God Gets Therapy from Freud for Penis Envy

Posted on | October 8, 2010 | No Comments

I wrote this when I was 15. I think this may have displayed both the possibility I could write something good and also the fact that I will always write shit that offends people. Enjoy.

The place is hard to describe.

I guess to be strictly accurate you could say it’s like a little piece of heaven. Because it is a piece of heaven. But this piece of heaven looks much like an office at a multinational corporation with nice plush chairs and a big ivory table. The boss, or God as you call him sits in a big wooden chair with the simple title of God. I work in God’s office. I do a lot of filing. I’m like Santa Claus. I have a list of who’s been good and who’s been bad. It’s a fun job with good pay and a two week vacation.

Oh yes, just to avoid confusion I’m Leila. No last name. Like Madonna. I’m just Leila!
You’re probably wondering what I’m doing filing if I’m in heaven. Is it something I enjoy? No. It’s because I died before my time. I jumped off a building to see if I could fly — and if maybe I’d land on my teacher’s car. God doesn’t send people who commit suicide to hell, he just gives them work to do around the office. It’s an easy living and you get a power trip every once in a while. You work until you were supposed to die and then you get to enjoy heaven like everyone else. The only person who doesn’t enjoy heaven is God himself.
It was just about the end of the day when I walked into the God’s office, or Room 238,as it’s called. I heard voices through the door.
“I just haven’t been the same God since my son left,” God said. “Why do the young always have to be so idealistic? Being crucified for man’s sins? You think I didn’t send the Romans who strung him up to hell. Oh Jesus,” wailed God for his son.
“I see, I see. You are suffering intense separation anxiety,” a thick German voice responded. “But are you sure that you don’t have some deeper issues?” asked the voice I identified as Sigmund Freud, the famous Viennese psychiatrist, with the sick mind.
“Like what?” asked God.
“I don’t know. Maybe you need to get in touch with your feminine side. When was the last time you wept like baby? Cry. Let it all out,” said Freud.
God started to cry. Oh no he’s going to cry., I thought. Whenever God cries volcanoes erupt. Of course he hasn’t cried all that much since Pompeii. But he did get a little bleary-eyed a couple decades ago and look what happened at Vesuvius.
“People are always whining. There is this girl who 74 times a day asks me to get her a pony. Get me a pony! I want a pony! And then there are the filthy things those teenagers pray for. Why won’t they shut up!”
“Do you like women’s lingerie?” asked Freud.
“What?”
“I asked if you like women’s lingerie.”
“I only wear togas. Nothing beats them for comfort.”
The German chuckled sarcastically. “Ah, I see. That explains it. You are envious. You are big and yet you are small.”
“I’m not following you.” God groaned. He didn’t like subtlety.
“Do you suffer from penis envy? Do you wish you were bigger?”

“That’s blasphemous!” said God and God jumped from the sofa. He pointed a finger at the German.
The little German disappeared.
I decided now would be the time to come in, so I knocked.
“I’m just about to go to the bathroom,” said God. “Can you give me one minute?”
“Okay,” I said. It was rare that he needed to go to the washroom so I waited patiently. I heard lightning and thunder. I knew it was going to be raining tonight.
I started to hear Chinese voices. Help us! Our homes will be lost in this flood! Please God! I don’t to die! Please help us! We’ll do anything! Please God let my insurance cover this!
“God!” I screamed.
“Yes?”
“Can you finish up soon? People are dying in a flood.”
“Can’t a God have any peace? Can’t I go to the bathroom just once without people dying. Because when they die I just have to let them into heaven or send them to hell. It’s just work, work and more work!” said God angrily.
“Would you like one of your white pills?” I asked. God ate the sedatives like candy from my hand. Blame him if you must but if you were under as much stress as he is, you’d pop a pill or two.
“My son’s a damn hippie. Going out and doing the right thing. Couldn’t he just kill all the bad people and send them to hell,” screamed an enraged God. Voices come from all around. God, can I have a pony? God, can Melissa be easy? God, please don’t them run out of those chewy things I like! God, I don’t ask for much, but can I win the lottery? God, can you please kill everyone in the IRS? God, I didn’t study for the test so can the school catch fire or something?
“Shut up! Just let me think!” yelled an enraged God. The room exploded in flames.
“Hello brother,” said a high-pitched voice from the corner. The stranger lit his cigarette on the flames. The devil had arrived, punctual as always.

