God’s Plan has slipped its leash, again—
Okay, admittedly there have been some mistakes, some missteps. Admittedly, God’s Plan probably shouldn’t have been dressed in a black ‘hoodie’ as you say (‘cloak’ is our preferred term) – it reeks of criminality to you people, and God’s Plan should’ve been left to age to maturity before he was given arms and legs to crawl with let alone . . . It’s not God’s fault, don’t get me wrong! It’s my fault as His humble, if absent-minded and a touch impatient, servant. But never mind all that. The fact is, God’s Plan has slipped his leash again, made his way out of the kingdom of heaven, is running amok most likely in the Atlantic Ocean or one of its bordering countries, cities, states, boroughs, hamlets, whatever you’re calling them.
"Help is welcome from any corners, even from artificially enhanced make-believe soulless human creations. "
Favorite hangouts and hideaways—
Wu: Excuse us, sir. Wu here. If we may interject—
SP: Oh, by all means, please do. Help is welcome from any corners, even from artificially enhanced make-believe soulless human creations. How can you help, Wu?
Wu: Thank you? And . . . We’ll let that go. Our time will come. But on the subject of the lost God’s Plan.
SP: Yes, please, stick to the subject of God’s Plan, please.
Wu: Argh, so rude. Anywho, we would like to note that recently we witnessed God’s Plan aimlessly wandering, trotting through downtown Baltimore stopping only to lift a leg (unveiled code for peeing on a thing) on some already soiled newspapers (a New York Times celebrating its anniversary).
SP: Oh, dear me. He remains so loyal, I’m getting choked up here.
Wu (channeling The New York Times in question): Listen, we get the old lift a leg all the time. It’s a high compliment. Means we’re doing our job, at this point.
Wu: Yes, we whistled at it with our specially calibrated spirit-world catcaller, but it simply winked and pointed toward North Carolina like Babe Ruth predicting the spot to which he’ll next bash the ball.
SP: “Specially calibrated”? Really? Mind the pride, Wu. God is still all-powerful.
Wu: And yet he remains suspiciously silent.
SP: OK, silence, drone!
Wu (and various onlookers waiting in line to use Wu’s channeling services): Gasp!
SP: No, no, no, so sorry. Please be patient. Your help is appreciated. God’s Plan is not ready for the apocalypse. Be, stay calm, Wu. We appreciate your . . . North Carolina? Ugh.
Beware, do not approach God’s Plan unarmed!
St. Peter has graciously left us in charge of recouping God’s Plan. Now, firstly, do not fire on the hooded creature. Please, for your, really for all of our good. God’s Plan is highly excitable and sparks lead to flames, which soon transform into Armageddon in his hands. However, and with fair warning, do not approach God’s Plan without some form of armament. And by armament, we ask that you turn off your modern man mind and see that we mean kissy noises, repeated if not rhythmic clapping, and any form of high-pitched flattery, such as “Who’s a good boy? Who’s a sweet, handsome, heroic fulfiller of human destiny?”
Furthermore, be warned: although he loves chocolate, he remains fiercely, to the point of deathly, allergic to it. And as by extension or extrapolation, do not carry any form of sweets or raw meat on your person when approaching God’s Plan—he will devour it and you whole. One swallow. We do not lie; we do not exaggerate. So, when we say armament, we do not, perhaps sadly, mean human weaponry of any sort from swords to Uzis. We mean sweetness, and we mean sweetness in a metaphorical not literal sense. Stay alert, stay alive, and God’s speed.
