GOD FOR A DAY

His name was Quiteaslob. It became apparent from the moment he said:
“Hi there! My name is Quiteaslob.”
“I’m Peter,” I said.
“And I’m Julie,” said Julie and curtseyed.
“Your names don’t matter. You realize, of course, that you are mere figments of my imagination. I’ve just eaten a mushroom. I always see little people after eating those mushrooms.”
“I’ve always suspected we're the figments of somebody’s imagination,” I whispered to Julie. “Remember, last September I told you: Julie, I feel like a figment of someone’s imagination? Remember? But I never thought that someone would be as big as that.”
“It freaks me out,” Julie whispered back. “I thought we were real.”
Quiteaslob intervened: “It’s just as well. I’m a figment of an imagination myself. God’s imagination, that is. Every time He eats some mushrooms, I come into existence”.


“That’s nice,” I grumbled. “So we turn out to be but second hand figments of imagination.”
“Don’t we have, like, our own god, or something?” Julie asked Quiteaslob.
“Beats me,” he replied. “Do you have your prayers answered?”
“No, never,” we conceded.
“Then you probably don’t have one. ‘Cause I always get mine answered. The same day.”
“That sucks!” we muttered.
“You should get yourself a god. No, I’m serious. Comes in handy, y’know. All right, all right, don’t fret, I’ll be your god for a day. What do you want?”
“Well…”