GOD'S

MEAT
OLDEK
BROTHER
G. ARTHUR BROWTI

ERASERHEAD PRESS
ORTLAND, OREGON
ERASERHEAD PRESS
P.O. BOX 10065
PORTLAND, OR 97296

www.eraserheadpress.com
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ISBN: 978-1-62105-273-9
Copyright © 2018 by G. Arthur Brown
Cover design copyright © 2018 Matthew Revert

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or

transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,
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and retrieval system, without the written consent of the publisher,
except where permitted by law.

Printed in the USA.

 ACKMOWLEDGIMETTS

I want to dedicate this book to my main man, God. Without

him, ALL THINGS would not be possible. Also, special
thanks to John of Patmos and the other guys who had the
balls to write all the stuff that later a bunch of bishops in
the Roman Empire would have the good sense to vote on to
create The Holy Bible. Still a best seller—still more imitated
than even Alice in Wonderland. You can find a million
hipsters in Portland with bumper stickers on their hobo
bindles that say this: |WAS INTO THE BIBLE BEFORE
IT WAS THE BIBLE. (And thanks to Mandela Effect, that’s
entirely possible.) Anyway, those bold bourgeois-bohemians
helped me come up with this story, so it’s really all about
them, isn’t it? Thanks also to Nelson Mandela.

Thanks to Donald Barthelme, for whom the “questions”

section is my long-belated homage.

Extra big thanks to my beta readers Casey & Crystal Babb

and Athena Cherise: you will always be alphas in my heart.
Thanks again to Vince Kramer, without whom I may have
never realized I had a home in Bizarro.

And of course, I’d like to thank the following bands for

letting us sleep/fornicate/read books on their couches/
floors/piles of floor mats/cardboard crates: Fistborne,
Tuchus, Shark Shaped Sword, Headman’s Hat, Blister King,
The Auntsy Bois! (Sorry, your section got cut, bois!), The
Nice Teeth, Lazerus, The Axelrod Clones, Pilgrim Milk, and
The Evil of Paul Lynde.
 Digitized by the Internet Archive
in 2022 with funding from
Kahle/Austin Foundation

https://archive.org/details/godsmeanolderbro0O000brow
 REVELATION 10

' And I saw another mighty angel come down from

heaven, clothed with a cloud: and a rainbow was upon
his head, and his face was as it were the sun, and his feet
as pillars of fire:

* And he had in his hand a little book open: and he

set his right foot upon the sea, and his left foot on the
earth,

3 And cried with a loud voice, as when a lion roareth:

and when he had cried, seven thunders uttered their
voices.

4 And when the seven thunders had uttered their voices,

I was about to write: and I heard a voice from heaven
saying unto me, Seal up those things which the seven
thunders uttered, and write them not.

>And I was like, Um, okay?

 PROLOGUE

God is tired. He’s been writing all day for his zine,
chronicling bands that do not yet exist, getting the
Boulder scene perfect millennia in advance. He sits on
his mustard couch in his little den where he does his
best work. He pops the top of a can of cheap nectar
and relaxes by turning on his television. It’s an eight-
inch black and white. This is thousands of years ago,
the state of the art. He flips idly through hundreds
of channels, scanning the events that are transpiring
below on Earth. The remote is attached by a wire. This
is thousands of years ago and, again, the state of the art.
Things on Earth are pretty messed up. This doesn’t
come as a surprise to God—he’s been spending so much
time writing about the Midwestern post-hardcore scene
that the modern-day people of thousands of years ago have
kind of forgotten he exists. On the TV he sees images of
slavery, war, rape, incest, infant sacrifice, farmers trying
to breed asses with oxen, and people weaving cloth of
two different types of fabric. People eating undercooked
pork and dying of trichinosis. People generally being
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER D

really stupid and uncool to one another.

A sardonic chuckle comes from the doorway. God
turns to see his mean older brother standing there,
leaning against the jamb, shaking his head.
“You really fucked up with these humans, little bro,”
he says. “They're like feral children. Wild animals.”
“Not all of them,” God says. He’s flipped to a
station that features a guy named Noah. Seems like a
really cool guy. “He’s not like the others.”
“Still, little bro. They need discipline.” A dark look
descends on the visage of God’s mean older brother.
God feels a little insecure about how he’s handled
Earth. It was supposed to be his first big project—the
one that would really put the Universe on the map.
Hed gotten a few of the details right, but mankind was
proving to be more trouble than it was worth.
“T don't know,” God says. “Maybe they need some
guidance. I'll go down and talk to them.”
“What they need,” says his mean older brother, “is a
fucking firmer hand, dude. You can’t let them get away
with all this shit. They are flaying fuckers alive down there.
They are worshiping hunks of stone. They are cooking
and eating dicks. If there isn’t some kind of universal law
against that shit, there damn well should be.”
A sinking feeling drags God’s stomach down. He's
afraid his brother is right.
“Don't worry,” God says. “I’m taking care of it.”
“Well, Idamn well hope so,” his brother says. “Um,
tell Mom and Dad I’m going out. I don’t know when
ll be back.” He walks down the hallway. God hears
him slam the front door behind him.
8 G. ARTHUR BROWN

God watches Noah. He really likes this guy for

some reason. He doesn’t know why. Noah is a just a
farmer, but he’s not a complete dickhead or murderer
like everyone else. He’s not the kind of guy who
would blame a clerk for a store running out of a very
popular item, and he’s not the kind of guy who would
rape a woman just so her father would let him marry
her since her value was now diminished without her
virginity intact. He’s the kind of guy who, if he lived in
the late 80s in Boulder, would be really into the local
underground music scene.
The rotary phone in the kitchen rings. God gets
up and plods down the hall. He pulls the receiver from
the cradle.
“Hey, penis breath,” says the tinny voice of his
mean older brother.
“Yeah? What do you want?”
“I’m going to flood those fuckers.”
“Who?”
“The humans. Someone has to teach them a lesson.”
“Wait. No, you can’t do that.”
“Afraid I can.”
“T spent a long time setting all this up!” God yells.
“You can't just wipe them all out! If you do, there will
be no Boulder scene!”
“Well, you better figure something out quick.”
“Give me some time to make arrangements.”
“Okay, I'll give you an hour.” And his mean older
brother hangs up.
An hour for God is like several years on Earth. Even
so, he has to act fast.
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER :

He rushes out to the garage and pulls the royal blue

tarp from his ham radio setup. He turns it on, tunes the
bandwidth, says into the receiver, “Noah. Come in Noah.”
“Who's there? Over.” Noah replies.
“It's me, God. I need you to listen. We don’t have
much time.”
God proceeds to give Noah quick, vague
instructions on how to build a boat large enough to
save his family and most varieties of animals from the
imminent deluge. Noah seems confused, but he’s a
good guy and follows the instructions as best he is able.
God knows he won’ get all the animals on the ark. Any
that Noah misses God figures he can always recreate
later, if he gets around to it.
He slinks back to the den and crashes on the sofa.
Running his fingers through his hair, he flips to another
station and sees the Earth being laid to waste by his brother.
“T can't watch this,” he says, and turns the set off.
He takes off his shoes and scrunches his toes into
the shag carpet. Sidling to his desk, he decides to work
on the zine awhile to distract himself. He'll just write
about the influence of Chicago bands on the Boulder
scene for a few minutes. He won’ let himself get
distracted this time. He’ll remember Noah. And after
his brother loses interest, he'll set things straight.
April27", 1992
Draft 3

IN THE BEGINNING

In the beginning there was Crying Over Broken Bread

by Tuchus. This is the album that really signified the
beginning of the Boulder scene. Sure, Fistborne
had released two seven-inch singles, two EPs,
and an album before this, but they were aping
the Minneapolis scene so hard | can't really call
that Boulder Rock. That’s Proto-Boulder Rock, like
Headman’s Hat or Blister King (with obvious ties to
St. Louis). This is the album that parted the waters
and made the dry land upon which all the others
would build their foundations, begetting a whole
generation of noise punk that no scene before or
since has managed to displace in the Annals of
Divine Musicology.
The album cover featured a two-color picture
(yellow and blue) of a man in coveralls eating a
candy bar. Ithas long been debated the significance
of the sleeve image to the music sheathed within. It
has also long been debated what type of candy bar
is being eaten: Baby Ruth? Pay Day? 100 Grand?
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER iit

Either way, it makes a great t-shirt as well as cover.

Tuchus combined into one dangerous package
the visceral, tuneless vocal delivery of the Texas-
by-way-of-Chicago sound of The Jesus Lizard
(who formed three years after Tuchus was already
playing gigs and didn’t release an EP for another
two), the urgency and pocket-groove of Husker
Du, the abstract lyrical savvy of Wire, and the
extreme stage performances of GG Allin. They are,
| am quite adamant, the perfect band for nihilistic
nonconformist twenty-somethings looking for a
chance to be pissed off/exhilarated by nothing.
As their song “Gotta Motor” informs us, “There is a
blister on the sole of the country’s feet / Too many
cooks here, not enough heat.”
It is frequently commented on in other indie
press that the band wears only Motorhead t-shirts,
has songs named “Ace of Spades” and “Bite the
Bullet” as well as a number using the word motor in
some form or another, yet the band always claims
when interviewed that none of the members has ever
actually listened to a Motdrhead album. “Lemmy
getcha a drink / | wash my feet in the sink” forms
the catchy chorus of “To Motor Not to Motor” and
the guitarist has a picture of Kilmister in a German
helmet tattooed on his left calf. The constant
allusions must form some sort of elaborate inside
joke, but there can be no doubt: the band does
not sound like or dress like Motérhead, not even
at Halloween gigs. They would be chagrined to be
in any way associated with Heavy Metal, and yet,
12 G. ARTHUR BROWN

as they have said time and time again, they do not

consider themselves a Punk band. One struggles
to find a better term to describe them and they
offer up simply “loud, noisy rock.” Noise Rock, for
better or worse, began for Boulder with the birth of
Tuchus, as an extension of the already established
Mid-Western epidemic of the same. But Boulder is
where it all came to a deliciously repulsive head,
knocking Detroit, Cleveland, and Minneapolis off
their pedestals of raging filth, all too long taken
for granted. New York has Swans, San Fran has
Chrome, Austin has Scratch Acid, San Antonio has
Butthole Surfers, Madison has Killdozer, D.C. has
Pussy Galore, Chicago has Big Black — Boulder has
Tuchus,
| left my cushy job as King of Heaven to pursue
my true passion of the Rock that is Boulder. And
Tuchus is the cornerstone upon which my Temple
of Rock n Roll has been built. This—this album, this
band, this aesthetic, this moment—is the core of
the Boulder Scene. The most perfect underground
scene in America, nay—the whole wide world.
 CHAPTER OHNE
Going Back» Home

Moving back in with one’s parents after having spent

time on your own is embarrassing for most people.
Imagine how God felt. As a single father, he had
nowhere else to turn.
He spent most of his days writing a zine about
a music scene that wouldn't exist for almost two
millennia. Of course, that’s not actually the way time
works when you are immortal, but it’s the easiest way
to describe it. He wrote about stuff he hadn’t made yet
in order to get it right. The journalism was practice for
the creationism that would follow.
Inside the old rancher waited his family, who were
supportive, ifa little distant. But there was also his mean
older brother who had never moved out, though he'd
spend nights away without bothering to tell anyone,
leaving them to wonder what he was getting up to.
Of course, it wasn't exactly a rancher. It was a
spiritual dwelling or something that existed on a
transcendent plane that is impossible for most human
14 G. ARTHUR BROWN

minds to really imagine, but we'll go with rancher.

God kind of thought of it as a rancher, and he inspired
human architects to create the rancher house in the
image of his own childhood home.
Artists and pop culture perpetually get Heaven all
wrong. There are no clouds, no one is sitting around
playing harps, nothing is shiny or golden. It’s pretty
much designed to look like a small town in the North
Midland. The angels aren't in white gowns and they
don’t have halos. They all have jobs to do: fry cook, day
laborer, postal carrier. They are paid in God’s grace, which
sustains them. If they left his presence, moved to Earth,
they'd have to find other means to survive. But here in
Heaven, they were just like any other suburbanites.
God pushed open the front door, which gave out
the slightest creak, and then he peeked his head inside.
No one was there to welcome him home.
Suddenly, he caught some motion out of the corner
of his eye.
“Raaaah!” his father cried, leaping from behind the
bookcase.
“Good one, Dad,” God said, setting his duffle bag
next to the recliner and taking a seat.
“I getcha a brew, son?”
“Uh,” God said, eyes searching the room for
comfort, finally resting on a dusty trophy on the
mantel, “sure.”
“Nation's Best Nectar! Can’t beat it, least not the
price,” said his old man with a dry chuckle as he trotted
off to grab a can from the refrigerator. Natty Nec was
a mainstay in that house. Some things never change.
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER 15

God laughed to himself. He got up and walked

over to the trophy. Picked it up. Read the engraving:
Award for Godlike Prowess in the Game of Dominoes.
He'd had a very happy childhood.
“Hey, bro, good to see you back.”
Or, he'd had a mostly happy childhood.
His older brother stood behind him. He must have
crept up the staircase from the basement while God
was distracted.
“Oh, hey,” God said, setting the award down and
turning to face his lifelong nemesis. “I didn’t realize you
were here.”
“Yeah, I was playing some Pong downstairs.” ‘This
was a couple of thousand years ago and Pong was the
state of the art. “Heard some footsteps. But when I
turned to look, I saw only one set of footprints.”
“Very funny,” God said, taking a seat on the same
old well-worn couch that still resided there even after
all these millennia.
“[m gonna make a lot of money off that poem,
you know.” His brother spoke wistfully and often of
Footprints, a popular bit of prosaic allegory that would
be printed on posters, mugs, bookmarks/biblemarks,
and placards in the not-too-distant future. “Just gotta
wait for industrialization, then the money will come
rolling in.”
“What do you need with money?” God asked him.
His brother plopped down in the recliner facing
the TV. He tossed his hands up noncommittally and
said, “Render unto Caesar what is due unto Caesar.”
“What... what does that mean?” God asked, but
16 G. ARTHUR BROWN

was distracted by his father returning with a cold can

of Natty Nec.
“Hope this hits the spot,” his father said, tossing
him the can. And turning to his older brother, he
added, “And nice of you to come out of your cave to
welcome God home.”
“Har-dee-frickin-har,” his brother spat back. “And
thanks for bringing me a Natty.”
His father glared at him. “Your legs don't look
broke to me.”
“Fine.” His brother lurched up and headed for the
kitchen.
God smiled. “I see he hasn't changed a bit.”
“No,” his father replied, dropping into his easy
chair. “But Pll tell you what—if I didn’t know better,
I'd think he missed you.”
This surprised God, who was not used to being
surprised. And it surprised him even more to realize
he'd missed his brother, who had always been there to
spur him on to greater things with his constant torment
and mockery. And interventions.
He decided to change the subject.
“Where’s mom?”
His father cleared his throat. “She's staying with her
parents for the week. We... had a bit of a fight.”
God was again surprised, mostly due to the fact
he'd forgotten he'd created himself a set of maternal
grandparents, but also because his parents got on
swimmingly. He'd created them in the Waters of the
Heavens when he was just a young, lonely godling in
search of some reassurance. One of the hardest parts
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER 17

about being a deity before the Creation of the Universe

was simply believing in himself. And in a somewhat
poorly thought-out move, he'd also made himself an
older brother to protect him from bullies. Though, to
be tough enough to fend off bullies, a brother has to be
a bit of one himself. This was the first mistake in the
History of Time and it would not be the last.
“A fight?”
“Td rather not talk about it right now. Anyway, I’m
sure she'll stop by to welcome you home.” And he added
as an afterthought: “It’s not your fault we fought.”
“T wasn't thinking it was.”
“Well, I just wanted to be clear, since, you know...”
“No, I guess I don’t know.”
“Since youre, well, since youre God.”
“And what has that got to do with you two fighting?”
“I'm saying it doesn’t have anything to do with it. I
just didn’t want you to think that because you are God
that you have to feel responsible for everything.”
“I dont feel responsible for everything,” God
responded plainly.
“And that’s why the world is all fucked up,” his
brother said, returning with a can of brew.
“Language!” his father scolded. “God’s here, for
Pete’s sake.”
His brother stood in front of the fireplace and
cracked open his beer. “Sorry, God,” he sneered.
“T never actually said I don’t like bad words,” God
said defensively.
“Yeah,” his brother said, “but you don’t ever cuss.
Like a little puss.”
18 G. ARTHUR BROWN

