God: Hey, Satan. Come here, we need to talk.
Satan: What?
God: Come over, I need to have a word with you.
Satan: What, now?
God: Yeah, _now_!
Satan: What the f...
God: Move your ass here. Right now, motherfucker.
Satan: Jesus, what's so goddamn important?
God: I need some answers. Some really serious answers and I think you can provide them.
Satan: Yeah? Like what?
God: Like what's with that Job-job we talked about a while ago?
Satan: The Job-job?
God: Yeah.
Satan: Well, what about it?
God: That's what I'm asking you, stupid. Don't you fucking play games with me. Just answer the fucking question.
Satan: Well, nothing. Job is cool as far as I'm concerned.
God: What do you mean 'cool'?
Satan: You know, he's cool. He's okay. No problems there. As far as I'm concerned.
God: But did you touch him?
Satan: Did I touch him?
God: Yeah motherfucker. Did you fucking touch him?
Satan: Well...yeah, I did. You said it's okay, so I touched him. You gave me an 'OK', so...
God: I remember that. I remember giving you an 'OK' to touch him. But what I don't remember, is giving you an 'OK', my permission, to burn the man's crop, to lay waste his cattle and to fucking slaughter his whole fucking family. And his slaves, too. I don't remember anything of the sort. So what's the story here?
Satan: I don't see your point.
God: You don't see my point? You don't see my point? You don't fucking see my point?
Satan: No...I'd...
God: My point is fucking simple: how the does a touch translate into this fucking holocaust. That's my fucking point.
Satan: Well, what did you expect? I _am_ Satan. My touch isn't supposed to be a particularly pleasant experience. You know that, don't you?
God: I know that. Because I fucking created you.
Satan: So what's your problem then?
God: Jesus! What's my problem? The deal was about Job. Not about his crop or cattle or slaves or kin, for Christ sakes! Only Job, remember?
Satan: Well...how the hell can I make him feel pain pain if I'm not allowed to touch also his surroundings? The guy had everything swell and nice. A bunch of wives and offspring running around like jackrabbits. Seven fucking sons. Touching only him - making him sick or killing him - wouldn't have meant shit. His offspring would have carried on his businesses as usual. So he was already ready to go. He didn't need my help in that. And I'm not a fucking undertaker.
God: So, instead of touching him - and only him - like we agreed on, you just went ahead and touched everything else - but him. And now the fucker sits naked amidst the rubble which used to be his house and poures ashes on himself and blames me for this shit. And just what the fuck I'm supposed to tell him?
Satan: Just ignore him.
God: What?
Satan: Just ignore the fucker. He's not going to sit there forever. Let time take care of this.
God: I don't believe my own fucking ears! You think you can tell me how to deal with this, you crippled pimp.
Satan: Well, you asked...
God: That was a rhetorical question, stupid. I know exactly what to do with Job. I'll take care of him. That's not the fucking issue. The issue is your complete lack of obedience, you son of a bitch. We discussed something, we agreed on something and we made a deal. But instead of honoring that, it seems that you just said "Screw that!" and went ahead with your own plans.
Satan: I wanted to reach the man! So that he feels the pain. And like I said: touching only him wouldn't have meant shit. So, what I did was...I feel it was in the spirit of what we discussed...
God: Like hell it was! Like hell it was!
Enter Nietzsche.
God: Who the fuck are you?
Nietzsche: Come again?
God: I said who the fuck are you?
Nietzsche: Are you talking to me?
God: Yeah, you fucker, I'm talking to you.
Nietzsche: You are talking to me?
God: I don't believe this fucker! Are you fucking deaf? Or retarded?
Satan: Or both.
God: Or fucking both?
Nietzsche: Currently, Sir, I ain't in need of a fuck. So thanks, fellahs, but no thanks. As pretty as you boys are, though...
God: I don't fucking believe my ears! Is this guy for real? Who the fuck sent this clown to me?
Satan to Nietzsche: Do you have any idea who this is? Do you have _any_ idea?
Nietzsche: I must say, looks familiar. And so do you, Sir, especially those horns. Must cause you some trouble with hats, I reckon.
Satan: None of your fucking business. You are in deep shit, buddy. That's your business now.
Nietzsche: Oh yeah?
Satan: Yeah, in a really deep shit.
Nietzsche: Oh yeah? Because?
God: Because I'm God and you just _don't_ fuck with me!
Nietzsche: Sir, like I said, I ain't in need...
God: Satan, take care of this cocksucker!
Nietzsche pulls out a gun.
God: What the fuck? Just what the hell does this shit mean.
Nietzsche: Sir, it means: you are dead meat, fucker.
God: Wh...
Nietzsche shoots the gun.
God: You goddamned motherfucker! You goddamned motherfucker! Unbelievable! I don't fucking believe... I don't...Satan? I don't fucking believe this shit... Satan? What the fuck? Just what the...Satan? Satan! Satan, you _fuck_!
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