I stared at the flames the devil had created in God’s office and then I looked at God’s face. He wasn’t amused. The devil in his ridiculous falsetto shouted, “Oh, you’re no fun.” The flames vanished.
“You should have been born a special effects technician,” said God without a trace of a smile.
“Hello Leila,” the devil said to me with infinite charm and politeness. The devil wasn’t a bad fellow. He just enjoyed inflicting pain. His high pitched voice was a deliberate annoyance. The devil liked to annoy people, or Gods for that matter, whenever he could. He was also flagrantly gay, which annoyed God to no end. In hell, he had an endless supply of homosexuals, or sodomites as God called them up until recently, when political correctness had made discrimination against gay people wrong.
God had gone with the times and freed all of the gay people from hell and issued an apology for his mistake. The only person who’d grumbled had been the Devil. He didn’t have anyone to play with anymore. And no one was annoyed that he was gay, except for his brother and some ignorant hicks from Alabama.
“So who is the committee interviewing today,” asked the devil with a smile. He enjoyed sentencing people to hell. He was also quite a clingy individual and enjoyed all the company he could get. Of course most people didn’t like to meet him.
“We have a priest, happily married and a pillar of the community,” I said with a slight smirk. “Nice guy. Got along with children really well. He also seemed to get along very well with teenaged boys but had a violent distaste for teenage girls.”
“A priest!” said God with a smile. “What could be wrong with a priest!” he chuckled. I looked at the devil and then back at God. Then God got a weird expression on his face and looked at the devil. “Oh, he’s one of those priests.”
The devil chuckled. “I wonder how many times a day he sang, Fall on your knees. No matter. He’s one of my flock now. I’ll treat him to eternal torture, don’t you worry,” said the devil cackling crazily. Fire exploded from the floor .
“Stop that will you,” said God angrily.
“I’m sorry. I had to. Who’s next?”
“We have a dead celebrity,” I said. “A cocaine overdose. But other than that he’s been a good little boy. ‘Now let’s meet someone who we all know and love. Here’s Dave,’ ” I screamed in delight.
A tall brown haired man in a checkered suit with a gap in between his two front teeth walked into room 238 or God’s office. “Hello Folks. Tonight’s guest is you’re friend and mine. God!” the man in the checkered suit exclaimedThe tall brown haired man shook God’s hand. Then he sat in God’s chair. God doesn’t like it when you take God’s chair.
The tall man swung around on the chair making the devil and God laugh hysterically. He also created a quake in San Francisco but I didn’t tell him to stop. God had so little opportunity to laugh I let the thousands die.
“Get out of my chair,” said God in between chuckles. Dave, the brown haired man got out of the chair. He knew if he didn’t he’d have to go through hell, literally. God sat down in the chair and smiled. He motioned for Dave to sit down in one of the leather chairs.
“So Dave, what have you done right and what have you done wrong?” asked God.
“That’s a crazy question. But I’ll try to answer it. I grew up in a small town. A nice place to go crazy, like me,” he said with his fake laugh. He wasn’t very funny in person, I thought. “So as soon as I graduated I decided to leave town. I did a little acting. And I did a little stand up. Then I did a little drinking. When I got out of Betty Ford I was clean. The hardest thing I ever had to do. Then I started popping pills..”
He paused when he saw God popping back a bottle of white pills.
“You know I think you have a problem. Anyway I got into show business. I was in a multi-million dollar comedy. I came up with the laugh,” he said laughing his trade mark snort and giggle.
“Then I married my first wife. I cheated on her with some working girls and then we divorced. I met with my agent, Joel Tartness; he made my career with the smash hit comedy “Where’s my Pants” and the sequel “This isn’t funny anymore, where’s my pants, you morons”. He had the same problem I had with cocaine. I think you met him a while ago.”
“Yes he went to hell,” said the devil. “Where he will burn eternally for his incompetence. Satan commands it.” He flicked his fingers the room burst into flames.
“Wow that’s pretty interesting I haven’t seen this many flames since I died of free basing.
“Really?”
“So do I get in?”
“I can’t see anything that would keep you out of heaven,” God answered. “Try to keep your perverted fantasies in check. Realize there are people who need to see every part of heaven including your depraved little part of it,” said God calmly.
“Okay.”
The devil frowned, he’d liked the guy. But the poor guy didn’t realize that for every fantasy he had, he would have to sing an hour in choir. That can be hell on the vocal chords.