“T only told the Israelites to stop constantly saying

my name. It was becoming distracting. I never said
anything about the F-word.”
His brother scoffed. ““The F-word.’ You can't even
say fuck, dork-ass.”
“Stop being childish,” his father scolded. “Anyway,
God, it’s good to have you back home, even if it’s not
under the ideal circumstances.”
“It’s good to be home,” said the Lord, and he meant
it—again a surprise.
“Now that the niceties are out of the way, I’m going
back down to the Dungeon,” his brother said.
“See ya ‘round, I guess,” God said. He took another
sip of brew.
The doorbell rang and it was God’s mother
stopping by to welcome her son home. He opened the
door and she yelled, “God is great! God is good! Let us
welcome him with some food!” She held out a basket
of ambrosia-muffins, his favorite.
“That doesn’t actually rhyme,” he said bashfully as
she wrapped an arm around him and hoisted the basket
with her other arm onto her hip.
“You are looking starved!” she said, releasing her
hold on him and backing up to take him all in. “Good
thing I brought the muffins.”
“Can't wait to eat one.”
“And don’t let your brother eat them all this time!
You'll waste away to nothing. Look at you! I'll bring
you some matzo ball soup later.”
“That's really too much, mom,” he said, hoping she
would. Nothing beat his mother’s home-cooked soup.
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER 19

“Ah! It’s the least I can do. Especially since I’m not
going to be here to make you supper.” She stepped
over the threshold and God noticed a lightning bolt
pendant dangling on a thin chain around her neck.
“New necklace?” he muttered half-consciously.
Ignoring him, she proceeded to the dining room
and set the basket on the table.
“Nice of you to drop by,” his father said, strolling
into the dining room from the hall. He stood there
staring coldly.
This made God very uncomfortable so he went
into the family room and turned on the TV.
It was a highlight montage of the greatest Sarmatian
battles of the previous century. God was no longer in
his military phase and zoned out.
He thought of the image of the thunder bolt,
an image associated with many sky-gods that people
insisted on attaching to him as well. He didn’t strike
at his foes with lightning and thunder. But it didn't
matter in terms of how people portrayed him in
popular culture. Thunder was more the small-time,
two-bit pagan style. Those washed-up has-beens were
probably busy sucking down Old Fashioneds at some
Limbo dive.
Was he an old fuddy duddy? He was sitting in his
childhood home, literally hiding from the world, and
all he could think to do was turn on the TV. Something
told him that at any minute he'd be knocking back a
Harvey Wallbanger and listening to the old hacks
bellyache about how he put them all out of their jobs.
He switched off the set and slunk to his bedroom.
20 G. ARTHUR BROWN

The old posters of the Seven Wonders of the World

were still clinging to the walls. He sat at his old desk
and put a sheet of paper in the typewriter.
After five minutes of staring at the page he decided he
was not in the mood to comment on the Boulder music
scene. Dodging the sound of bickering, he made his way
into the basement to see where his brother had gotten off to.
The staircase was still carpeted in goldenrod shag,
which clashed with the rusty short-pile carpeting on
the floor below. He peeked his head over the banister
to survey his brother’s room—the Dungeon, as it had
been dubbed. This room had been God’s den at one
point. His brother laid claim as soon as God left home
hundreds of eons ago. The old plastic chair shaped like
a hand was still down there, along with the mocha
beanbag chair, the ivory-colored vinyl loveseat, and the
hi-fi system the size of the Titanic. But his brother was
nowhere to be seen. God checked his brother’s private
bathroom but he was not in there either.
Feeling a little lonely and disillusioned, he trudged
back upstairs. He found his father sitting alone in the
family room, sulking. Taking a peek out the large front
picture window, he saw his mother walking away from
the house, down the sidewalk toward a long-bodied,
pale luxury car with steer horns on the trunk. God was
startled to see her slink in the passenger side. The car
crept away. He wondered if maybe his mother wasn’t
staying with someone other than her parents, whom he
seriously doubted existed anyway.
“Heck, son,” his father rasped. “I think she’s leavin’
me for good.”
 GODS MEAN OLDER BROTHER |

“How can that even be?”

“Met someone else, I guess. Doesn't matter. She won't
even talk to me without it turnin’ into a fight now.”
“Someone else? Who could she possibly have met?”
“Doesn't really matter who it is. It ain't me, and
that’s the point. She’s leavin’.” The old man chugged
the rest of his Natty Nec.
God flopped onto the couch and tried to figure out
what the point of existence—outside of his zine—could
possibly be. It had been a long time since he pondered
on such things. He despaired.
 CHAPTER TWO
Limntbo

The outskirts of Limbo were littered with disused gas

stations, the kind that had mechanic’s garages attached
instead of mini-marts. Here and there were pieces of
ancient barns with faded tobacco ads painted on their
splintered, once-red boards. OUT OF BOUNDS
flashed on the red and yellow neon sign buzzing outside
the dive bar. God entered and the crowd fell silent.
And lo! a great Rukh bird did bring to him a cocktail
menu and the drinkers were amazed saying, “Who is
like unto the Lord, our God?” And they had no answer
because no one was like unto God and God knew this
and was pleased. The patrons went back to their drinks
and he took a seat at the bar beside a group of regulars
already engaged in conversation about the Big Picture
that God wanted so desperately to see once again.
The jukebox played “Hit the Road Jack” and the air
swirled with cigarette smoke.
A man with skin like raw umber broke away from
his fellows and turned to look at God.
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER as

“Welcome back, God! It has been far too long.”

This was King David II, the son of King Solomon
and Makeda, the Queen of Sheba. He’d been the first
King of Abyssinia to recognize God as God, and was
always the first to welcome him to Out of Bounds. He
appeared to be in his mid-fifties and wore a cheetah
print button up shirt and black vest with vertically
striped bell-bottoms and snake-skin boots. A floppy
schoolboy cap topped him off just like Jimmy Cliff in
The Harder They Come.
“Good to see you, David.”
The King’s two companions, raised their glasses in a toast.
Hannibal, the great North African general of the
Punic Wars, looked a grizzled fifty, and wore a faded
Ice-T t-shirt and parachute pants. Circe, the famous
Greek witch, was dressed in a gold-sequined disco
gown that had seen better decades. Her feathered, long
hair was bleached platinum blonde and draped freely
about her back and shoulders.
“How low can you go?!?” they both said and
chuckled. It was, apparently, a jocular reference to
the Harrowing of Hell, which had not happened yet
but time doesn’t work the same in the afterworld. It’s
hard to explain. God is both transcendent, outside of
spacetime, and imminent, able to physically interface
with spacetime. So the clocks in Limbo are a bit crazy.
It was common knowledge among Limbo residents
that a doctrine either had already or would in the
future arise that Christ, while dead, would descend into
Limbo to set free Adam and Eve, the Patriarchs, and
other virtuous people who were just unlucky enough
24 G. ARTHUR BROWN

to be born before their Savior. Since such a thing never

actually happened or would not ever happen, it had
become their go-to joke when they saw God. As a
matter of fact, Abraham was sitting in a dark corner,
sipping a Hot Toddy.
Also, as if on cue, Chubby Checker took the stage
at that very moment.
“Yall know what’s about to happen,” Chubby
bellowed into the mic. “Can we kill the juke box,
Herm... thank you,” he said to the bartender. “I’m
going to sing yall’s favorite song... “Limbo Rock!” A
line began to form as Methuselah, every bit as shriveled
as youd expect, set up the limbo stick. This is a ritual that
was repeated every hour on the hour and the patrons
still delighted in playing the corny, old-fangled game.
Of course, time works differently in the afterworld, so
it’s not literally every hour on the hour. The games can
last hours, what with all the dedicated participants.
God and the three companions did not join in the
fun but stayed seated at the bar.
“What'll it be, Lord?” the bartender asked.
God looked the short, gray-haired Greek man over,
noting his bare arms tattooed with a ram’s head, angel
wings, and a stethoscope.
“H-Hermes?” God said in bewilderment.
“Yeah, uh, I been working here for a while now. I
thought you woulda known that,” the retired messenger
god said nervously. “Work release. You didn’t know?”
“I probably just forgot,” God said. “I limited my
omniscience. Too much is going on out there.”
“Shit, I don’t half blame you, Lord,” Hermes said,
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER 2S

wiping down the bar top with a semi-clean rag. “What

can I getcha?”
“Ambrosia Bomb.”
“Wooooo doggies!” Hermes laughed and smacked
the bar. “One A-Bomb, comin’ up!”
As God awaited his drink, he glanced at the dancing,
aged bodies of virtuous heathens,-grown-up unbaptized
babies, and borderline sinners who weren't good enough
for Heaven nor bad enough for Hell. Also, a handful of
lesser deities had joined in the party. Not just Hermes
behind the bar but Pan played sax in the backing band
and Baba Yaga sat at a table near the stage laughing
uproariously and baring her rusted-iron teeth.
The sliding motion of the A-Bomb caught
God’s attention. A black miasma effluviated from
the skull-shaped mug.
“Smells like death,” Circe said, wrinkling her nose.
“T wish I could have one of those,” Hannibal said
with a raised eyebrow. “Gotta be the ultimate.”
“You take one sip of that,” said David II, “and your
soul would die the second death. Youd be nothing
more than a shadow of a shadow. A place where a
shadow once was.”
“But in that second before I turned to nothing,”
Hannibal said with a grin, “it has to be one hell of trip!”
“Mm-mm,” God said nonchalantly, taking a long drink.
As he set the mug down and wiped his mouth with
the back of his hand, he found something very familiar
about the violin that was not strictly appropriate to
the Limbo song. He turned to look at the fiddler and
found that it was Nero.
26 G. ARTHUR BROWN

“Shouldn't he be in Hell?” God wondered aloud.

“Whoa, what now?” David II said in surprised.
“Nero. He’s up there fiddling with Chubby.”
“T think that A-Bomb went straight to your head,
G,” Hannibal said. “That’s Charlie Daniels up there.”
God did feel a bit woozy. Could the A-Bomb be
making him confuse the Roman imperator with the
popular country music star? He was not sure.
“Something is up here...” he said and took another
long draft of the Ambrosia and Essence of Mortal Sin.
“What? Nothing’s up,” Hermes said a little too
quickly.
“['m not even talking to you,’ God said. “I’m
talking about Nero.”
“Look, I’m not... That’s got nothin’ to do with me,”
the little Greek god said, backing away and making the
sign of the cross—the Byzantine one you do with your
hand positioned to represent the Trinity, not the lame
Roman Catholic rendition.
“You don’t have to be a freaking baby about it,”
God said, knocking back the last of the wicked elixir.
His head swam as in the first days when he separated
the waters with the firmament.
“You know, I probably hired him and just forgot,”
he said to David II.
“Hired who?”
“Nero.”
“I told you, Lord,” said Hannibal. “That’s Charlie
Daniels, not Nero.”
“Dont tell me who that is, I-damn-it!” God shouted.
A brief flash, only milliseconds long, filled the
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER ON |

dingy bar room. Most of the patrons politely pretended

not to notice. The band just kept on playing.
Circe looked at the stage and said, “You know
what... I think that is Nero. But a second ago, I could
have sworn it was Charlie.”
“What did you do, God?” David II said. “Did you
make them the same person?” -
“It does look like Nero... but also just like Charlie
Daniels,” Hannibal said in awe.
“Honestly, I can’t tell which one that is... but how
could this be?” David II said.
And they were amazed by the wonder that he
worked.
God was too blitzed to make any sense of the
question or the situation.
“Anyway,” he said abruptly, “I was wondering if
any of you has a theory about the Meaning of Life.”
“That depends,” said David I. “Are you asking the
question to get a gauge for how far humanity is from
the Truth?”
This presented an interesting opportunity for God
to save face.
“Yeah,” he said, thinking quickly. “Yes. Tell me
the best answers Mankind has devised so that I might
marvel at the folly of their puny minds.”
“Niggas gettin’ paid is a popular theory,” Hannibal
said, and David II quickly agreed.
“T-damn-it,” God said, “I gotta remember to tell
Jesus to tell people that the love of money is the root of
all evil or something.”
“Maybe you should write that down,” Circe said.
booa) G. ARTHUR BROWN

“Nah, I’m sure I'll ‘member. And if I forget to tell

him... I'll tell that Saul guy from Tarsus... Pll make a
big spectacle about it too. I'll get him to tell Timothy.
That guy—always needs remindin’.”
“So it’s not about wealth, then?” Circe asked. “How
‘bout power?”
“Are these your actual guesses or are you just
messing with me?” God groaned. “Look, most people
are never going to accrue huge amounts of wealth or
find themselves in authority over other people. That's
just the way it goes. Is there a broader theory that would
apply to all Mankind?”
“I can’t speak for Mankind,” Circe said, “but
Womankind has some theories as well.”
“Oh, of course,” God said, motioning to her.
“Please, go on.”
“Lean in and have it all. Be a mother and a
professional and a sex goddess and New Age art guru.
Make that money and have the kids. Be the best in
your field and raise your kids right at the same time.
Make a name in and out of the house. Also, control as
many men as possible with sex witchery.”
“Youd say that,” Hannibal said with a scoff,
“because youre a freakin’ witch.”
“So what if I am? At least I didn’t try to cross the
Alps with a bunch of pachyderms.”
“There is to be absolutely no witching in the
afterworld,” God said half-heartedly.
“So you can combine two distinct historical figures
with your miracle power, but I can’t control a few men
with pussy magick?”
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER 29

“Yes,” God said plainly. “That’s how it works. I’m

God. Mortals have different rules.”
“Why is that, exactly?” Hannibal said, giving God
a sidelong glance and taking a swig of his hog swill
pilsner.
God stared at a bowl that was now empty of pretzels.
“You gotta make a few omelets before you don’t have to
break so many eggs,” he said drearily.
“This existence,” David II said, “was your first
universe—is that what you are saying?”
God cleared his throat. “Uh, yes. That’s exactly
what I’m saying. Next time I'll do better. Huge learning
curve on this thing, even with billions of years to prep.”
“And next time, you'll remember to include ‘thou
shalt not rape’ in the Commandments, maybe?” Circe
asked severely.
“And maybe mention that slavery is evil, even if
you don't mistreat your slaves,” David II added.
Hannibal busted out laughing. “Mothafucka, you
owned slaves.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t have scriptures that said ‘don't
fucking own any slaves.”
God laid his head on the bar. “There’s just so much
to remember.”
“Hey,” David II said, slapping the bar.
God’s head shot up like a rocket.
“You wanna get a real good answer to the meaning
of life?” David II continued. “Go ask ol’ Nietzsche in
the corner there.”
Peering like an angry hawk, God stared over into the
corner booth and saw the frazzled German just sitting
 0
wy) G. ARTHUR BROWN

there twirling his ridiculous mustache. A plain brown

paper bag sat on the table in front of him. He took a
surreptitious swig from whatever was in the bag, goggled
his eyes, and went back to twirling his mustache.
“Yeah,” God said, deliriously recalling some old
beef. “Yeah, maybe I better go talk to Nietzsche.”
Hannibal laughed into his hand_histrionically.
“This I gotta see.”
God strode toward Nietzsche's booth in the manner
of aconfident drunk.
The philosopher did not appear to notice the
Supreme Being and continued his ritual of taking a
quick pull from his bag, widening his eyes, and fiddling
with his facial hair.
God sat across from Nietzsche, who gazed blankly
around like he couldn't see his meager surroundings. A
finger snap brought the strange man out of his daze.
He looked at God in abject terror.
“Ah, you recognize me!” God snarled.
“You...” Nietzsche croaked. “You have bees all over you!”
“Bees?” God asked. But putting that out of his
mind he continued: “Do I look dead to you, Freddy?”
“You look like a crawling mass of winged insects.
So... alive. Yes, not dead. You are a living mass of
honey bees.”
“What? Listen, I’m trying to pick a bone with you.”
“You know what?” Nietzsche said, then took another
hit from his bag. “Don’t sting me. You can have a drink
of my nectar, but you can’t... fucking... sting me, okay?
This elixir is what gives me inspiration... insight. But I
hate to be stung so bad! Are we having a deal?”
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER 31

“Uh... What are you drinking, exactly?”

