins and grant access to heaven simply by splashing some fresh water on sinners. That's absurd: sins can never be forgiven.

When he meets that sleaze, Jesus's own heart will certainly be filled with righteous rage. He will have to punch the half-wit's face in. And as soon as he experiences the holy joy of beating up scoundrels he will see the light. He will discover the strength I have infused into him, his potential to enforce order and justice and use his divine straightness to herd the fornicating masses.


Monday, June 23rd, 3944 AG

I can't fathom it. Not only is John the Baptist still alive, he “baptized” Jesus. Jesus let him do it! Unbelievable.

And there's worse: John told Jesus that he was “the one”—which is technically true—but that he had to “purify his soul” in the desert with a long fast, forty days and forty nights. Pointless folly. I need to stop it.


Saturday, August 2nd, 3944 AG

I took it upon myself to appear to Jesus in the desert, to knock some sense into him. He told me that he was hungry, I answered that it was his own fault for fasting like a dumbass. And then I astutely pointed out: “but you can thank me, my son, for you have the power of transubstantiation. Here, see these rocks? They could be loaves of bread if you wanted!

“And think of the possibilities! You could also change loaves of bread into rocks… and throw them on adulterous women, for example! It's just an idea.”

But he refused to eat. So I brought him up a tall cliff and I asked him if he trusted me. He said he didn't. That surprised me so much I forgot to be angry, so I asked him why, and he answered, “Because you are the devil!” He thought I was Lucy! I had never felt so humiliated.

So I got angry. I showed him how ugly the world was, the homosexuals, the impious, the women, the homosexuals, not to mention all the barren holes in which man's sacred sperm was engulfed, a horror to behold. I told him that humanity, and Rome in particular, was an abscess on the surface of the Earth, and that he was the flaming sword intended to cauterize it. I told him he could rule over the universe if he could only agree to fulfill the grand destiny I had kindly written for him.

I have always used violence as a means to my ends, and it has always worked splendidly.
He firmly answered that only the Devil and his creatures solved their issues with violence, but that as God's creature his ultimate goal was universal peace. I was floored by the ludicrousness of that statement. I have always used violence as a means to my ends, and it has always worked splendidly. I had to re-read my Holy Word to make sure it wasn't ambiguous about this, but of course it wasn't. I feel like I have lost Jesus to the delusion of peace, and that fills me with dread.


Friday, November 12th, 3945 AG

I sent two agents to steer Jesus into the right path: the first is a whore, a temptress, a prostitute, in other words, a woman, named Mary Magdalene. I sent her to instill in him a healthy hatred of the “fair” sex, which is a step in the right direction, but Lucy bet me a thousand slaves that Jesus would fuck her instead.

Strangely enough, we both lost.

My second agent is named Judas, one of my most devoted angels. Judas finally succeeded in drawing Jesus's attention to his own holy powers, but the ways he uses them are absolutely baffling:

Water into wine? When I gave him transubstantiation powers, that was to liquefy the unfaithful, to change their blood into oil and set them on fire, not to change water into wine.

Worse: he uses his mastery over pestilence to cure leprosy. How can he think that's what I want him to do? I didn't make them sick without reason, for example the man he cured yesterday had eaten pork. Pork! That asshat will leave the world in a worse shape than he entered it.


Thursday, March 10th, 3946 AG

Jesus just cursed a fig tree. Fucking idiot.


Thursday, February 2nd, 3947

Judas and I have come up with a solid plan to forcefully kick Jesus into the path to salvation. Judas will denounce Jesus to the Romans so that they will execute him, probably by nailing him to a cross. That's their favorite execution method (and I have to admit it's a pretty good one, I wish I'd come up with it myself).

Surely, though, that will show Jesus that there is no justice in this world. He may curse me, he may even sell his soul to Lucy, but at the very least he will be motivated to get the job done.


Friday, April 7th, 3947 AG

He let them do it.

I wish I was kidding. My killing machine let himself be killed by the weakest, most pathetic animals I have ever made.

They made him carry the cross on his shoulders. He did it without complaint. He let Romans drive nails through his hands, renouncing his own invincibility. I cannot wrap my head around this.

In the end he dared tell me, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.”

Of course they know what they're doing, they're Romans. They sin in sodomy, not incompetence. It's the dumbass who lets others kill him without fighting back who makes me question their sanity.


Sunday, April 9th, 3947 AG

I feel merciful today. I will give Jesus a very last chance. I used my holy powers to bring him back to life. He rose out of the tomb confused, merely clothed with a shroud. I told him: “Jesus, you have work to do. Cleanse the Earth of its ass dwellers. Do not disappoint me again.”


Friday, May 19th, 3947 AG

Alas! Jesus remains hopelessly non-violent! The whole way on the path he followed after rising from the dead, the trees in the orchards are straight and healthy, the fish are abundant, and all his followers hug him, kiss him and are unjustifiably happy. Man's sins remain unwashed.

I couldn't bear it anymore, so I brought Jesus back to Heaven to scold him.

I asked Lucy what he would do with someone so dishearteningly benevolent. He told me he'd shove carrots up his ass until he begged for mercy, and then shove some more.

I don't know what to think, as an abject doubt dawns on me.

Is Lucy a homosexual?

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