Divine Cocktails God is drinking cocktails on Alpha Centauri, bragging to the mortals that he can outdrink them. The earnest fellatio of one of his finest creatures is interrupted by an interstellar distress call from Earth. Fucking Christ, he whispers, petulantly stubbing out a cigarette and reaching for his trench coat. (the embarrassing irony of a species preoccupied with the threat of divine fury, drowning in their own waste) God is neither cruel nor benevolent. He is indifferent. Still, on occasion, he reaches down to pull the pathetic, fumbling bipeds to their feet. They are eternal toddlers-- always falling, never learning. He stands to leave the bar, tips the bartender and stumbles off to wipe the dribble from the chin of humanity, deciding once and for all never to have kids.