“?M DRINKING FUCKING PAINT THINNER
BECAUSE I’M SEXY AND I DO WHAT I WANT!”
Nietzsche cackled like fighting crows and twisted his
mustache, tucking it into his nostril.
Then God remembered that Nietzsche was a
syphilitic lunatic and simply erased him from existence.
“That’s some funny shit,” Hannibal told him when
he returned the bar.
Just then the Limbo competition ended and the
band stopped playing.
Chubby waved to God and walked over with a
shit-eating grin plastered on his face.
“Lordy, Lord! How good to see you again,” the singer said.
“Lookin good, Chubby,” God slurred. “Aren't you
pleased that you can bring so much joy to so many
people all the time?”
“Yeah, man...” Chubby said, smile slipping away.
“Yeah, it’s great. Don't get me wrong. But you got me
on a harsh performance schedule, brother. Can’t a man
get a night off every once in a while?”
God broke eye contact and fiddled with his empty
mug. “The thing here is, Chubby, that you were neither
good enough for Heaven nor bad enough for Hell, so I
decided to make the best use of your talents by having
you play The Limbo in Limbo. Seemed logical at the
time. Are you saying you don’t want to serve your Lord
in this fashion?”
“Lord, I ain't saying that. I’m saying that, well, having
to do it so damn often, pardon my French, is feeling more
like torture than praise for the Lord, Our God.”
B2 G. ARTHUR BROWN

God sighed.
“Take, uhrm, Little Richard for instance. I know
he tried to turn his bus around with all that holy-roller
stuff, but that dude did way worse things than I ever
did. So I could see you punishing him by makin’ him
do this many performances of the same song. Or Elvis!
Holy dang, yeah, Elvis would be perfect for a gig like
this. Good heart but weak will, giving in to the flesh.
This sort of punishment would be perfect to show him
the error of his ways.”
God's eyes flared. “This isn't Purgatory, son! Purgatory’s
just some crazy shit made up by those stick-in-the-mud
Catholics who couldn't figure out how Salvation works.
“Now, if you are saying youd like me to resign
your position as Limbo Master, yes, I’m sure Elvis or
Richard would be happy to take your place. But make
no mistake, my son: You will receive a new assignment
and you might not love that one either, because this is
Limbo and nobody earns their way out.”
“Please, Lord!” Chubby cried earnestly. “I do not mean
to disappoint you. But it gets hard man, singing the same
dang old song for these limbo-maniacs all the time. And
also, Lord... I’m not even dead yet. I’m still alive.”
“Wow!” God said, rolling his eyes. “Am I the only
one who gets how time works here?
“Bartender!” he barked to Hermes. “Get me
another A-Bomb, I-damn-it!”
Hermes nervously slid the new cocktail in front of
the Lord.
“Last time I checked, I was the only God around
here,” God said, then slammed the cocktail.
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER 52

Hermes raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, except for Hermes of course!” God yelled
angrily, so loudly that it shook the whole joint. So hard
it made God burst out laughing.
“Why are you working here again?” he asked
Hermes, eyes crossed with lack of sharp focus.
“T told you,” Hermes shouted-whispered. “I. Don't.
Know. Nothin!”
“Why are you acting so, uh, cagey, Herm?” God asked.
“Buck cagey,, David\ ll said. You *ate “acting
downright strange, Hermes. Straight-up suspicious.”
“Look,” the bartender said, backing up and waving
his hands, “I know you came down here to find out what
your brother's been up to, but I swear, I got roped into it!
It wasn't my idea and he don’ tell me nothin anyways.”
“Criminy,” Circe said. “Sounds like you got a
regular mystery on your hands here, Detective God.”
God tried to stand but was too drunk to do it without
wobbling, so he simply teleported himself to the other
side of the bar and grabbed the pagan god by his lapels.
“And what, exactly, is my brother up to, huh?”
“T dont know!” Hermes wheezed, too afeard to
even attempt a struggle with the Lord. “I just know it
involves some kind of machine! He’s been getting us
fogies jobs all over town! I didn’t ask questions! I just
took the job! You can understand that, can’t you? I just
wanted to feel useful again.”
God shook the frail lesser deity, then released his
grasp. He teleported himself back to his barstool.
“Tt’s okay, Herm. Tell me everything you know...
EMEP)
and keep them A-Bombs comin’.
 CHAPTER. THREE
The Hangover

God awoke in his bed with the worst hangover in

history. He was blinded by the light and saw that it was
no good. The skies grew dim and angry until he could
open his eyes, if only slightly, and he held back the flood
gate until he was praying before the Porcelain God and
giving it wet offerings of unprocessed Ambrosia Bomb
and bile. As he wretched, flashes of the previous night
gave him pause. What the hell had he done? Something
big—he could feel it but it was lost to time. One of
the prices he paid for limiting his own omniscience to
focus on writing his zine.
He stumbled into the kitchen and began chugging
Fruit of Life juice to rehydrate himself. Bringing the
carton with him into the family room, he spotted his
father unconscious on the floor, a bottle of Bourbon
spilled out next to him. The phonograph was still
spinning Coltrane’s Soultrane, side two.
“Looks like you had a worse night than I did, Dad.”
God set the juice carton on an end table and bent down
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER 35

to pick up the pitiful old man. His father was heavier

than he looked. For a moment God wondered if he’d
created a father so heavy he couldn’t lift him. Then he
resolved to proclaim: “He ain't heavy; he’s my father.”
Scooping the passed out old man into his arms, he
carried him into the hallway that led to his bedroom.
“She... she ain't comin’... shé not comin’ back!” his
father grumbled unclearly. “That, uh... that daggone...
hodad. Dagnabbit.” At least at the time, God thought
he said ‘daggone hodad.’ But soon hed have reason to
doubt that.
“Just sleep it off,” God said and shushed him
soothingly.
“Punch ‘im right in his... uh... cow heads...”
“Shush. You're just too drunk to make any sense.”
“He ain't gettin’ way with it...”
“He who?”
Then a long snore.
God kissed his father on the top of the head and
laid him on the king-size in the master bedroom,
pulling a quilt composed of folksy pictures of biblical
characters over him.
The old man looked peaceful, like a sleeping angel,
like little Jesus in the manger.
“Tr’s times like this I’m glad I made myself a family.”
And he saw that it was good.
A knock on the front door startled him.
Opening the door scandalized him.
There stood Angelica, the postal carrier. Her silky
black hair in a neat bun. Her face more beautiful
than any other in creation. She was the exact perfect
36 G. ARTHUR BROWN

combination of Persian, French, Levantine, Nubian,

and Siamese. Her expression was every bit as
commanding as it needed to be. God felt like a little
boy with her standing there seething with bottled-up
fury. He trembled slightly and averted his eyes.
“I heard you were back in town,” she said brutally,
stabbing his heart with millennia of disappointment
and twisting the blade of bitterness. “When I saw this
prayer here from your son, I knew it had to be true.”
“Y-yes,” he said, taking the envelope from her
delicate hands, “I’m living with the ‘rents for a while. I
was going to look you up—”
“How's Mary doing?”
“T don’t talk to Mary. I already explained this.”
“Tt had to be a human woman, I| know.”
“Yes, it had to be a human.”
“But why?”
It was a good question.
“She... she was j-just a vessel,” God stammered.
“A vessel for your son, you mean.”
“T guess. I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“Could have been our son.”
“Youre an angel though.”
“Could have made me human... if you wanted to.”
Could he have? He wasn’t even sure. But the
thought never crossed his mind.
“You know me,” he said, more cockily. “You've
known me for an eternity. I work in mysterious ways.”
“Don't be cutesy. I just want to tell you never to call
me again.”
It was an odd thing for her to say. He hadn't called
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER oT

her in hundreds of centuries. Why would he be calling

her now? But a part of him wanted desperately to ask
her out for a drink, to talk about the old days. Another
part of him wanted to reassign her postal route so he'd
never have to face her again. Instead of any of those
things, he did nothing but kick his foot bashfully.
“You ruined my life,” she said, then turned to walk
away. “Hope your kid turned out okay.”
“T hope so too,” he grumbled, not paying attention
to what he was saying.
He watched her sashay down the front walkway to
the sidewalk. She hung an exaggerated left and walked
past a pale Cadillac Seville with steer horns parked on
the street a couple of houses down.
He recognized the car. What’s more—he recognized
the driver. Despite the mirrored sunglass and granite
gray Stetson, he'd know his old rival Ba’al anywhere.
Preternaturally aware that God had spotted him, the
middle-aged lesser divinity exited his vehicle, dressed like
a singing cowboy, and waved amiably before approaching
the God family homestead. A salt-and-pepper mustache
drooped from his adobe-colored face.
God stepped onto the front stoop and closed the
door behind him.
“Hey, God!” Baal called stridently.
SUh».,.nellojBatal?
“Oh, please. That ‘Baal’ stuff is for the rubes. Call
me Hadad. I insist.”
“What brings you to Dad’s house, Hadad?”
“Oh!” Baal said, and chuckled. “Never one to waste
words, are you now? Well, no matter. I just wanted to
38 G. ARTHUR BROWN

stop by and sort of... square some things with you

about your momma. Now, I knew you were too smart
to take long to piece together that I’m the feller your
momma left your pa for, so I thought I'd just man up
and come over and admit it: I’m the homewrecker
what’s got your family in a twist right now. And I sure
do apologize for all the harm that’s gone on and all that
is to come, but you have to believe me when I say I got
the most honorable of intentions, Lord. I just love the
heck out of that little lady.”
“So, you and my mom are in love, huh?”
“Yessir, that’s the case. That’s what’s what. Neither
of us planned it, but there it is. We're in love alright.”
“Last time we chatted, Hadad, you were still trying
to convince Amorites to sacrifice their babies to you for
better crop yield. What are you up to these days?”
“Oh, about six-foot-four!” Baal said and slapped
his knee. “Haha! Had to do it! Had to do it!
“But serious now—I’m_ one-hundred-percent
according to Hoyle. Travelin’ the country doin a one-
man cowboy show. I shoot targets, dance with a lariat,
skin a calf, sing a coupla songs, and eat spicy beans out
of a can! I also call up lightnim and rain on occasion,
when I’m worked up! You gotta see it to believe it!” He
pointed to the rhinestone lightning bolts on his Nudie
suit. “Rubes really eat it up, skin and all.”
“Does my mother enjoy your hoopla?”
“Not a snow cone’s chance in Tartarus, afraid. But
she does like that I’m passionate about something and
get to work in showbiz. I even introduced her to Mr.
Chubby Checker! Woo doggies!”
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER B9

“I still don’t understand. How did you and my

mom even meet?”
“Now that there’s a kinda strange story. See, I got
me a message from who I thought at the time was you,
God, to meet up here, at this very house. But turns out
I was mixed up. It was just a note from your brother...
something to do with old business, like OT stuff that
I'd long forgot. So I moseyed over and, wouldn't ya
know it, the most beautiful lady I ever see opens the
gol dern door!”
Brief flashes of the previous night skittered through
God’s overwrought brain.
“My brother sent you a note?”
“Yeah, apparently wanted to bury an old hatchet,”
Baal said, shrugging.
“And did you?”
“T guess so. I’m still above snakes and ain’t in the boot
yard! Funny, that—Ida never took your brother for the
forgivin sort. He musta knowed how I felt and signed
your name to the note instead, so as I'd a-come. But he
was awful peeved about what went down ‘tween you and
me all them moons ago. Talked my ear off. Then, we sat
down and had a few Natties. Downed a coupla shots of
Oh-Be-Joyful. Shot the shit about Nebuchadnezzar and
Darius and Ol Nero. Then I got to chattin’ with your
momma... and the rest is, as they say, mythology!”
“Nero, eh? You didn’t by any chance discuss Charlie
Daniels, did you?”
“Ur... can't say as I recall as such, but we might
could have actually been listening to some of his songs.
He put on a compilation of classic country music
40 G. ARTHUR BROWN

tracks. And that’s where I got the idea for the cowboy
show, now that I think of it.”
“So I’ve got my big bro to thank for all of this,”
God said snidely.
“Well, heck, pardner... I don’t want you to go off
with hard feelin’s here. Does your momma have your
blessin’ or not?”
“T can’t stop my mother from doing what she wants
to do.”
“Well you can though, since you're God.”
“In that case, to be clear, I won't stop her from
doing what she wants. But my old man is real messed
up over the whole thing.”
“Tell you what,” Ba’al said, pricking up his brow,
“two free complimentary tickets to my show this
weekend for you and your pa, gratis.”
“Tm not sure—”
“Think about it,” Ba’al said as he strolled away.
“Everybody loves a good ol’ fashioned cowboy show!
See ya Saturd’y!”
“But I don’t think Dad’s gonna wanna...” God
trailed off when he realized Baal was no longer
listening. He glanced at the tickets and the envelope
and sauntered to his bedroom.
After setting the tickets on his desk, he opened the
message from Jesus and read the first line. But he could
not focus on what the prayer said so he set it down as
well. Distractions in several forms were screaming for
his attention. He needed to relax.
He lay down, closed his eyes, and saw the image
of Angelica. It had been so long since last he stood in
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER 41

her presence that he'd almost forgotten how she made

him feel. She was never his girlfriend—there was some
kind of decorum that had to be observed as Supreme
Being—but she was his pal and confidant, and he loved
her with a kind of courtly love that would never allow
him carnal knowledge of this amazing being.
He unbuckled his belt, slowly slid down the zipper
of his fly. He languidly massaged himself as he thought
of caressing her, smelling her hair—her angel hair. He
envisioned himself tasting her sweet, heavenly juices
and then thrusting his godly member inside her. In his
mind’s eye, she rode him cowgirl style, wildly, and with
a glee that only the severely repressed can muster. Then
he imagined sliding his middle finger into her ass—

ORGASM

BeliGaB AGNiG
Ped Reale we®

The guilt hit him instantly as he saw the new primordial

universe his ejaculation had created—an accidental
Prime Move that he wanted to take back but could
not. His regret topped that which he had felt when he'd
made the first universe, not knowing what the next step
could possibly be. And here he was eons later, still not
sure what the next step was.
“Ah, well,” he said aloud. “I’ve got a few billion years
before I really have to fuss with anything there. I'll just
let the gasses and dust coalesce and then play it by ear.”
Play it by ear again, he thought not aloud, like he did
not want the new universe to hear his self-doubt.
42 G. ARTHUR BROWN

He tossed a blanket over the infant cosmos. Not an

actual blanket. Again, this is just a metaphor. It was a
lot bigger than a blanket. Also—not an actual infant,
so you don't have to worry about the thing smothering
under there.
Cheeks flushing in shame, he reached for the
message from his son, reading a glimpse of a line (“...
hardly anybody believes ’m mixed race!”) but was
quickly interrupted by the ringing of his old rotary
phone.
“Hello?” he said breathlessly.
“God, baby! I’m reading your new pages you sent
me last night and, man oh man, are they a mindxtrip,
your worship!” It was the voice of his publisher, Johnny
G. Gutenberg.
“Johnny... heck, Pm still pretty hung over. I sent
you new pages of The Bible?”
“Yeah, whole new book called...uh... the Book of
Revelation to St. John the... uh... someone or other.
We can work on that title later, but you were really
spitting fire on this one, guy! I’ve never read anything
like it. There’s man-heads on insect-bodies and fiery
sulfur pouring from the sky! War. Death. Famine. Wild
beasts. Pestilence. Uh. May. Zing! I was ready to print
the whole Bible this week, but we gotta sneak this baby
in at the end... to really seal it all with a POW!”
God hugged his temple with his hand and massaged
fitfully.
“A whole book?” he said. “I guess I was a little
drunker than I thought.”
“Well, then I’m sending you over a couple bottles
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER 43

of Babylonian strong wine to help get you started on

a sequel, because, sweet child, you are going places!
Where you been hiding the flair for the dramatic?”
“Uh... under a bushel I guess. Hey, can you send
me back a copy? I seem to have misplaced mine.”
“Sure thing, Pll get my girl to do it first thing
tomorrow.
“Okay. Thanks for the call, Johnny. Gotta run.”
“Catch you on the flip flop. Ciao.”
God hung up the phone and tried to summon
every glint of memory from the previous night.
Images... dangerous visions... a searing heat...
strange, thrown together costumes... a mother of all
whores... the stench of burnt hair... multi-headed
CGI monsters straight out of made-for-Syfy. What the
hell had he done?
He dialed David II’s number and _ waited
impatiently for an answer as his mind danced with a
million scenarios.
Someone picked up the phone and there was a long
pause before a weak, scratchy voice mumbled, “Hello?”
“Tt is I, the Lord, your God. The God of Abraham,
Isaac, and Israel. I have a question for you.”
“Oh... hello, God. Wh-what’s the question?”
“What the fuck did I do last night?”
Lightning flashed in the sky.
“Aw, damn. Maybe we better not talk about this
over the phone, Lord.”
“Fine. Meet me at my place in thirty minutes.”
“Okay... maybe forty minutes. I’m still pretty
wrecked.”
44 G. ARTHUR BROWN

‘T'll transfer you some vital essence.” God held the

handset a few feet away from himself and wiggled the
fingers of his left hand at it. Mysterious wavy lines appeared
and flowed toward the receiver, into the mouthpiece.
“Wow!” cried David II. “I feel... young again!”
“Yikes... keep it down. My head is still pounding
from all those A-Bombs. Now that you are fixed up,
get over here in twenty minutes—thirty at the latest.”
“Tm already on my way, God!”
“No, you are not. You are still talking to me on
your phone. Why would you lie to your Lord?”
“Ain lying. It’s just hyperbole. Bye-bye.”
The Lord gingerly placed the handset in the cradle.
He was too hung over for hyperbole or loud noises. This
day was starting out as the worst in over a million years.
And then, as if on a cue, a loud bang rumbled
through the floor boards. Something big had just
happened in his brother’s bedroom.
He ran through the corridor toward the basement
door and stopped for a second to peruse an old, framed
photo hanging on the wall of his mom with an aunt—a
sister he didn’t remember her having, though he knew
just by looking at them they were kin. Gods aunt? he
wondered. ‘The inside of his head felt blurry, so he shook
it about like a wet dog and hurried down the stairs.
What he saw when got down there was something
he was absolutely not ready for.
“This is not how I planned on you finding out
about this,” said God’s mean older brother, stepping
out of a big, aqua Porta Potty wedged between his bed
and the bedroom wall.
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER 45

“How'd you get that thing down here?” God asked.