I walked into God’s office smiling and feeling a little like singing. I was in one of those moods where I felt like I was on cloud nine. Of course, since I was basically on cloud nine, it made perfect sense. I passed God the requests pile — about ten million of them — and the fantasy pile too.
Anyone who was good in regular life could be bad in heaven. God looked through the requests. He saw a big folder marked Sigmund Freud.
God read aloud, “ ‘I want a Swedish penis enlarger. A mountain of viagra because I just can’t it up. Ella Fitzgerald? Don’t ask why. Cindy Crawford? You know why.’ Oh my goodness. It’s always the same thing with Freud. Some thing to make his Scheck bigger or someone to have sex with. Goodness!
“Okay let’s see. Patton. ‘I want to kill some Russians.’ Interesting. He needs to have an enlightening conversation with Mr. Freud. Maybe Freud will ask if he likes lingerie and Patton will throttle him.
“Okay. O.J Simpson: ‘I didn’t have a good life. Could I have another stab at it?’ Who put this in here,” yelled God.
I smiled at him bewitchingly. He scowled and muttered something about sending me to hell.
“Napoleon: ‘I want to be taller. Patton has been making fun of me. I want to kick his ass. So please make me taller so I can reach it.’
“Interesting,” God said to me. “You want a bible. A really nice one to read under the sun so you can pray. What is this?”
“I wanted to brighten your day.”
He glared at me. No one ever wanted to pray once they got to heaven. They just wanted to have lots of sex and drugs and eat like pigs. All the worldly pleasures forbidden to them while on Earth. The only people who read the bible were people in purgatory trying to get in. And whenever he let them into heaven they got very preachy. One had even called him a hypocrite.
God, a hypocrite? He said if vanity was a sin, then why did God make us pray to him? And if gluttony was a sin, then why was God such a chubby guy. And why was God always popping pills.
God, can I have a pony?
The voice intruded every two or three minutes. It was the voice of an adorable little girl from New York named Alaska Taylor, who never stopped asking for a pony. There were millions like her but none with her persistence.
She never asked, “If I do a good deed and read my bible a lot, can I have a pony?” No, it was always give me a pony.
God would send her to hell with very little excuse.
God can I have a pony?
I would send her to hell with a very little excuse.
God can I have a pony?
“God will she ever shut up?”
God can I have a pony?
“I hope so for the sake of my sanity. “
God can I have a pony?
“I wonder if she has an oral fixation on ponies. Maybe Sigmund could give us an opinion.” God snarled. Sigmund’s theories were the only thing which annoyed God almost as much as Alaska.
God can I have a pony?
“You want a pony!” screeched God.
God can I have a pony?
“Don’t do it! I know how tempting it is but don’t do it,” I said.
“You want a pony!” he yelled his voice getting shrill reaching towards an explosion.
God can I have a pony
And with that God gave her a pony.
The pony escaped from a fair and ran right into her station wagon while she was driving to see the ponies. Alaska wouldn’t ask for a pony anymore.
You can’t always get what you want. Because often what you want makes your car catch on fire and your little body burn.

