He’d heard about some massacre, or shooting, or war, or something like that. He always got upset when his kids hurt each other.

“Used to be a lot easier to deal with,” God told me, drunk, speech slurred, eyes half-open.

“How so?” I asked.

“Things were different. There were less of you, so there was less fighting. And even still, you wanted to tell someone about something bad that happened? You had to travel across miles of desert for days, sometimes weeks, and tell them in person. There was no post office back then!”

God looked over at the computer on my desk, and scowled. He took another gulp of whiskey, and cursed under his breath. “Fucking internet.”

#

He passed out on my couch, and woke up just after 3 a.m. His crying woke me up. I patted him on the back until he calmed down.

“You got any adderall?” he asked.

I shook my head. “That shit’s too powerful; gives you palpitations.”

“I know.” He said. His eyes lit up, and I could see how angry he was. I sighed, and gave God 30 mg of adderall at 3 a.m. He swallowed the pill without water.

“Why don’t you do something about all this stuff, if it upsets you so much?” I asked.

He shook his head. “It’s not that simple.”

“How? You’re God.”

“You’ve seen the Terminator movies.”

“Yeah. I love those movies.”

“The humans made Skynet, the computer program, and the Terminator robots, and Skynet and the robots rebelled and nuked half the planet. And the humans couldn’t stop them. Just because they created the machines, doesn’t mean they could control them.”

I thought about this for a moment. Then I said, “But the humans did eventually defeat the machines.”

God shook his head, and said, “You’re not getting it.” and then he lay down on the couch, and waited for the adderall to kick in.