His brother glared at him and smirked.
“Probably should ask me when did I get this down here.”
“Why should I ask when?”
“Crap. That was supposed to be a pun. You asked
how and I said you should say when, but it didn’t work
right. I hate it when they work in your head but not
out loud.”
“How is that a pun?”
“Because this, little brother, is a fucking time machinel”
“A what?” ,
“But when I said when, it just sounded like I
wanted you to ask me how long it’s been down here.
So it all fell apart. Unlike my plan. My plan to build a
time machine!”
“You mean this... portable toilet can travel to the past?”
“Well first off, I had to the take the actual chemical
toilet out, so it’s just a Porta Potty shell. And second—
it can also travel to the future! Hence time machine.”
“Why did you make this abomination? You know
it’s against the rules.”
God pointed to a yellowed paper pinned to the
wall that listed the house rules:

1. No loud music after 9:30 PM or before 7:30 AM

2. No human sacrifices in the kitchen OR bathroom
x g g

4, NO TIME MACHINES

“Buck your rules, dude. Anyway, this is Dad’s house

and he’s totally cool with it.”
46 G. ARTHUR BROWN

“Dad knows you built a time machine?” said God,

exasperated.
“Well, not exactly. He knows I had a Porta Potty
in here, because fuck climbing those stairs every time
I gotta piss, yo. And he knows I’ve had a project I’ve
been working on, working real hard. He even said—
get this—he was proud of me!” The look on his
face was somewhere between quizzical disbelief and
overwhelming self-esteem. “Can you beat that? After
all these years, Dad is proud of me.” He pointed to his
own chest, to the left side where many people think the
heart is located even though it’s mostly centered.
“Well, what in the name of Hell have you been
doing with it?”
“Probably should ask me what have I not been
doing with it.”
“You are terrible at puns. You know that, right?”
His brother scoffed and shook his head. He sat
down on his bed, placed his elbow on his knee and fist
on his chin as if he was actually thinking.
“You know,” he said in a measured tone, “how
I used to give you a lot of shit about how you were
raising humanity? Especially those Israelites?”
“Of course I do.”
“Well, I came up with a solution.”
A sinking feeling punched God right in the spleen.
“Oh... don’t even tell me.”
“That's right. I've been going back and fixing
history. I’ve been teaching those little fucks lessons—
the Jews, the Greeks, the Jebusites, the Sumerians. All
of them.”
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER 47

“This is an outrage,” said God quietly. He trembled,

but only so much that it would be apparent to the keen
eye of a deity. Or the older brother of a deity.
“Yeah, also, I dressed up like you and gave them all
kinds of new laws to keep them in line. You were way
too lax with them first time around. I’m fixing all that.
Except—” He cut himself off abruptly.
“Except what?” God’s eyes darkened.
“Little things change that I didn’t plan on. I mean,
it’s like you change one thing, it changes everything
after that. But not too much. Mostly little shit, like
names and logos and the wording of quotes.”
“What the fuck did you expect when you started
tampering with the fabric of time and space, you
shithead!” God screamed, totally losing his cool. A
tsunami struck Borneo, killing tens of thousands.
“T don’t fucking know!” his mean older brother
screamed, throwing up his hands. “I guess I figured
that if you can do it, so can I!”
God tried to calm himself. He took a deep breath
and said, “How bad is it... how bad is it really?”
“Like I said, it’s just weird little shit like the names
of characters in children’s books. Flags look a little
different. Stuff like that. Who cares? I don't.”
“History happened for a reason, my brother, and
now you've practically flushed all that down the toilet!”
“Whoa!” his brother said, perking up fora moment.
“T did manage to save this one dude’s life. He died in
prison, but some kind of ripple effect made it so he
survived and went on to become the president of South
Africa. You gotta be happy about that, right?”
48 G. ARTHUR BROWN

“Huh?” God said, flabbergasted. “Yeah... I mean,

that sounds fine. I’m happy for the guy. But I’m more
upset that you would do all this not knowing the effects
it could have. You can’t just go fucking with people’s
lives! That’s my job.”
He was so angry he was losing himself. He shook
his head and added, “And what did you mean you
dressed up like me? The Israelites don’t even know what
I look like.”
His brother busted up in laughter for a second
before he could compose himself enough to talk
coherently. “So, get this, I made a huge floating head
with long white hair and a white beard and scary eyes
and huge, gaping, angry mouth. I float around in it and
shout things to the people below, like, ‘HEY LADY
WALKING, YOU SUCK? and ‘YOU WOULDN’T
LIKE ME WHEN I’M ANGRY!” He laughed
especially hard at this last bit, then stopped to explain:
“It’s funny because the face is already so angry—”
“T get the joke,” God said, waving his hand to cut him off.
“Then I touch down and they give me offerings,
which they load into your huge mouth.”
“It’s not my mouth. It’s not me!”
“Right, haha, but they think it is! Fucking classic.”
“This is the most fucked up thing you've ever fucked
up!” God yelled and threw a lava lamp against the wall.
“Fuck! I didn’t think you'd be such a baby about
it. I thought youd be grateful that I beat some respect
into those vile, pathetic... puny mortals.” He seemed
legitimately surprised at God’s rage. “And that was my
favorite lava lamp.”
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER 49

“Why? Why, why, why? Why???”

“Because!” his brother said, rising, eyes tearing
slightly. “You did all this by yourself. All this creation
and miracles and talking to prophets and kings. And
all I ever got to do was watch the reruns of it on TV.
Well, I think I deserve a part of all that. ’'m your you-
damned older brother, and I think I deserved, if not
respect, at least a fucking chance to prove myself! To
prove that I can help you out! That I’m useful.”
“Well this, this...” God muttered, shaking his
finger. “This is not the way to help me. It’s not the way
to help the Earth. I don’t even know what this is. What
were you trying to do, exactly?”
“T wanted to make them fear you, like you deserve.”
God, taken aback, was speechless.
“And you know what?” his brother said. “It fucking
worked.”
God stared blankly at his brother for a moment.
“[m going to my room,” he uttered, and the
ground shook.

In his room God gazed longingly at a flyer for a show

in Boulder that would have only twelve attendees
other than the bands, but would serve to fuel the scene
that would become God’s musical obsession—once
he figured out exactly what he wanted to do with it.
The show would be held at an illegal venue called The
Shack, which was literally accessed through a hole in the
concrete wall of an old industrial building, condemned
since before most of the musicians who would play
50 G. ARTHUR BROWN

there were in grade school. Fistborne would headline,

and theyd have a few copies of their first DIY pressing
of the “Is It Okay to Be in Love with Sandwich Sam?”
seven-inch for sale, the only merch at the show. The
song and its B-side were both, more or less, Rifle Sport
rip-offs, but the singer had all the pizzazz of Naked
Raygun’s Jeff Pezzati glued to a young, black Iggy Pop
nailed to a white Prince. There was some funk in there,
if you listened for it. And if you read God’s zine, which
of course you did, he was sure to point that out to you.
Also appearing that night were Shark Shaped Sword,
and ‘The Nice Teeth in their first performance with
new lead singer Philbert Stapleton, who would later go
on to front The Axelrod Clones with his twin brother,
Wilbert Stapleton. Thomas Axelrod, of course, played
drums and performed a mock-cloning ceremony at the
beginning of each set, in which he sawed a futuristic
casket in half to reveal the two lead singers, who insisted
on never using a microphone and mainly punching
each other’s face to generate visceral shouts instead of
actually singing any lyrics. Their first album, Songs in
Screams, was released on navy blue vinyl by Pteranodon
Records out of Denver.
On the flyer there was a snapshot of The Shack’s
front wall graffitied with “LAST NIGHT YOUR
MOM WAS SO WASTED SHE ASKED FOR IT IN
THE VAJINA.” This did not reflect the overall spirit of
the music scene, but was used as lyrics by most of the
prominent bands in the scene, especially Lazerus, who
even used the phrase as the title of both their second
and third albums, much to the dismay of the record
 GODS MEAN OLDER BROTHER op

buyer. Additionally, each album contained the exact

same track list on the back, though they were not the
same songs: the third album had a different song with
the same title as each of those on the second. The 1986
version of “Bleed My Hebephrenic” was a lot faster and
heavier than “Bleed My Hebephrenic” on the previous
album, but overall the latter era of the band veered
far away from their noise rock roots into Cargo Cult/
Stump-style art-punk territory suited more to coffee
houses in the flamboyant district of Austin. Much to
the dismay of the record buyer. They would play a show
with Cosmic Psychos in Melbourne before breaking up
dramatically in the Sydney airport and letting loose an
illegally caged wallaby the band had planned to smuggle
to the States, which would become the highlight of their
career. It was all pretty fucking rad.
A knock on the front door snapped God out of his
head and back to reality. Or rather, the current Heaven-
reality he was in and not the Boulder, CO reality that
he was trying to perfect. Ifthere could just be one perfect
indie music scene...
God hurried David II inside and offered him a seat
in the recliner, but David II declined and sat instead
on the old, worn couch. God took the chair, like a
comfy, broken-in throne. Seated at his right hand was
the life-sized white porcelain statue of an Irish terrier
his father had picked up when on vacation to Earth
a couple of thousand years ago. His mother hated the
thing and always hid it in the closet. His father must
have recently retrieved it and placed it by his seat. For
what purpose, God didn’t even know.
De G. ARTHUR BROWN

“T like the dog,” David I] joked, trying to lighten

the mood.
“You can have him,” God said. The terrier sprang to
life and scurried over to sniff David II’s palms. People
have such interesting scents on their hands.
“T will call you Caleb,” David II said, stroking the
dog behind his ears.
“I don’t know why I gave you this dog,” said God,
honestly. “I really need to figure out what went down
last night.” He turned to look at David II. Then...
 CHAPTER FOUR
God’ Mean Older Brother Effect

For there shall arise false Christs, and false prophets, and
shall shew great signs and wonders; insomuch that, if it
were possible, they shall deceive the very elect.
—Matthew 24:24

God groggily eyed his unfamiliar surroundings. He was

in the White. There was no perceptible ground or sky,
no floor or walls, no differentiated objects. But there
was a swirling, as if the energy there was only beginning
to find its form. He was in the White Noise. And when
he looked at himself, he was also without definite form.
He was the White Noise. He could hear himself, his
own vibrations, every frequency at once, but it was less
hearing and more being. He could be his own sound.
He was a vibration. He was in tune with the cosmos.
Almost as if his omniscience was rebooting.
“T am lost,” he said, but not with words, for he had
no mouth with which to utter. He said them with the
pure spirit of divine essence. There was no one else in
existence capable of understanding these words. And
54 G. ARTHUR BROWN

God was glad of this and gave thanks to himself.

A dark dot sprouted amid the White Noise. Black
and brown and silver, the dot grew, became oblong,
became a man with darkish skin, gray hair, and a smart
black suit. The man was far away and walked toward
God with a smile on his face. This man exuded warmth
and comfort. God felt in awe of him. Then he thought
he recognized the fellow.
“Nelson Mandela?” he said meekly.
But as the man came even closer, God saw that it
was not Nelson Mandela at all.
It was Morgan Freeman.
“You are not lost,” Freeman said in that unmistakable
voice of his. “You are found, dear one.”
God could see that this was The Lord of Hosts.
Morgan Freeman was the King of Kings. Here in his
mighty presence God shook terribly.
“Relax,” Freeman told God. “You have many things
yet left to accomplish.” He reached out and took his
hand. God felt like a small child. Like a perfect white
lamb being led by a very good shepherd.
Freeman led God into a room full of pictures of saints.
“You must call upon your faithful,” he said, pointing
to the icons, “for the next chapter, for lo! your brother
has laid a trap to ensnare you. He has summoned all
the minions of Hades and plans a great revolt across
all of spacetime. He’s not messing about. He means
business. To end you.”
“When he spoke to me,” God said, “he spoke as a
man who knew not what he had done.”
“Alla ploy to lull you into a false sense of security. He
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER SS

is neither confused nor contrite. But he is shortsighted

and impetuous. These are the things you must use
against him.”
“You are wise beyond wisdom. Are you me?” God asked.
“No,” Freeman said seriously. “You are me.”
And then God was alone in the room full of
paintings of saints.
“Gather the Menagerie,” he said.
A long goferwood banquet table with seven chairs
of shittim wood eased itself into existence.
His cadre of confidants emerged from the White
and took their seats at the table:
Pope Benedict XII the Accidental Pope, Pope Pius
XII the Science Pope, Pope Gregory IX the Inquisitor,
Pope Adrian IV the British. Pope Liberace XVII the
Musical, and Pope Nostradamus IX the Visioneer.
Each was dressed in their full vestments and papal
miter hats. All were clean shaven but Nostradamus.
These guys would surely know what to do.
“IT suppose you know why I have gathered you all
here today,” God said to them, taking the seat of honor
at the head of the table.
Benedict asked, “Why us, O Lord?”
“You have been chosen as an elite, crack force
of popes, each with your own special prowess to
sort through the problems of the universe in order
to find a way to defeat my brother. You, Benny, are
extraordinarily lucky.”
“Oh, I guess that makes sense,” said Pius.
“And you, Pie, are very rational.”
“Yes, I suppose I am. Can't argue with the facts,”
56 G. ARTHUR BROWN

Pius concurred with a grin.

“Adrian, or Adge as I like to call him, is extremely
cautious and proper, Libby is creative and has a
certain... flair for the theatrical, and Nosty D can see
things yet to come and turn them into Goth poetry.”
“I’m into more Hip Hop now,” Nostradamus said.
“Why did you choose me?” Gregory said.
“You are a real stickler, play it by the rules, never afraid
to Inquisition. I need that kind of man on my team,
Gree-Gree. I also admire a guy who tries to Christianize
Pskov and Novgorod, those filthy Slav republics.”
“And who kills a lot of bloody cats,” Adrian muttered.
“What was that?” Gregory said.
“T said that I could go for a spot of tea, what?” Adrian said.
“T really believed cats were the agents of Satan. I was
going off the best science available to me at the time.”
“What science was that?” Pius said. “Were you
reading the innards of a canary?”
“It was,” Gregory said between clenched teeth, “the
Thirteenth Century.”
“Well that explains all the bloody rats for the next
century,’ Adrian quipped. “And seriously, may we get
some tea?” he asked God.
A pot of tea materialized before Adrian and he was
sore afraid and trembled as he poured of the pot into his
china cup. He sipped in wonder and sinned no more.
“Don't say I never did anything for you, Adge,”
God scolded the already rueful man.
“Lord,” Benedict said. “I am racking my brains
trying to remember this, but I do not seem to recall
popes by the name of Liberace or Nostradamus. None,
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER aii

let alone nine or seventeen.”

Pius broke out an adding machine and typed at it
frantically.
“Yes, he’s right, Lord. None of this adds up.” He
held up paper tape with numbers all over it.
God took the strip and looked it over. “What is this
supposed to be?”
“All the pope numbers addedapethel? Pius said.
“What does that prove?”
“I... I don't know. I’m the Science Pope, not the
Mathematics Pope,” he said defensively.
“If you ask me,” Liberace said, “I'd say it makes
more sense that I’m not a pope than I am. I recall both
versions of reality. In one I was a pop star with an
exquisite sense of style. In the other, a tyrannical and
vindictive pope with an exquisite sense of style.”
“After we are done with all this nasty business,” God
said, “I do want some interior décor pointers, Lib.”
Liberace smiled and nodded stylishly.
Gregory and Adrian agreed: these other two were not
actual popes, or at least never had been until right now.
“Tm God here. I decide who is pope and who is
ot.” But God was not sure whether he had decided to
canonize these two or they had become popes thanks to
his brother’s mischief. “In any event, I am certain Libby
and Nosty D both will prove extremely useful.”
“Let’s get down to brass tacks, shall we, gents?” said
a man seated at the other end of the table. He was not
one of the popes. A finely tailored, pinstripe Armani
suit hugged his form elegantly, a wreath of laurels
hovered above his head.
58 G. ARTHUR BROWN

“Who. Is. That?” Liberace squealed.