God felt guilty about little Alaska and the pony. He decided he should visit hell for the first time to see if he deserved to go there. “Brother, where are you?” God demanded. “Come and help me. And could you please spare me the pyrotechnics?”
The room burst into fire and brimstone anyway. God looked around but the Devil was nowhere to be seen. I tried to catch my breath. The smoke was bad for my lungs. Maybe I was getting asthma. God yelped and jumped into the air. It was then that I saw the Devil smiling, well, devilishly, with a pitchfork in hand.
“What can I do for you brother?” said the devil in his annoying high-pitched voice.
“I’ve accepted that you’re a sodomite. . . What?” asked God when he saw an angry expression cross his brother’s face.
“I’m a homosexual not a sodomite,” the Devil said. “Sodomite is not politically correct.”
“I guess you should know what’s politically correct,” God said. “You must know more politicians than I do. Well, I’ve accepted that you’re a homosexual but do you have to speak in such an annoying voice?”
The devil didn’t respond for a few seconds. “What do you want?” he asked.
“I want to go to hell,” said God.
“No you don’t. It’s not your kind of place. It’s sophisticated. It’s debonair. And there’s lot of people who will try to steal your wallet.”
“Fine, take me there.”
The devil smiled. He didn’t need to be asked twice. He snapped and they were in hell. Hell was like heaven. Whatever your perception of it was it was exactly like that.
It was worse than any place God had ever imagined. All those people he’d never liked. Car salesmen, people who worked for the IRS, mean bodybuilders and lots of guys named Sven. God had never met a person he’d liked named Sven.
And then there was the people God didn’t recognize. There was thousand of people with hollow looks in their eyes. People who cried constantly. And the Nazis who constantly marched.
He laughed when he saw Hitler being given lessons in Hebrew.
He never had liked that little Corporal. Patton was hankering to fight him. God looked into Hitler’s hate filled light blue eyes and thought he might just oblige Patton. It would be a fight worth watching although the winner was pre-determined. Hitler was nibbling disgustedly on a steak. Hitler was a vegetarian. God guessed hell was a bad place to be.
Then there were the thousands who screamed their innocence to him. They yelled it constantly. Help me! Help me! Help me! Help me! Help me! Help me! Help me! Help me! They cried it.
What if he’d made a mistake, God wondered? What if he’d been wrong? What if people spent their lives in hell because someone like Leila made a filing mistake and a rapist got into Heaven and Mother Teresa went to hell.
Hundreds asked him for things. Hookers, pills, whatever they enjoyed. And ponies. They all asked him for ponies. I want a pony! Give me a pony! Why can’t I have a pony? Alaska if you’re a good little girl God will get you a pony?
God why couldn’t I have a pony? I want a pony?
“Had enough?” asked the devil with a smile on his thin lips.
I want a pony! Give me a pony! Why can’t I have a pony? Alaska if you’re a good little girl God will get you a pony? God why couldn’t I have a pony? I want a pony! Where’s my pony.
“I want to leave!” said God.
“Most of them say that. They all want to go home. They didn’t do anything to anybody. Like you. You didn’t do anything to anybody. But you can go back to heaven. I hate this place. Why do you think I’m always in heaven. Because it’s heaven,” said the devil with a quirk in his smile. He led God back to Heaven. There was truly no place like home.

