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God Of Our Fucking Universe (GOOFU) peaked his head around the line that spread out before him like a really, really long thing that you can’t see the end of. He was in the customer service line in Dimension ~’s “Universe, Matter, and Existence Wholesalers and Liquidators Ltd.” He rubbed his distended belly. Dimension ~ always turned his guts upside down. He lifted his leg and farted. It felt oily. Mud. Fuck. This whole universe situation had made him sick to his stomach. All his penny-pinching had been more trouble than it was worth. He got this universe on the cheap. The salesman told him it wasn’t broken or defective. It just didn’t have some of the bells and whistles some the higher grade universesi had. GOOFU, being a cautious consumer, did his research and found that this particular model had some annoying flaws, sure, but nothing major. Anyways the salesman promised him that those flaws were all taken care of in the recall. But that’s how they get you, GOOFU thought, adjusting the damp loaves of his hairy ass. After several billion years (what felt like an eternity to GOOFU) he got to the counter. “I want to return this universe,” GOOFU said. “OK,” hummed the customer service rep, a blonde little number that looked like she could be taught a few things – a few things about porking. “Let’s take a look here. What is your reason for return?” GOOFU stumbled over his words because he was thinking about doing some real interesting things to the girl, and the girl’s vagina. “Well for one thing time is relative in this thing. That’s really annoying. It’s infinite but bound. I didn’t want anything infinite. It’s got all this dark energy/dark matter business. One of the basic design elements – light – is all haywire. It’s a wave and a particle at the same time. I mean what kind of racket are you guys running here? I told the salesman at the time, I told him, ‘Listen bub, I don’t want any funny stuff – “I’m just going to need your claim number.” “My what,” GOOFU asked; desperately hiding his boner. “Sir, I’m sorry. If you don’t have a claim number you’re in the wrong line. You want returns, you need a claim number.” She pointed to the other end of the storeroom where a line of Gods, most of them squeezed into threadbare polyester shirts transparent with sweat, stretched for several eons. He ambled to the back of the line muttering. “This is no way, no way to treat….” GOOFU resolved that when he got home and jerked off to that customer service chick later he would treat her like a filthy little whore. But his reverie was interrupted as the first tickling of what was to be worse case of chafe in the the history of the universe, this or any other, bloomed in his swampy taint.
Date Written: June 02, 2006
Average Vote: 3.91667