“IT am the Ghost of Rome Past. Where two or
more popes are gathered, so also am I there. Six have
gathered, there am I with them, plus three times my
normal spirit power.”
Pius crunched numbers on the adding machine. “It
checks out,” he confirmed.
“Could there be any doubt?” the Ghost said, eating
spaghetti and munching slices of gabbagool, washing it
down with grappa and Peroni.
“How come he gets food?” Adrian’s tone was one
ofirritation.
“T thought you wanted tea?” God said.
“Tea is a meal in England.”
“Well, I gave you a damned pot of the stuff. But
what have I done for you lately. In future, when we have
one of these meetings, bring your own fare, okay, guys?”
“But... how are we to know when we will be having
a meeting?” Gregory inquired.
“This is our first ever meeting and you simply
conjured us from thin air,” Benedict said.
“Youre all dead anyway, so you cant really be hungry.”
“Finger food would be nice though,” said Liberace
cloyingly.
A blue flare lit the room as all kinds of sweets and
snacks and hours d’oeuvres appeared on the table.
“Fine. Take, eat ye all of it,’ God commanded.
“But let us move on to more pressing matters.”
“What exactly is at hand, Lord?” Adrian asked,
mouth full of biscuit.
“T can tell you what is at hand.” Nostradamus
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER ao

stood, and stroked his beard, like a big lazy cat hanging
from his chin.
“Finally breaking the silence, ch, Nosty D?”
Liberace said wryly.
“Only the Lord may call me ‘Nosty D.’ He glared
at Liberace and reached under the table to produce a
boom box and microphone. “Aw shit, yall. It’s about to
get apocalyptic up in this bitch.”
An electric beat and an alarming amount of record-
scratching roared forth from the dual six-inch speakers.
“I can see the future, I can see through time. I can
tell your fortune and I'll make it rhyme,” Nosty D
rapped into the mic.
“I’m Nosty D and I’m on the scene. I’m a human
bein’, |hope you know what I mean.”
Several popes rolled their eyes, but the Lord quietly
assured them that it sometimes took Nosty Da moment
before the visions hit him.
“There’s a man of sin in a machine of time... I can
rap about it and make it rhyme. Oh shit, I already used
that one,” he said, kicking the chair next to him.
The Ghost began to clap on the beat and shouted,
“It’s okay! Find your flow, bro!”
God followed suit and soon they were all clapping
while Nosty D grooved with his eyes shut.
When he opened them they were completely white
like boiled eggs.
“I wanna give a shout out to my churches in
Ephesus, Sardis, Smyrna... Pergamum, Thyatira,
Philadelphia, and Laodicea.” It totally rhymed.
“These Sevens Seals is totes for realz. Only a Lion
60 G. ARTHUR BROWN

can open ‘em up, and Lamb on the throne he knows

whassup. Four horsemen ride out, without a doubt,
destruction and grief is what they all about.”
He did a little Stanky Leg.
“All the world hide in the mountains and caves.
Ain't no more time to go to raves. Fire and lightning
come crashing down. Trees burned up, blood on the
eround. Mountain from the sky be killing off fish. And
a star falls down but don’t grant no wish. Water goes
poison, sun goes dim. Key to the Abyss has been given
to him. Flying scorpions find a way to chill ya. They
torture you for five months but never kill ya...”
He went on in this fashion for quite some time
describing a horrifying future where a monstrous beast
takes over the Earth and enslaves humanity.
God grew worried, his stomach balling up and
crawling back up his throat.
“Stop, Nosty,” the Lord commanded. “I think we've
heard enough. Obviously, my brother is going to use his
time machine to amass an army of demons and monsters to
bring a final judgment upon the world and all mankind.”
“Was that obvious?” Pius asked. He stared
imploringly at his calculator. “I didn’t get that at all.”
“Giant whores? Multi-headed monsters? They are
wearing far too many crowns, by the way,” said Liberace.
“['m not quite sure what all the mumbo jumbo
is about,” Gregory said. “But if I were there, I'd be
burning some damn heretics, that’s for sure.”
“World wasn't taken over by cats, Greggy,” Benedict teased.
“T know how to kill things other than cats, gents,”
Gregory said.
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER 61

God raised his arms over his head and issued forth
this decree: “I hereby recruit you all for my crack force,
The Pope Squad. With my best guys on the case, I
know you'll find a way to defeat my brother.”
“What, alone? You won’ be helping out?” Liberace
said, a look of panic cracking the foundation on his face.
“T must get back to Heaven to”’—he thought of
how badly he wanted to do a juicy exposé on drugs in
the Boulder scene—“to take care of some other, uh,
equally urgent business to do with, oh well, uh, Jesus!
Yes, Jesus needs me!”
Frenzy and confusion stained the faces of the
members of The Pope Squad as he vanished, leaving
them to their task. Their very important and sketchily
laid out task. But no matter, God trusted these men
completely. Then he thought of the Ghost of Rome
Past and felt a little uneasy. Surely the seven of them
could muddle through this. All that doomsday stuff
was still a long time off, wasn't it? In any event, Jesus
did need some guidance, and the Boulder scene was
a lot less remote in time. It was time to do his first
and second jobs: underground music journalist and
Heavenly Father. Or vice versa.
Questions for review:

1. Who is the protagonist of the story?

2. Have you ever read another story about this

protagonist?

3. Does this book have an antagonist?

4. |fso, draw him or her here:

5. Should this story have more dogs in it?

6. Is there too much blague in the narration?

Not enough blague?

7. \s this the first book you have ever read?

8. Would you recommend this book to a friend?

9. Will you actually buy a copy and just give it to

him or her?

10. If so, draw him or her here:

 CHAPTER FIVE
Role Reversal

God awoke lying face-down on the living room floor,

feeling drained and discombobulated, smelling of
chemicals—Jet fuel mixed with ammonia? PCP?
His father hovered over him saying, “Son, son, you okay?”
“How long was I out?”
“T dont know. I just woke up this morning, came out
here, and found you like this. You partying last night?”
“Not even. I was partying the night before. I found
you like this yesterday and tucked you in to your bed.”
“Well, hell,” his father said, “I guess I slept a whole
day away. That explains that.”
“I got wasted on A-Bombs two nights ago but that
wasn't even as severe as what I’ve just been through.”
“You stink of cat piss and lighter fluid. Go take you
a shower and change your clothes. Ew, that reek. It’s...
I don’t know. Reminds me of something but I don’t
know what.”
God’s father helped him to his feet.
“T think I just set something in motion that I can’t
64 G. ARTHUR BROWN

really control now, Dad.”

“What do you mean? You talking bout your boy, Jesus?”
“T guess he’s part of it.”
“You should be nicer to that boy. He’s your only
begotten son—you hear me? See me, I’m lucky I got
two of you boys. Your mother is a little sad she ain't got
no daughter, though. But she loves you all the same.”
“Speaking of your other son,” God said, dropping
onto the couch, “you know he’s got a time machine
down there?”
“Time machine? Huh? Don’t that beat all! I knew
he’s been working hard on something, but no idea
what specifically. I guess he developed an interest in
history. Or how time works. Good to know he has
some kind of interest, at least. Then again, could be he
just wants to go back and see Cleopatra butt-naked. I
had figured he was probably building a sex robot. Or a
giant fertilizer bomb. I was proud just to think he was
working on something constructive, you know? He’s
lived his whole life in your shadow.”
“T made myself a brother to have someone to look up to.”
“Lot of pressure becoming the guy the Supreme
Being looks up to, son.”
“T guess.”
“And a lot of pressure being the father of the Savior
of all mankind. When’s the last time you wrote to Jesus,
by the by?”
God heaved a sigh. “You know what? I still have a
letter in my room from him that I did not read. I think
I'll see what he has to say.”
“Oh, speaking of that,” his father said, pointing to
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER 65

a small stack of mail on the mantle. “There’s a new one

from him and something from your publisher, Johnny
Cool or whatever his name is.”
“Angelica bring those?”
“Yeah, right before you woke up.”
“Crap. I was hoping to get a chance to talk to
her,” he said, half lying about ‘the terror that ever
encountering her again would bring.
“She seemed in a hurry,” his father said knowingly.
“Did she mention me?”
“No, she delivered the mail. She did her dang job.”
“Did you read between the lines? She might be
saying something without actually coming out and
saying it, you know?”
“You done gone crazy. She said, “Hello. I’ve got
some mail for you. Have a nice day.”
“And what did you say to her?” God ranted, half-
panicked that his father might have committed some
grave faux pas.
“Something like ‘thank you.’ Too much?”
“T just hope it didn’t sound desperate.”
“Yeah...” his father said, scowling at him sidelong.
“Don’t want to seem, uh, obsessive or anything.”
“T think you did the right thing, Dad.”
“Good to know, son.”
“How are you holding up?” God asked soberly.
“Oh, heck. Was I mumbling in my stupor? How
much you know?”
“I know mom left you for Baal.”
“Shoot. I was hoping this‘d all blow over without
you finding out.”
66 G. ARTHUR BROWN

“I feel real bad for you, Dad. He even had the gall
to invite us to his Wild West show.”
“When?” his father asked eagerly.
“This weekend, he said.”
“Oh, we gotta go.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Your mom is gonna be there. This’ll be my chance
to win her back.”
“Yeah, the more you talk about this, the more this
really does not sound like a good idea.”
“Tm gonna go and I'd appreciate you as my wingman.”
God considered this for a moment. “Okay, I'll go.
But only to keep you from making a fool of yourself.”
“Thank you, God. You... you've saved me.” His
father shambled off to the kitchen.
God returned to thinking of Jesus and the two
unread letters.
“T guess I should make those letters un-unread.”
Grabbing the new mail on the way, he wandered into
his bedroom. He deliberated in what order he should
read them, but settled on reading the newest first, as it
might be the most urgent.
He sliced into the envelope with his unicorn-ivory
letter opener.
It was a single sheet of paper saying: “I did that
thing you asked. Wow, that was crazy. John of Patmos
was so confused. What is this all about, anyway?”
“Huh?” God said aloud.
He read the previous letter, full knowing that
it would not help to elucidate the other, but vainly
searching for any strand of logic. It was just a bunch
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER 67

of mopey teenage bullcrap, like you'd expect from

your kid who'd been sent to boarding school on Earth.
Complete with “the youths here are mean” and “no one
understands me” and “do I really have to die for the
sins of these ungrateful cretins?”
Nonetheless, God understood that his son needed
comfort in a time like this, so he mailed him a picture
of a big thumbs up with the hand-scrawled phrase
“Keep up the good work” below it.
Finally, he turned his attention to the large packet
from Gutenberg Screw Press.
As he read the opening pages, his jaw dropped.
Jesus had visited a man named John and given him a
vision of doomsday, almost exactly like the one Nosty
D had delivered, but with no meter and fewer rhymes.
The new book of the Bible was an account of the End
Times, in which an Antichrist will rule over the Earth,
demonic armies harry the righteous, natural disasters
prevail, and terrible monsters roam. God closed his
eyes. He couldn’ read the whole thing. He tossed it on
the floor, pages scattering every which way.
“My brother is going to destroy the Earth,” he said.
“What have I done?”
“Son,” his father called from the living room.
“What happened to my dog statue?”
“Sorry. I turned him into a real dog and gave him
to David.”
“Gol dern it. That was my favorite dog statue. Oh
well, guess I'll just have to go up in the attic and fetch
me down another one.”
God hoped The Pope Squad was up to snuff. He
68 G. ARTHUR BROWN

really had picked the absolute best popes for the job.
Should he have looked elsewhere, to people other than
popes, to form a more perfect crack team? No time to
ponder such things now. His plans were already laid; their
training montage well underway. He could see them, in
his mind’s eye, in their miters and chasubles, trying to
hold their crook-staves while running, leaping hurdles,
surmounting wall obstacles, and crawling beneath other
logs. What had he done? It would surely be quicker to
train heroes to be popes than popes to be heroes. ‘The
world was doomed, and it was all his own doing.
He saw his father pass by in the hall with a black
dog statue in his left arm and a gray one under his right.
“How many of those you got?”
“All of them. ‘Cept the one you gave your friend.”
God followed his father and watched as the old
man made several trips to and from the attic, setting up
a dozen dog statues of various sizes, colors, and breeds
all over the floor of the living room, leaving very little
room to navigate between them.
“Your mother didn’t like these. Now she ain't here
and I can do as I like.”
“That’s the spirit,” God said, worrying he'd knock
into the greyhound and break it.
“I’m going to set up all these statues and I’m going
to go see Hadad’s cowboy show, you just watch me.”
“Tm really behind on finishing the new issue of my
zine, due out in a couple thousand years. But I guess, if
you want me to, I'll go with you to see Baal kick up his
boots and fire off his pistols like a lunatic.”
“Sounds like a good ol’ time if you ask me,” his father
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER 69

said, leaning on a Great Dane and roaring into laughter.

“T guess it is pretty fitting for an old foo! like that.
What day is it anyway?”
“Well, heck. I guess it’s Saturday.”
“Then the show is this evening.”
“Better get ready.”
 CHAPTER SIX
Come and See the Show!

Hadad’s show was held in a dirty circus tent that barely

housed forty attendees, and half the seats were empty.
God’s mom, dressed up in her finest holiday gown, was
seated on the front row bleacher. God’s dad sat directly
behind her and God to his right.
“So obviously,” God said softly to his mother before
the show started, “I know what’s really going on here.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, annoyed. “Oh,
you mean about me and Hadad? Sorry you found out
that way. He told me he spoke to you.”
“You are looking quite lovely tonight,” his father
said. He immediately followed it by saying, “Lots of
fine women here tonight.”
God scanned the crowd and saw only a toothless
bag lady, a couple of mostly toothless hookers, and a
six-year-old girl who was missing her front teeth.
The old man nudged God and said, “Jealousy.
Works every time.”
“T can hear you talking, you schmuck,” his mother said.
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER 71

The sodium stage lights dimmed and a voice crackled

over the PA: “Welcome to Hadad’s Wild West Hell Fire
and Brimstone Tent Revival! Please put your hands
together!” Hard rock with heavy synths roared forth and
three or five audience members clapped half-heartedly.
“Hmmm, sounds a little different than how he
represented it to me,” God said to his father.
“Just looking for an ‘in’ with your ma anyway.”
A man in a patchwork calico coat capered onto the
stage. A clown? His face was not painted, but he was
wearing a ridiculously large jester hat. He also had a bit
of a tail coming off his back end.
He did a quick jig then scooped a microphone
from the stand.
“How-DEEEEEEEEEEEE, folks! I am Lucus R.
Focalus, but yall can call me Folksy Luke! I love riding
ponies and petting dogs, and don’t even get me started
about how much I loooooo000000ve me some biscuits
and gravy. Woo-hoo!” He cartwheeled to his left with
ease and grace, and seven or eight people applauded,
including God’s father.
Folksy Luke walked up to a bald, fat man in the
front row and shook his hand vigorously. “Hi, howya
doing, pard?”
“T’m just fine!” said the old timer, his voice vibrating
with the vigorous hand-pumping.
“I can discover hidden treasures!” Luke pulled his
hand back quickly and revealed that he held not only
the man’s watch, but also his wallet and false teeth.
The audience laughed as Luke returned the items
to the befuddled man.
To G. ARTHUR BROWN

“I am a purloiner of pets!” He reached into a small

purse tied to his sash and drew out a kitten.
“That’s my baby, Mr. Proper-Gentleman!” cried
one of the toothless prostitutes in utter amazement.
“Here you go, madame,” Luke said, gently offering
her the cute little cat.
“But I left him back at the broth—the house!” she
said, in happy confusion.
“IT guess he just wanted to see the show so bad
he decided to tag along!” said Luke. And the whole
audience laughed. Like it was a funny joke or
something. Applauded like they were finding legitimate
entertainment value in the show.
“You folks like guns? Sure, well who don’t? Hadad
himself will be out in a few short minutes to show you
what a gun can really do! But first, let me introduce you
to Gog and Magog, the Gypsy Twins!”
Folksy Luke swept himself backward very
dramatically and disappeared behind a curtain as two
small people scampered on stage from either side. The
one on the left was about three feet in height with a
pointy cloth cap and the face of a bridge troll from a
children’s storybook. He wielded a short wooden sword
and hooted like a barn owl. The other was slightly
taller—maybe three-foot-eight—and slighter of build,
almost frail. He had the face of a sickly child and
wheeze-growled like a dying dog. He gripped a wooden
dagger in each hand. When they met center stage, they
proceeded to mock-battle.
“We is Injuns!” the one on the left cried. God
presumed this to be Gog.
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER 13

“We is dirty, warring heathens!” Magog replied, as

he hacked at his playmate with dull, wooden blades.
“I probably want to take your scalp or something!”
“TI kick you real hard like a mustang!”
“Why would you kick a mustang?” Gog asked, still
parrying and hacking with his false sword.
“T mean that I will kick you like a mustang kicks.
Got it, dookie head?” Magog responded, growing more
vicious in his strikes.
“You are a stupid wiener!”
These sorts of insults continued for another minute
or so, and God’s attention wandered to the curtain
behind the warring dwarves. It rustled slightly, as if
something was pushing past it at one side.
“Get down!” Jesus yelled, charging the stage and
pushing apart Gog and Magog. He kicked his foot
hard enough to cause his sandal to fly off and smack
into something back stage. A gunshot. God felt the
bullet graze his right earlobe. The footwear had hit the
gun smack dab on the barrel and nudged it just enough
to redirect the shot.
“Good work, Jesus!” God shouted.
Jesus charged backstage, tackled the shooter, and
pulled him out to reveal it was none other than Folksy
Luke, who had just charmed the audience into believing
he was fun and folksy, not a murderous assassin. Everyone
was very disappointed in Luke, especially God.
God’s father sprung up and ran to the entrance flaps.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” Jesus
scolded Luke while holding firmly the back collar of
the man’s tatty shirt.
74 G. ARTHUR BROWN