A very strange applicant came into the office requesting to be grant a white card, the heavenly version of a green card. The devil himself. He walked into the office in his usual jaunty way and walked up to me.
“I was wondering about a white card application. And why is it called a white card. Are you racist?” asked the Devil.
“Heaven is usually associated with a white light therefore we have a white card,” I said already annoyed. This political correctness thing annoyed.
“Why is it a white light? Are you saying that true heaven is to be white?” asked the Devil with annoying political correctness.
“Just fill out the forms,” I said annoyed with the Devil.
“Sex: Male. Job: Punisher of the damned. Sins: All of the Seven deadly sins besides gluttony because I don’t want to have thunder thighs. Broke the commandments. Slapped around Moses a little. Peed on the Pope. I’m very flatulent and whenever I fart I blame it on other people. Al Gore. Susanne Somers. Chevy Chase. Keannu Reeves. Reason for White card: Hell is so hot. I think I’m suffering from heat stroke. I have a terrible rash. My cigarettes are spontaneously combusting. The people are so boring. No one even cares if I stab them with my pitchfork anymore. It’s very disheartening when no one appreciates you. Sigmund Freud tells me that my anger is because of my penis envy and penis enlargers are only available on heaven. I want to work out my anger issues,” said the Devil reading out loud.
“But you’re the prince of darkness. Don’t you like being mean?” I asked.
“Well yes. I’ve been meaning to talk about something. Why aren’t I the king of darkness? Who is more sinister than I?” The Devil asked.
It was times like this that I missed having my period. In heaven no one suffers from PMS because that is an earthly problem. But now I couldn’t blame it on my period if I yelled at someone. Sigmund would probably say that I had period envy like anyone could envy it. So I just stared at him this master of political correctness.
“Speaking of that why don’t you have any horns or hooves?,”I asked trying to change the subject.
The devil looked at himself in his classy black tuxedo and then at his flimsy filtered cigarette. “It doesn’t fit with this outfit. And I have a beautiful head of hair. Do you think I want some pointy sharp things protruding out of my head. And the hooves? God was trying to make me sound like a pig! And don’t get me started on all of these Hollywood depictions of me. Of all the people I’m going to possess it won’t be Linda Blair. She wishes! And pea soup? That was disgusting. And what about Rosemary’s baby. Do you think she’d be lucky enough to have my baby?” said an indignant Devil.
“What about the tail?” I asked seeking to annoy him.
He glared at me.
“Give me the card. I have to get out of there. They’re playing the Backstreet boys in continuous circles. They have no style. And they’re serving plastic food. They call it Macdonald’s! It wretched. And the shops are selling theses disgusting shirts. It’s’ thirty dollars extra for some guys name. Tommy something. And there’s this new coffee place. Starbucks, it’s everywhere, and the inmates are starting to get very hyper. It’s not even hell anymore. It like high school only everyone’s out to kill one another, which was always hell’s charm. But now they’re trying to kill each other with insults. And words can hurt. They called me mean. So of course I set them on fire but it didn’t help. I want to go to heaven. I have the perfect replacement. Her name is Martha and she could tidy up the place. We’d have a nice air conditioner. I’ll be good. Please. I want it that way. I mean hit me baby one more time. Goddammit! Oops. Tell me why I can’t get in?” said the devil in tears.
“Saint Peter doesn’t like you. In fact he hates you. He says that you made fun of him. You said his wings were a fashion faux pas,” I said with joyful satisfaction.
“Please,” said the Devil begging in his falsetto.
“I’d like to help you but I feel I’d be discriminating against the other people who can’t get their white cards. I mean the other people who reside in the resort of inconvenience wouldn’t be too happy,” I said mimicking his political correctness.
“I’ll be back. The only reason I’m leaving is that I have a meeting with someone who wants to use my labour force. We go very cheap. But we’re having trouble beating out child labor in Bangladesh. They work very competitively. It would be a pity to keep Mr. Knight, President of Nike waiting. “
The Prince of Darkness or the leader of the holy challenged walked away from heaven and back to the resort of inconvenience. Unfortunately it took him awhile. The escalator to hell was out of service for repair.