The sound ofa motorcycle starting up and squealing

wheels echoed around the encampment.
“He’s getting away! Hadad’s escaping on a pale
motorbike,” God’s father shouted. And, looking
around, he added, “Where’s your mother?” Lo, there
were two riders on the motorbike, one in a pink helmet.
“Looks like they escaped to the future.”
“This can’t be happening,” God said as Jesus cuffed
Folksy Luke. Gog and Magog still reeling from being
knocked down, rubbed various body parts and groaned.
“Just to be on the safe side, I'll cuff you guys too,”
Jesus said. Biblical historians often wondered what
Jesus did before the age of thirty when he took up his
evangelical mission. There was a lot of interdimensional
travel and roughing up the bad guys, God knew. You
just can't keep that kind of kid’s wings clipped.
“What the heck is going on here?” an old timer
from the audience groused. “I thought this thing was
supposed to be some kinda cowboy show.” He and the
rest of the stragglers cleared out.
“Well, thanks for saving me, son. How did you
know I needed help?” God asked.
“That cryptic message you sent me. I knew
something big had to be going down. And I’ve still got
a few years till ’m needed back on Earth, so here I am.”
“T don’t remember sending you any messages.”
“You were probably drunk.”
“Definitely was.”
Jesus dragged each of the bound men, kicking and
grunting, over to his 62 Corvair and dumped them in
the trunk. How did he manage to fit three people, even
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER 75

if two were very small, into the trunk of his two-door

economy car? He’s Jesus—of course he fit them all in
the trunk.
“That’s a pretty sweet car,” an old man observed,
still clutching a bag of circus peanuts and staring at the
chaotic scene, as if this was all part of the show.
“Thanks. I got a good deal on it,” Jesus said,
slamming the trunk.
“What are you going to do with them, son?” God said.
“Tm hauling these bozos to the Limbo lockup.
Then I’m off to the future to get back Grandma.”
“No time to delay. Head straight to the future. I'll
meet you there in a few,” God said. He rested his hands
on his son’s shoulders and looked him square in the
eye. “Thank you for saving my life. Now go and save
the future, and the world.”
“Tm not leaving you behind. They already took a
shot at you.”
“Trust me, my son. I'll meet you there.”
Jesus peeled out, driving the requisite eighty-
eighty miles per hour to make it to the future. A few
old people snapped Polaroids as the Corvair sped away
through spacetime.
God mashed his hand into his pants pocket and
pulled out a whistle with a cross emblem. Blowing the
whistle, he summoned The Pope Squad.
His six favorite popes appeared in front him of, each
holding a submachine gun and wearing camouflage
vestments, except for Gregory who sported a bandolier
and a much larger M249. The Ghost of Rome Past
coalesced from mists. He wore an M1 combat helmet
76 G. ARTHUR BROWN

and sucked on a burned-up stogie.

“What are your orders, sir?” the Ghost enquired.
“I guess we are going to go fight my brother. Jesus
is already on his way.”
“Oh, bless!” Pope Liberace XVII, primping his
hair. “I’m such a fan of his, I can’t wait to meet him!”
“T heard,” Pope Pius XII said, “Jesus can really kick
some tuchus.”
Tuchus. Upon hearing the word, God’s mind spun
back in time back to his favorite band, Tuchus, and
their seminal album, Crying Over Broken Bread. Or
forward depending on how you want to look at it. He'd
never be able to chronicle the Boulder scene now that
his brother was threatening to destroy the world once
and for all.
“Let’s go,” God growled. “Jesus is waiting.”
g
 CHAPTER SEVETI
Fancy Futures

“We are in the future,” Pope Nostradamus IX marveled.

“But this is not the future I foresaw.”
The world looked like a Barbie playset version of
Blade Runner. Hot pink skyscrapers boasted billboards
advertising rocket boots. Androids, in thistle and orchid
and fuchsia, rushed about performing manual tasks,
changing tires, walking dogs. Shiny metallic-purple cars
puttered through the air, making Jetsons sounds as they
passed the holy congregation who were ready to confront
an enemy that appeared to be very late to the event. A
robotic unicorn-Pegasus with rainbow wings flew by and
shouted, “NEEEIGGGHHH!” in a human voice.
“T kind of like this future,” Liberace said, taking in the
vista. “But the color scheme is a little too ‘little girl, if you
get my meaning. Do this in ivory, mother of pearl, and
silver chrome, and I think we might be onto something.”
“Somehow weve been tricked,” God said. “I dont know—”
“Yes,” Pius butted in, “according to my calculations,
we are in a time splinter, created by your brother, for
78 G. ARTHUR BROWN

lack of a better term, ‘fucking around’ with time.” He

tapped frantically on his adding machine. “It could
take us ages to work out what future he’s in.”
“How can we track him?” Benedict asked.
“T could use this,” Pius said, whipping out a rectal
thermometer. “But I would need access to his rectum
at some point in the past to calibrate it to his temporal
vibrations.”
“And if I could get you to my brother in the past,
you would be able to follow him through spacetime?”
Pius sucked his teeth. “In theory, yes. Spacetime is
not my strength. Really I’m just the pope who was like
‘yeah, maybe Big Bang and Evolution are part of God’s
plan.’ I’m feeling a bit out of my element. However, I’m
pretty sure that if we can find your brother and shove
this up his butt, we'll get a good reading and then we'll
see his temporal profile throughout all of spacetime. I
could be wrong, though.”
“Also, Lord,” Nostradamus said, “Jesus may be in
a totally different future too. We need to find him as
well, or the prophecies will go unfulfilled.”
“I know how to find Jesus,” God said, squeezing his
temples. “I just don’t want to do it.”
“Why not, Lord?” Gregory inquired. “Is time not
of the utmost importance?”
“Probably, but...” God trailed off. With a glum
expression, he snapped his fingers.
A mail truck came flying by. It pulled up and the
window rolled down, revealing the face of Angelica.
“Nice get-ups you got there, popes,” she said.
“IT need you to get a message to Jesus.”
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER 79

“Of course. That’s my job.”

“Tell him to meet us back at Dad’s house. We'll
have to travel together to avoid getting caught in these
time splinters.”
“Ts that all?”
“Wait... tell him that I’m sorry things are so out
of control. I have kind of screwed things up and he’s
gotten sucked in. I never intended that.”
“Okay,” she said, stone-faced. “I’m on my way.”
The mail truck sped off and the popes all eyed each
other uncomfortably.
“Wow, was that your ex?” the Ghost asked.
“No. Why would you even suggest such a thing?”
“Hey, I know I don’t know nothing,” the Ghost
said. “But she’s really angry at you, man. Whatever
happened between you, she hasn't forgotten about it.”
“Maybe you should apologize,” Liberace said.
He put his arm around God’s shoulder. “Believe you
me when I say I have pissed off more than a few, uh,
‘friends’ in my day, buster. I even sued a few of them.
But I can tell you that battle never left me feeling
vindicated—only empty and lonely.”
“Battle? I’m not fighting Angelica. I’m just... not
doing anything.”
“Not doing anything is probably the worst thing
you can do,” Benedict observed. “I hunted down the
Cathars, killing every last one I could find, and at least
it let them know I cared. As they stretched to death on
the rack—at least they knew I was thinking of them.”
“Well, I don’t know about all that, old chap,” said
Adrian. “The worst thing you can do, in my experience,
80 G. ARTHUR BROWN

is to cut through their nostril with a razor while you are

fucking their armpit.”
Everyone stared at him, aghast at the words he had
just spoken. They silently agreed that this was, in fact,
the worst thing you could do and they never spoke
of it again. By way of apology, he offered everyone a
“biscuit,” which turned out to be an Oreo cookie.
“Why am I even taking advice from popes?” God
shouted, turning away from the Squad. “They aren't
even allowed to get married, for whatever reason.”
“T thought it was your will?” Benedict said.
“Wasn't my will. I actually never said anything on
the matter at all. Ihave ason. Why shouldn't you guys?”
“Bugger it all!” cried Adrian, tossing his head
bandana on the ground. “You mean, according to God’s
law I could have married my sister after all, instead of
simply fucking her underarm in secret shame?”
“Well, I don’t know about all that,” God said,
vexed. He and the rest silently agreed that Adrian was
the worst pope in the Squad and he really needed to be
more proper and British if his inclusion was going to
work at all. But God was also vexed with himself for
just how much he did not know when knowing things
seemed to behoove him much more than blocking out
the noise of the universe.
“Hadn't we better get to the End of Time already?”
the Ghost said, breaking the tense silence.
“Back to Dad’s house,” God said and sighed. “We'll
pick up Jesus, take my brother’s rectal readings, and
then head straight for Doomsday. Let’s just hope he’s
there when we get there.”
 GOD’S MEAN OLDER BROTHER 81

“Sounds like we'll need a little luck,” Benedict

said with a wicked grin, dangling the lucky charms
of his necklace to emphasize that he was indeed lucky
enough to be elected pope on the first ballot because
all the cardinals were trying to throw their vote away
on a loser to see how the others would vote. It just so
happened they all picked him as the loser, making him
the winner, and the rest, as they say, is pope trivia.
“To my dad’s abode!” said God with a thunderous
wooshing that wooshed them all to the place he had just said.
 CHAPTER EIGHT
You Didn't Get a Good Reading

They arrived in the living room, knocking over statues

of basset hounds and golden retrievers, breaking the
head off a Boston terrier.
“The heck?” Liberace asked, kicking the broken
ceramic figure away with his fur-lined combat boot.
“Dad likes dogs,” God said with a shrug.
They all huddled closely and waited for God to give
them a command.
“What now?” Nostradamus said.
“We wait for Jes—”
A loud noise in the bedroom caught their attention
and the Pope Squad sprang into action, charging down
the hall, guns at the ready, dashing to bits several more
dogs on the way.
God chased after them to find them pointing their
Uzis and AKs at his poor old father, who stood over
a fallen mannequin he had been dressing in God’s
mother’s clothing.
“Whats going on here, son?” the old man said. He
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER 83

appeared addled—taken by one of his famous black moods.

“Alright, Squad, let’s take this back to the living
room,” the Ghost ordered. The Popes laughed nervously
and filed out.
God helped his father pick up the mannequin.
“You know this isn’t Mom, right?”
“Yes, yes,” his father said, voice trembling. “I just
got a bit lonely with your mother gone and you boys
out either causing or preventing the End of the World.
I’m feeling my age and feeling every bit a fool.”
“Dad... there’s no way you could have known that
Hadad would steal Mom. I mean /iterally steal her and
take her away on his motorbike.”
“Take her away? Ha! She went with him willingly.
She’s been in on this thing the whole time, I bet my
bottom dollar.”
“T don’t see that,” God said firmly. “No, that can’t
be right.”
“Tr ain't like she was tied up in the trunk of his
Caddy. She was riding with him on his Harley, for my
grandsons sake!”
“He probably threatened her, or blackmailed her,
or tricked her somehow.”
“Listen, God, I know you mean well. But if you
really wanted to stop all this, you know you could.”
“Td have to undo my limited omniscience. I can’t
go back to knowing every single thing. Every motion
becomes pointless. And don’t even get me started on free
will. I’m already hollow and jaded enough as it is, Dad.”
“Then how you gonna solve all this? Your brother
is gunning for you and he’s recruited half the damn
84 G. ARTHUR BROWN

supernatural rogues gallery to help him.”

“I got the Pope Squad and Jesus to help me. And
I know that I can solve this using my old fashioned
ingenuity. I think I even came up with a plan the other
night when I was blitzed. In fact,” God paused and
thought back to his visit to the White, “I tried to get
David II to jog my memory the other day. But it didn't
work. Or at least... He didn’t tell me much.”
“Maybe he’s working for the other side, you ever
think of that?”
“Not David. He's one of the people I know I can
trust. I've got to trust in someone.”
“You trust in me?” his father said. “Cause I'm in
here getting ready to dance with a freaking dummy.”
He pointed to the maternal effigy.
“Get back to your dancing, Dad. I gota world to save.”
“Tell you friends it’s fine about the broken dogs.”
His father set a wig on top of the mannequin’s neck—it
was the headless kind.
God slunk from the bedroom and pattered off to
join the others who were already in the middle of a
discussion.
“I’m simply saying,” Adrian said, “how can we
know this rectal thermometer trick is even going to let
us track God’s mean older brother in time?”
Pius shrugged. “It’s the official Papal Rectal
Thermometer, so we know it is invested with a lot of
pope power.”
“That sounds like baloney,” Gregory said. “No
offense, but shouldn't we at least test it first?”
“Oh, yes,” Liberace said. “A test probably would be
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER 85

in order. I'll volunteer, because we are going to need a

testee, right?”
“All right then,” Pius said. “Pull up your raiments and
bend over. I’m afraid I don’t have any Vaseline on hand.”
“It’s fine. I can handle it.” Liberace did as he was
told, and hunched there in anticiparion.
Pius wrinkled his nose and eased the thermometer
through Liberace’s anus and into the rectal cavity.
“Ew, it’s cold!” Liberace said with a chuckle. “This
reminds me of being a kid. My mother used to take my
temperature a lot.”
“Were you a sickly child?” Gregory asked.
“Not at all. I was simply precocious. Learned how
to play piano at a very young age. She figured it must
be demons and worried over me nonstop.”
“Thats probably long enough,” Pius said, yanking it free.
“Hey! That was too quick. You didn’t get a good
reading.”
“T believe I did.”
“Momma always left it in twice that long, I’m sure.”
Pius looked at the medical instrument keenly.
“Ninety-nine-point-five. I’d say that’s a decent reading.”
Liberace lowered his robe and righted himself.
“But is it a specific reading?” Nostradamus asked,
tugging at his beard in thought. “Can you trace Liberace
through time?”
“For that I’ll need to make a calculation.” Pius
inputted a few numbers into his adding machine, then
pulled out a compass. “According to these readings...
Liberace is standing right here in this room with me...
right now.”
86 G. ARTHUR BROWN

“Is that supposed to be a joke?” Liberace said. “Of

course I’m right here. But what if Iweren't? How would
you know where I was?”
“You just have to trust the science, man!” Pius said
in frustration. “The calculations match the reality!”
“Now with that foolishness out of the way,” God
said. “We'll have to subdue my brother in order to get,
er, a good reading. He is very strong and mean, so be on
the lookout. Once Pius has the reading, we'll track him
to real End of Time and face him, as we planned.”
“Oh bother,” Adrian said. “If we subdue him here
and now, why do we have to face him in the future?”
“Good question,” God said, pacing as he answered.
“With all these time splinters, we can’t be sure how time
works anymore. I know many of you were confused
about how time works in the first place. Now it’s even
more silly than that. Better to be safe than sorry. And
anyway, we need to find Baal, my mother, and all the
others he’s recruited for his scheme.”
“Well, that satisfies my curiosity,’ said Adrian
happily. “Any bloke who can’t suspend his disbelief
now is just a soulless heathen, what?”
“Precisely,” God said. “I work in mysterious ways.
Often those ways are even mysterious to myself.”
“Tm going to grab a beer. Who knows how long
we are gonna be here? You don’t mind if I do, do you,
God?” the Ghost said, walking toward the kitchen.
“No, not at all. Help yourself’ I think there’s also some
frozen honey-battered chicken strips if you're hungry.”
As the Ghost left the room, the front door opened.
Jesus had arrived.
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER 87

“I drove my Corvair through spacetime as fast as

it would go,” he said, entering and shaking hands with
all the popes. “Still got those three accomplices in the
trunk to boot.”
Adrian snorted. “What a pun!” He then had to explain
that boot was what the English called the trunk of a car.
The rest of the popes were French, Italian, and American
and had no idea how crazy British English was.
“I’m happy you found that so humorous, Adrian,”
Jesus said warmly, caressing the British pope’s hand
comfortingly. “I sort of wanted to be a stand-up comic
but, of course, Dad had different plans!”
“You have the rest of your twenties to crack wise,
Jesus,’ God said. “I’ve always supported your hobbies,
you know that. Right?”
“Tt’s not a hobby, Dad, if they pay me for it.”
“You are a man of many talents, Jesus.” And the
two hugged for the first time in... well, for the very
first time.
“Is that the sound of my grandson’s voice | hear,”
God’s father said, hurrying to give the young man a hug.
“Tt’s so good to finally meet you, Grandfather!”
“Oh, please. Call me Grampap.”
“Okay, if Imust.”
“This is making me tear up,” Liberace said, dabbing
at the corner of his eye with a frilly kerchief. He glanced
at Nostradamus wiping away streams of tears with his
beard and snuffling. “Aw, poor Nosty.” He patted the
crying man’s shoulder. “There, there.”
The other popes shifted about uncomfortably. They were
not exactly sure how this fit into their theological outlook.
88 G. ARTHUR BROWN

“You know, I think you and I are the two best

popes,” Liberace whispered to Nostradamus. “I don't
think these other guys are even real popes. Who ever
heard of an English pope? Or an ‘Accidental pope?’
Ir’s pure fancy. You and I are the two best popes,
definitely—that’s the end of the discussion. Because
we've got consciences. We've got tears.”
Nostradamus cleared his throat and stopped
crying. “We aren't real popes. We are part of a time
splinter... I've seen it in my visions. And now we goin’
on missions. The timeline ain't right, but we still gotta
fight. God’s mean older brotha is the great enemy, and
we'll help stop him, on this we agree. But we ain't even
popes, the numbers is dope, and clinging to fiction ain’t
helping us cope.”
Liberace was shocked—too shocked for words. No
one else seemed to notice what Nosty D was laying
down. His name was Pope Liberace XVII. There
were not sixteen other Liberace popes. He knew this
was true. Some part of him remembered an alternate
past where he was just a pop star and a gentleman of
exquisite tastes.
“T’ma be right back,” Nostradamus said. “Gotta use
the pot.”
“T like that guy,” Jesus said, watching the bearded
pope ramble over broken statues toward the hallway.
“Say, Grandson, come see something I’ve been
saving for you in my bedroom,” God’s father said. Jesus
nodded exuberantly and followed the old man.
“Jesus and you seem to have a rather odd
relationship,” Liberace noted. “I guess it was hard for
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER 89

him as a kid with his birthday on Christmas.”

“That’s just the sort of joke that Jesus would tell,”
God said wistfully.
“Look who I caught sneaking into the kitchen,” said
the Ghost, returning with God’s brother, whom he held
by the ear while pointing his rifle at him from behind.
“Get him!” Adrian screamed, trying to pull down
his pants.
“Just what the fuck is going on here?” God’s brother
grumbled. “I was just trying to get a Natty Nec.”
“Lie down face down on the floor,” God
commanded.
Adrian made way after undoing the belt and
dropping the drawers, and God’s brother, with the
Ghost’s barrel still pointing into his back, eased himself
down on his belly.
“This is uncomfortable as fuck! I got dog parts
poking me.”
“Tr’s about to get a little more uncomfortable,” Pius
said, producing the thermometer. He slid it into God’s
brother’s asshole and left it there for two minutes as the
prone man cursed.
“Let’s make sure it’s a good reading this time,”
Liberace said, encouragingly.
“What the fuck are you faggots doing to me?”
“Hey!” Liberace said, tossing down the gloves he'd
been using to fan himself. “I am not a homosexual! |
will sue you for every penny you've got!”
“Take it easy, Libby,” God said. “He's just angry
that he’s no longer in control of the situation.”
“And you are anally raping me with some probe
90 G. ARTHUR BROWN

like a bunch of fucking aliens!”

Gently, Pius retracted the thermometer and
examined his findings. “It’s a go,” he said with a smile
and an OK gesture.
“You are free to go brother,” God said smugly.
“I just wanted a fucking beer, that’s all Iwanted, and
you wouldn't let me have it,” his brother said, pulling up
his pants in shame and running from the room.
“Don't let the thermometer hit your arse on the
way out!” yelled Adrian. He looked around at the
others to see who would laugh at his joke and did not
like the answer, which was that no one was laughing.
But Liberace smiled and this brought a warm feeling to
the Englishman’s heart.
“So, what now?” Gregory said. “Where is your
brother off to?”
“If I know my brother,” God said, “he forgot
something he needed for the End of the World—
probably a stupid costume to make him look like me—
and he tried to sneak back here to get it. Now he'll be
hopping back in his time machine and—”
A raucous rumbling came from the basement.
“—heading back to the future. But now, thanks to
Pie's wily ways, we can track him.”
“What did we miss?” his father asked as he returned
with Jesus, who was now wearing a loose-fitting
sweatshirt that said “Heaven’s Best Grandson.”
“We are ready to go and face my mean older
brother for the first and final time.”
“I'm not going to come with you,” his father said.
“T just don’t have it in these old bones to do it. I hate to
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER 91

see you boys fighting, even if he is a real son-of-a-bitch.”

“Understood, Dad. Stay here and, uh, dance with
that dummy.”
“All right,” Pius said, pointing his compass up at a
forty-nine degree angle. “I’m locked on.”
“This is it,” God said. “Join hands and pray.”
The popes, Jesus, and the Ghost all did as they were
instructed.
“In five minutes, it’s gonna be five millennia from
now, he said. He moved slightly to his right, pulling
the hand of Gregory on his left, which in turn pulled the
hand of Liberace, and the group began circling, calling
forth a powerful time vortex in their midst like kids
who were bored in an above-ground pool and decide
to make a whirlpool. Only this was a timepool, and in
the center they could see the red skies of damnation
blazing above the cracked earth of Megiddo National
Park. The team moved faster and the time current grew
stronger, sucking them in and delivering them unto a
strange new world.
As the group disappeared, Nostradamus returned,
reading from the manuscript of Revelation.
“Uh, they left you behind,” God’s father said.
“T’ve been reading this new book of the Bible, and
I have to say, I don’t think God remembers what's
actually in here.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s like he didn’t read it to the end,” Nostradamus
sat down on the couch and laughed as he leafed through
the pages.
“Well... what does it say?”
92 G. ARTHUR BROWN

“Half of it is crazier than my own rhymes, but I'll

tell you what. I don’t think the team is going to need
me after all.”
“What say we crack open a couple of Natties and
you tell me just what the heck you're talking about, boy.”
They did so with all haste.
 CHAPTER HIME
And Tow . . . Apocalpyse

And it was given unto him to make war with the saints,
and to overcome them: and power was given him over all
kindreds, and tongues, and nations.
—Revelation 13:7

The world had been given over to disasters, plagues,

and wars, and the remaining humans had been given
over to vice and depravity and punishments of every
kind. If there was one thing that really pissed off God’s
mean older brother, it was vice and depravity, and now
he was emboldened to deliver his vengeance and wrath
directly, having dethroned in the eyes of the world the
one true God. His stronghold was in the valley called
Megiddo—Armageddon. What was once a happy
park was now a showcase of lesser divinities, heathen
gods, titans, devils, and the damned, gathered for the
purpose of defeating the giant pussy, stick in the mud,
and cry-baby that is God. The Lord of Heaven and
Earth had really cramped a lot of guys’ styles over the
94 G. ARTHUR BROWN

millennia and they weren't about to take it lying down.

There was an age, in the earliest days, where God had
acknowledged them, admitted to the Israelites that
these other gods existed, but that they were lesser and
there should be no gods before him. Later, the policy
changed: there is only one God and his name is God.
No one else gets to call himself a god, but if you take
a huge pay cut, you can be a “demon” or a “nature
spirit.” And that’s total bullshit. These gods wanted
revenge. How do you attack God? Destroy the world
and mankind that he holds so dear.
God and his entourage materialized there, at the
gates of this mighty redoubt that seethed with the
breaths of those who cursed his name and committed
every kind of blasphemy.
“What now, oh fearless leader?” the Ghost asked.
“I say we bust in and shoot them with our fancy
guns,” Liberace said.
“No,” God said. “We draw them out here.”
“Face them in open terrain?” the Ghost said,
scratching his head beneath his helmet. “Guess it’s
better than confronting them in their own fortress.”
“Right. Let’s do it. But first, I’m going to call on a
friend of mine.”
God looked to the Heavens and something
descended like a dove, growing in size to reveal that it
was in fact Michael the Archangel. He wore a brown
leather jacket over a denim shirt, with matching blue
jeans. His shoulder length brown hair rustled in the
wind on his descent. He had chosen to appear in the
form of Michael Landon from Highway to Heaven.
j GODS MEAN OLDER BROTHER 95

| And he carried with him a flaming sword called The

Judgment of the Lord. It was pretty fucking sweet.
And Michad spoke in the voice of one hundred and
ont lions sap, They anced Highway inegpry<igpt
duc 1 plummeting ratings, but not before they had madest
one hundred and one episodes. Ithath had a mighty and
sxxestad run in syndication since that premanste doom.”

him saying “Praise be unso the Lion, he that rose and

that vaiseth. Praise him! Praise him! Praise him! Praise him!
Praise him? When no others joined him, he ceased and
looked unto the Father.
“What We arerit doing that anymore?” the angel

“Thanks for all the praise anyway, Mike,” Jesus said.

He beamed such that his face was as the sun.
God issued a roar v0loud that all who could hear
had to stick their fingers intheir catholes. “BROTHER,
I SUMMON THEE. COME FORTH”
‘The huge iron gates of the outer wall groaned
in prowess as they opened outward. Hadad emerged,
dressed inthe garb ofthe ancient Mesopotamian kings.
Gods mother followed, wearing 2 xandalous outht
suited more for 2 harlot than 2 queen. It was some sort
of medieval dominatrix ger-up.
Jesus covered his eyes. Liberace chuckded.
‘Then came God's mean older brother in the whitest
96 G. ARTHUR BROWN

licking, yellowbellied milksop of a brother and his

butt-buddies!”
“Then face me!” Michael cried, taking to the air
then swooping down and caving in Hadad’s head with
the famous sword The Judgment of the Lord.
The great Baal slumped to his knees, brains leaking
from his ears, and eyes leaking from his nose. God’s
mother screamed in horror and stepped away.
Jesus rushed God’s mean older brother, tackling to
the earth and binding him with a great chain.
“Undo these chains right now, young man. That’s
an order from your uncle.”
“Never,” Jesus said. “You are going into the Abyss.”
A portal opened that showed the deepest realm
of darkness imaginable. It was the Abyss, created as a
prison for ne’er-do-well fallen angels.
With Michael’s help, Jesus cast forth God’s Mean
Older Brother into the Abyss and locked the portal.
“Mother!” cried God. “Repent and return to me
and all shall be forgiven!”
“Oh, I'm sorry dear,” she said. “I thought you knew I was
the Whore of Babylon, the concubine of the great Ba’al.”
“No, I had no idea!”
“Sorry, hon. Nothing personal.”
“Wait,” Adrian said. “Ts that it? Imean... have we won?”
“That was too easy,” Gregory said.
“Where's Nosty D?” God said.
“Tt ain't over till it’s over,” said the Ghost, opening
fire on the five popes. Each pope was caught by
complete surprise and died in a unique and fabulous
way such that will be written about for ages.
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER 97

“Why have you betrayed me?” God said, rushing

up and grabbing the Ghost of Rome Past.
“Ghost of Rome Past? Did you seriously believe
that was really a thing? You are slipping on your game
here, old man. I’ve been a mole this whole time. The
False Prophet—summoned by the-reunification of the
Roman Empire, i.e. the Roman Catholic Church!”
He slapped away the hands of the Lord, who was
too shocked to react.
“Tm dying,’ gasped Benedict, still barely clinging to life.
The Ghost shot the bloody pope in the head and
walked over to the corpse of Baal. He laid his hands
upon the dead god and lo and behold! the corpse rose,
restored to life.
“I am the Anti-Christ,” Baal said. “Where Christ
brings redemption, I bring condemnation of these foul
beasts you call humanity. And I serve him whom you
have bound. But bound he will not remain.”
The Abyss broke open wide and God’s mean older
brother flew out and into the sky. He burst the chains
from around his body as if they were merely brittle
twine. Then he set down in front of God and stared
him in the eye.
“You see it don’t you?” his brother said.
God was terrified for a moment. “See what?”
“There is one more way I can help you to better
understand.”
He turned away from God and dropped his toga to
expose his back. On it was tattooed a great winged dragon.
“I am the Dragon. You are privy to a great becoming,
but you recognize nothing. To me, you are a slug in the
98 G. ARTHUR BROWN

sun. You are an ant in the afterbirth. It is your nature to do

one thing correctly. Before me, you rightly tremble. But,
fear is not what you owe me. YOU OWE ME AWE.”
“What an eccentric performance,” Jesus said.
“It’s from Red Dragon, God’s brother said. “T
thought it sounded pretty fucking bad-ass. Saw it when
I was traveling in my time machine. Ralph Fiennes at his
Fiennest.” He then realized no one would get the pun
verbally. So he whipped out a copy of an issue of God’s
zine and used it to wipe his ass, which was incredibly
filthy considering he had not just taken a shit.
God was frozen.
He turned again to face his brother.
“What did I ever do to you to make you hate me so
much?” God asked.
“You. Were. Better. Than. Me.”
God’s brother punched him so hard he flew up
forty feet into to the sky and traveled over a mile before
touching down to earth again, facedown. It hurt, quite
a bit, and God realized that he was afraid of his own
brother. And what’s more, he'd been afraid of him for
all his life. He also felt guilty for constantly showing his
brother up in terms of ability, but he was God after all.
What did his brother expect?
He rolled onto his back and looked up at the fiery
sky. His brother had done all this. Destroyed the world,
or nearly so. Ravaged humanity and animal and plant
life alike. His brother was a fucking asshole.
As he gazed up a familiar face popped into his field
of vision.
“Lord?” David II asked. “Are you alright?”
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER 99

“David? What are you doing here... alive?”

“All the dead were bodily resurrected. But you
probably blocked that memory out along with the rest
of the plan.”
“What do you mean?”
“You blocked your memories intentionally so you
couldn’ tip your brother off. I think it’s safe for you to
remember now.”
“How do I remember?”
“You are God, man. Just make yourself remember.”
Now that he knew there was something to
remember, God searched his mind and found what he
was looking for.
 CHAPTER TEM
Flashback

A knock on the front door snapped God out of his

head and back to reality.
God hurried David II inside and offered him a seat
in the recliner, but David II declined and sat instead
on the old, worn couch. God took the chair, like a
comfy, broken-in throne. Seated at his right hand was
the life-sized white porcelain statue of an Irish terrier
his father had picked up when on vacation to Earth
a couple of thousand years ago. His mother hated the
thing and always hid it in the closet. His father must
have recently retrieved it and placed it by his seat. For
what purpose, God didn’t even know.
“T like the dog,” David II joked, trying to lighten
the mood.
“You can have him,” God said. The terrier sprang to
life and scurried over to sniff David II’s palms. People
have such interesting scents on their hands.
“T will call you Caleb,” David II said, stroking the
dog behind his ears.
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER 101

“I don’t know why I gave you this dog,” said God,

honestly. “I really need to figure out what went down
last night.” He turned to look at David II.
David II finished up his doting and brought his
attention back to the matter at hand.
“Well,” he said. “You told me not tell you too
much so the plan wouldn't be spoiled. Made me swear
a covenant, in fact.”
“A plan that I have no idea about... How is that
supposed to work?”
“Oh, it’s gonna work,” David II said with a snort.
MIrust mie
“But I was so wasted, I could have come up with
the most half-cocked scheme in all of creation.”
“Right, but I was only half as drunk. I thought at
first it sounded goofy, but then I came around. It’s an
ironclad plan. Your brother is gonna walk right into it.”
“Speaking of, he’s downstairs with a freaking time
machine.”
“Ah,” David II said, eyes widening. “Then
everything is going exactly to plan.”
“T don’t even begin to know of what thou speaks.”
“You don’t have to understand, that’s the beauty.
Just get your brother up here. Leave the next bit to me.”
“Am I my brother's keeper?”
“Just call the damn fool up here.”
From the top of the stairs, the Lord called, “O
brother, where art thou?”
“What the Hell do you want now, you Shakespeare
fancy-pants?” his brother grumbled.
“I was wondering if I could have a quick word with
102 G. ARTHUR BROWN

you in the sitting room.”

“The sitting room? Why are you talking like a Southern
granny? Did you get so mad you blew a brain gasket?”
His brother trudged up the steps reluctantly. When
he got to the living room he locked eyes with David II.
“What the fuck do you want?”
“Your brother here,” David II said, “tells me you
got yourself a time machine.”
“T built the fucking thing, if that’s what you mean.”
“Ts this time machine fully operational?”
“Yeah, I guess. What does that mean?”
“Like, it goes both ways.”
“Past and future, yeah, sure.”
“So you've been to both.”
God’s brother raised an eyebrow. “Well, Pve only
been to the past so far.”
“Why haven't you been to the future? Machine ain't
up to snuff?”
“Haven't needed to yet. But you know what? I’m
gonna check it out. Right now.”
He charged back down the stairs and hit some
lever that made the machine whirr. God could hear it
through the floorboards. Then a poof. David II went to
check it out while God reclined in the chair.
“He’s gone,” David II reported. “Took the bait.”
“Bait?”
“This is the beauty part. He gets to the future, he’s
gonna love what he sees so much, he’s not gonna bother
to think what it means. He'll go ahead full-bore.”
“T think ’m probably more confused now than I
was before I started talking to you.”
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER 103

“Don't worry, youre supposed to be. If you know

too much it'll tip your hand to your brother. Make him
suspicious.”
“T don’t have any idea what he'd be suspicious of.”
“You don’t need any ideas. Not yet,” said David I],
pulling a canister of Lethe spray from his pocket. A full
stream of the noxious substance hit God right in the face.
“Same active ingredient as those nasty-ass
A-Bombs.”
He breathed it in. Things went fuzzy.
“All you need to do right now is sleep, my sweet
Lord. Hallelujah,” David II said softly. Then he began
counting backward.