God was sitting back in his chair when his supply of pills ran out. No more sedatives and it would be a while before he could get anymore. He’d gone through his prescription for the entire month. He was feeling a little edgy.
I walked in and he greeted me with a smile. “Could you get me some pills , dear Leila?” he asked me.
“I don’t have any pills. You can’t get them until tomorrow . Today is the pharmacist’s day off. He gets to do what he wants,” I said smiling sympathetically.
“When do I get to do what I want,” God asked me. How was I supposed to answer. He couldn’t do what he wanted. The world would cease to exist. But he seemed pretty edgy. You couldn’t really do anything to help someone who was teetering on the edge of sanity.
“I know the answer,” God said. “The answer is never. I have to look after people’s every little whim. I have to do everything around here . But do I get a little consideration?” God asked.
God, can I have sex with the entire cheerleading squad? God, can I be a millionaire? God, can I be the next messiah? God, am I the real Truman? God, will I ever go through puberty? God, can I be the sexiest man on earth?
“No they keep whining. They won’t ever shut up! Can I have a pony. I gave her a pony. People ask me all the time why do bad things happen to good people. It’s because they asked God for the wrong thing on the wrong day. I have never had a satisfying pee that wasn’t interrupted by the announcement that I’d just killed millions. Do you know what kind of stress I’m under.”
God, please make Julia fall in love with me! God, please don’t let the police find out that I killed Kennedy! God please let me get this part? God, please let me be Miss America? God kill all of the Protestants! Kill the infidels! God can you sell my brother to the gypsies.
“All of these stupid requests. So I’m going to kill myself,” said God taking a revolver from his desk and putting it to his temple.
“But what happens when you die? Will the world end? Will the devil inherit the earth? You will be dooming humanity to a life of hell. Can you take the chance?” I asked desperate.
God looked at me and smiled. He put the gun down. “You’re right. I can’t commit suicide just because I’m frustrated. Anything could happen if I die,” he said smiling.
The door opened and God smiled in anticipation. Someone to help. A new beginning. It was little Alaska Taylor with her adorable whine.
I want a pony! Give me a pony! Why can’t I have a pony? Alaska if you’re a good little girl God will get you a pony? God why couldn’t I have a pony? I want a pony! Where’s my pony. . I want a pony?
“God said let there be quiet!” God looks around angrily. The voices continued asking for money and sex and anything and everything else.
“God said let there be quiet!” screamed God.
“And there was quiet!” said God waiting for the voices to stop.
I want a pony! Give me a pony! Why can’t I have a pony? Alaska if you’re a good little girl God will get you a pony? God why couldn’t I have a pony? I want a pony! Where’s my pony.
“No one ever listens to me,” said God as he pulled the trigger.
God fell onto the clouds. I walked over to him. I nudged him a little. He groaned. “Sir you’re immortal. You can’t die,” I said.
He got up from the cloud in a huff with no trace of a bullet wound. “Why me? Why do I have to live with these humans who give me such misery. I’ll destroy them,” said God in a hysterical tone.
“But think of all the things they offer us!” I exclaimed.
“Well, what do they offer us?” asked God.
“I can’t think of anything at the moment but there has to be something,” I said in desperation.
“It was a noble project when my brother and I began. We had good religious men who gave their lives for an ideal. Now men who pretended to represent the same thing molest children. And what about thou shalt not kill. Think of all the murderers who reside in hell. These people who kill each other over petty squabbles. You know I nearly destroyed the world once during the Holocaust. When these beasts made those camps I was sickened at what was once one of my proudest creations. And think of all those who were killed in my name. The Spanish Inquisition and the Crusades. And think of how they all whine. No one is ever satisfied. Why do the rich get richer and the poor struggle to survive? Think of pimps and whores. And they slowly poison the earth with their industry without any regard for their planet. Give me one reason I shouldn’t put these animals out of their misery?” asked God.
“Love,” I said. I knew I’d found the reason for the existence of humans.
“That is so cliché,” God answered. “What’s love got to do with it? Love is just a word they use to justify themselves. They can just say they want to mate. No they’re in love. And think of all the murderers who came from this love. Think of all the people who suffer for want of love. Think of all the teenagers who suffer wanting for love. Now can you think of a reason for the Earth?” asked God.
I want a pony! Give me a pony! Why can’t I have a pony? Alaska if you’re a good little girl God will get you a pony? God why couldn’t I have a pony? I want a pony! Where’s my pony.
“No,” I said. It was the truth, the earth was pointless.
I want a pony! Give me a pony! Why can’t I have a pony? Alaska if you’re a good little girl God will get you a pony? God why couldn’t I have a pony? I want a pony! Where’s my pony.
God reached into his desk and pulled out a globe. He crushed it and all life ceased to exist on Earth. “God said the Earth shall exist no more and the Earth ceased to exist.”
Armageddon! And all because of a whiny little girl.
I looked outside my window. The line-up outside the gates of heaven was thousands of miles long. God was going to have a lot of work to do today choosing who got into heaven and who didn’t. This was going to cause a lot of stress. I called Doctor Freud and booked him into God’s busy schedule.

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