He came to in Limbo, in the bar the previous night.

“Whoa, that was one hell of trip,” he said to David
II, Hannibal, and Circe who watched him intently.
“Wow, so all that crazy scheming is going to work?”
Hannibal asked.
“Your brother is really that stupid to be lured into such
an obvious trap?” Circe said, puffing on a Virginia Slim.
“He's such a tool. He never reads anything all
the way to the end. Now the last component—drink
myself into a stupor so I forget all this. Because the
only way he’s going to be tipped off to the trap is if I
know it’s a trap.”
“Ha!” David II said, slapping God on the back.
“Tr’s gonna be a helluva coupla days!”
“Oh, yeah,” God said to him. He fished out a small
spray bottle from his pocket. “If ask you any questions,
104 G. ARTHUR BROWN

hit me with a blast of this. That'll send me right to the

White... where I’ve got some friends waiting for me.”
“Your brother really is a huge dick,” Circe said. “He
totally stuck his hand down the front of my pants at
Isaac’s big blowout. Always staring at my tits too. And
you don't even want to know what Angelica told me
about him.”
God knocked back another A-Bomb, his head a
cloud of poisonous delirium filled with cackling robotic
monkeys. “He’ll get his. He'll...”
“Looks like our man could use another Bomb,
Hermes,” David II said. But Hermes had been turned
into a pillar of salt.
“You do that?” Hannibal asked God.
“,..Can’t have him... knowing things.”
“It's okay,” Circe said. “I’m a pro mixologist.”
She hopped behind the counter and mixed up a
whole bowl of the foul concoction. David II held God’s
nose and Hannibal poured the whole giant dose down
his gullet.
Black...
... White.
 CHAPTER ELEVEN
Babylon is Fallen

Now it all made sense. Did it? Yeah, it did. God had
laid a pride trap. His brother had been lulled into a
false sense of superiority. He was overconfident and
had amassed all God’s enemies in one place and now
all God needed to do was...
Something. There was still something missing.
Something he didn’t remember.
Not knowing exactly what he would do when he
got there, he set off toward the stronghold, sullenly
wondering exactly what else he had up his sleeve.
“Hey, God!” he heard someone call.
When he turned he saw there was a throng of
worshippers gathered. David II led a vast army of Jews
and Abyssinians armed with swords, spears, bows and
arrows, slings, and war clubs. To the North, Hannibal
rode atop an elephant, leading a battalion of pachyderm-
mounted troopers. Circe commanded a regiment of
lions and wolves and half-man-half-pig-type creatures
with her magic staff. Michael the Archangel joined
106 G. ARTHUR BROWN

them, still in Michael Landon-form, soaring high above

and using the Judgment of the Lord to blaze infinities
in the air. Nietzsche, somehow unerased from history
by God’s brother’s time tampering, glided through the
air on his magnificent mustache, arrayed in the armor
of a Valkyrie, huffing gold spray paint from a paper
bag and gibbering wildly. King Arthur piloted one
of his famed Holy Grail tanks and Che Guevara was
throwing the peace sign from the cockpit of a biplane.
Sally Ride zipped by in a jet pack, followed closely by
Sally Jessy Raphael. A semi-truck roared to the fore,
with a modified platform on the front where Chubby
Checker sang “The Twist” over huge loudspeakers. He
thanked the Lord that he was singing a song other
than “Limbo Rock.” It was actually pretty chaotic and
confusing. But it gave God hope that it truly ain't over
till it’s over.
“We will follow the Lord, our God, wherever he
may go, they sang as a chorus.
“Today, we destroy Babylon!” he shouted.
Bob Marley, riding a white lion, nodded whole-heartedly.
The army of saints followed God as he trod across
the valley floor. And his grace lighted their path like a
flaming cloud of wonder. For twenty minutes did they
walk, ride, and fly.
A cloud of dust approached them. Then they saw
the glint of Jesus’ Corvair tearing up the dirt road.
“Praise him! Praise him!” Michael shouted.
God stopped and so did the procession. And Jesus pulled
up, popped the trunk, and dragged out old Folksy Luke.
“Wait till you hear this,” Jesus said to God, kicking
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER 107

Luke to get him talking.

“Ah! All right, all right!” Luke said. “He's got Angelica.
He's going to devour her baby as soon as it’s born.”
“My brother has her?”
“Yes! Who did you think I meant? Gladwin Hill?”
“Who?”
“He was a reporter that flew on missions in WWII
and got irradiated at an atom bomb test, wound up
dying of cancer.”
God shook his head in disbelief.
“Are you saying my brother has Angelica and she’s
going to have a baby?”
“Yes, and then he’s going to eat the baby.”
“WHY WOULD HE EAT A BABY?”
“Why?” Luke said, sneering in a mix of fear and
hilarity. “Because it’s your baby! Okay, we all know!”
God’s heart sank, his face reddened. Then his heart
burst and his face paled as if he were a corpse. Then he
grew dark, very dark, and so did the sky.
“Where is she?” he said in a falsely calm tone,
the voice that people who are truly enraged use when
attempting to convince others they are perfectly rational.
“If I tell you, will you let me go? Will you promise
me I'll live past this day?”
“Oh, sure. Maybe I'll give you an I-damned Medal
of Valor.”
“Hell kill me if I tell you! Have mercy! Have
mercy!” Luke said, groveling.
“Fine. Pll protect you from my brother if you tell
me where he’s holding Angelica.”
108 G. ARTHUR BROWN

*OKK

They approached the fortress from the west and God

told the army to wait a distance off where they would
not be seen by the watchtowers.
“Wait here. There’s some business I need to take
care of first,” he said to Hannibal and the other generals.
God and Jesus snuck up to the fortress into a back
entrance where Folksy Luke had told them the guards
were always too drunk to do their jobs. From there it
was only a short walk to a large hall where Luke assured
God they were holding Angelica.
“Wait for me outside,” God told Jesus.
“T can’t let you go in there alone, Dad!”
“Just wait outside,” God said. “Thats a
commandment!”
And Jesus did as he was told.
God peered around the corner cautiously and into
the hall.
There he saw a woman clothed with the sun, and
the moon under her feet, and upon her head a crown of
twelve stars. And she being with child cried, travailing
in birth, and pained to be delivered. Angelica!
And there appeared his brother in his Roman outfit
with seven laurels upon his head saying, “I am Emperor
Domitian! The scourge of Christians! I am the mightiest
of all! Once I dine on the flesh of a godling, I shall be
completely unstoppable!”
In this moment, God realized that he hated his
brother. He hated him for how he'd corrupted their
mother, he hated him for what he'd done to the Earth
and humanity, but mostly, he hated him for trying to
 GODS MEAN OLDER BROTHER 109

eat Angelica’s baby—his baby. God was ready to kill his

brother. His guilt could no longer stop him.
And Angelica brought forth a man child, who was
to rule all nations with a rod of iron: and her child was
caught up unto God.
“Stop!” his brother said! “I need to eat that baby!”
But God was already in flight, running through the
passage to the outside.
And Angelica fled into the wilderness, where she
hath a place prepared of God, that they should feed
her there a thousand two hundred and threescore days.
And to her were given two wings of a great eagle, that
she might fly into the wilderness, into her place, where
she is nourished for a time.
When God was outside, Jesus saw him with the
child and asked, “Is that baby the real Jesus?”
God said, “Yes. Er, no. Maybe he’s like a super
Jesus. I’m not sure yet. Take him, my son, and hide
him away in the wilderness.”
Jesus took the babe into his Corvair and sped away
without any further word.
God’s brother arrived just in time to see Jesus
escape. He immediately pounced on the Lord and
began to batter him. But this time God was ready to
fight back, harnessing all his rage. God was mighty in
his affect and those who looked at him cowered at what
they saw. He summoned a gust of wind that blew his
brother off him, and then also a bolt of lightning that
struck his brother, incapacitating him. Grabbing him
by the scruff of the neck, he hoisted his brother up
and carried him into the fortress, wending his way to
110 G. ARTHUR BROWN

the throne room. All guards and lookers-on were too

terrified to even attempt to block God’s path.
His mother sat in the throne room on what looked
like an electric chair, eating grapes.
“Uh! What are you doing?” she said when she saw
him holding his unconscious brother.
Baal rushed in, upon hearing her call out.
God looked at each of them and said, “The time of
judgment is arrived.”
“Hey, old pal,” Baal said jokingly. “There’s no way
youre gonna really hurt your brother, right? You're not
that kind of guy.”
“Fuck my brother,” he said coldly.
“Baby, you can't do this,” his mother implored,
falling to her knees like the Whore of Babylon she was.
“You know I hate to see the two of you fighting.”
“You know what, Mom?” God said. “Go to Hell.”
His eyes flashed red and a bottomless grave opened
below her feet. Her screams could be heard steadily
fading away to nothing.
“My whore! My precious concubine!” Baal
lamented, gnashing his teeth.
“My snake is much bigger than yours,” God said,
summoning a giant python that took Ba’al by the
throat and wrapped itself around his struggling body,
immobilizing him. Then it released its bite on his neck
and shot burning fire from its mouth into his face.
Ba’al’s life was extinguished before even his charred
jaw fell away.
“This was quite a face off,” God said to the faceless
corpse as the snake began to devour it.
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER 111

God laid his brother on the floor and slapped his

cheek to rouse him.
His brother opened his eyes, blearily.
“Mom and Hadad are dead,” God said.
“What? Did you kill them?”
ayes |
“Are you gonna kill me?” he said, like a small,
abandoned child.
exes.
“Because I was going to eat your baby?”
“Yes. No. Well, that’s one reason among many.”
“T just,” his brother said, “always wanted you to just
be proud of me.”
“T'm done with my pity for you. And I’m done
standing idly by while you ruin everything.”
“I just need to know you love me.”
“You need to die, bro,” God said.
His brother wept in a way that God had never seen.
God left the throne room and returned to his army.
He gave the word and the fortress was razed to the
ground. Every evil deity was slain.
God asked that his brother’s head be brought to
him to see that he was really dead.
A 1940s paratrooper approached God, saying,
“What if I have something less than the head?”
“What do you mean?”
“T have... this,” the paratrooper said, holding up
the skin of his brother’s face. “His death was a bit
messier than we had intended.”
God looked at the empty face, folding and flopping
as if it were just chicken skin to be tossed in the waste bin.
 112 G. ARTHUR BROWN

“Thank you, soldier. You may dispose of the face,”

God said.
‘The paratrooper nodded and turned.
“Wait, soldier. What is your name?”
“Oh, I’m no soldier, Lord. ’m an embedded
reported with the Eighth Air Force. My name is
Gladwin Hill.”
“Thank you, Gladwin.”
“Glad to be of service,” the reporter said, but the
pun was hard to pull off verbally. Then he nodded and
walked off out of sight. God wondered where he'd
heard that name before.
After this he left the stronghold and called back all
his followers. The whole wicked fortress and all those
dead within were sent to Hell, then Hell was cast into
the Lake of Fire: the final death.
God sat alone in his tent at the encampment
pondering all the previous events. He felt mostly
nothing. He'd thought before that he might feel sorry
for killing his brother and mother, but really, he felt
relieved that they would no longer be causing harm in
the world. He forgave himself.
As he told his cadre what had transpired they had
many questions. Why was there evil in the world? Why
do children suffer? Why create something rather than
nothing? And he had no answer for them in that moment.
And so he created the New Earth, which was free from
the interference of his brother and other evils. Everyone
was pretty pleased with him. They wondered why he had
not just made this kind of world in the first place and he
shrugged, saying, “Hindsight is twenty-twenty.”
 GOD'S MEAN OLDER BROTHER 113

He went into the wilderness and sought out Angelica.

She was staying in a hut with Jesus and the child.
“He looks just like you,” Angelica said.
“Tm afraid I still have no idea how all this came
about,” God said.
“You mean the baby?” Angelica coyly said. “By the
usual method.”
“Clearly I did a lot more when I was drunk than I
thought.”
“But what does this mean now?” Jesus asked. “I’m
no longer your only begotten son. Do I have to grow
up and die for the sins of the world still?”
“Tm sorry, son. That’s just how time works. It’s already
happened or we couldn't have had this battle. You have to
go back and save them, while your brother stays here to
rule over this New Earth, this perfect world.”
“Okay,” Jesus said with notable disappointment.
“You know, I’m sorry I messed everything up in
the past,” God said to them both. “But at least my plan
worked out in the end, right?”
They both nodded uncertainly.
“Mysterious ways, am I right?” God said with a smile.
“Explain it all to me,” Angelica said.
“T thought I needed to trick my brother into facing
me in a straightforward fight, which I sort of did. But
who I was really manipulating was myself. I knew that
I'd never be able to destroy my own brother unless he
kidnapped my girlfriend—”
“Make that wife,” Angelica said, holding up her
hand, displaying the simple white gold wedding band
on her finger, because fuck yellow gold.
114 G, ARTHUR BROWN

God was surprised. And aroused. And something

else. Happy?
“Yes, my wife!” he continued. “And he turned my
mother into a whore, teamed up with all my old rivals,
and tried to destroy the world. Well that, fam, is just
a fucking bridge too far! I really tricked myself into
having to destroy him.”
“Yes,” Jesus said, “I wouldn't have believed it
unless I'd helped you with parts of it. It was just crazy
enough... it worked!”
They all tossed their heads back in exaggerated
laughter for the closing freeze frame.
(All the while, from behind a tree, a lonely,
irradiated newsman in paratrooper garb watched the
scene through the eyes of a dead-skin mask, leading the
reader to believe there might be a sequel.)
 POSTFACE

It should have been obvious to all of you who read this

work that God is of mixed race—his mother Ashkenazi
Jewish, his father African-American. If you assumed he
was white, don’t worry—that’s probably just because you
are a racist. You can’t help it; it’s how you were raised. Go
back and look—it’s blatantly obvious once I’ve told you.
It’s like watching The Sixth Sense the second time and
thinking, “Of course Bruce Willis is dead.”
This also means that Jesus is one-quarter black, so
that whole “mixed race” comment in his letter makes
a lot more sense now, I bet. You thought he meant he
was mixed of man and God. That’s okay. That’s what I
wanted you to think. I tricked you. I’m the omniscient
narrator and my powers are vast.
Maybe you are also wondering, “Who is this
omniscient narrator in a book about a non-omniscient
God?”
Don't worry about it. It’s just a book.
 ~

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G. Arthur Brown is unable to be biographied for reasons
literary science has yet to explain, but his name is on
the cover of such books as Kitten, The Long Night of the
Eternal Korean War, Governor of the Homeless, and the
Wonderland Award-nominated collection J Like Turtles.
i

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Lightning Source UK Ltd.
Milton Keynes UK
UKHW04f1221170918
329045UK00001B/3/P
MI
 IT'S THE HANGOVER MEETS THE
BOOK OF REVELATION“ It1 ONE OF
THE FUNNIEST BIZARRO FICTION
- HOVELS OF THE YEAR.
God, a single father, is forced to raove back home with his
patents. He ieally just wants to focus on wiiting his. indic
tock zine and escape the responsibility of being the Supiem«
Being, which can be a teal diag. Hé also got a mean older
biother who never left home and never stopped Ttoumenting
God or humanity by intefermg in events thioughout
history. Flow, God finds out the bastards built himself a time
machine, As visions of an apocalyptic future come to God’
attention, he devises a foolproot plan fo stop his mean older
bother hom destoying the world... then gets so drunk he
forgets what the plan is.

“Whether hé scribbling on napkins, wiiting online, or

penning fiction, G. Arthur Brown isinterested in taking the
world we think we know, cracking it open, slathering it
with weirdness, and twisting it into odd shapes—which,
surprisingly, resemble the world more accurately than the
_ world we wish we had. Blown’ a prime example of how the
wend and the bizane can provide an active and Ineverent
critique of the ical. This is fiction thats fun to 1cad and yet
deeply resonant”
oe Brian Evenson, author of A Collapse
of Hones

ISBN 105-273-9
978-1-6210

ii
ir, Ge ee | 90000
wee ERASERHEAD- ~
Tote PRESS |
NS a WWW. ERASERHEADPRESS.COM ;
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