Ouch, ouch, ouch! God woke up with the worst hangover in two thousand years. He felt the intense pain right down to every single white tip of his beard. But deep down, a far more dramatic catastrophe was brewing. Deep within him rumbled a melange of grain and beer, sausage and bacon, smoked cheese and pee and, above all, kale. Bent over like an old mother, God let out a huge flesh fart that could be heard at least as far as the planet Betelgeuse on Orion’s shoulder.
The answer came quickly and quietly: a groan, a sigh, a snore. The Almighty carefully lifted the blanket. A diabolical stench of his own hit him. He froze. Because next to him, sleeping naked and in a daze, lay Lakshmi, the Indian goddess of luck and prosperity. Lakshmi! Naked! In! His! Bed!
He remembered fragments of eight-armed clasps, properly carried out using the Kama Sutra technique, which now sent a pleasant shiver down his sweaty back, who otherwise had little use for the topic of marital hygiene and related activities. But he would have preferred not to complete the mosaic of events, because he slowly became aware of the incredible things that had happened the evening before.
This year he was in charge of the annual festival of global deities, at which not only the Monos from Allah to Manitou, but also the Philos, i.e. all the godly families of the Nordic Aesir, the Greek Olympians or the Indian Trimurti and their clans, came rushing in and celebrated until they could no longer do it. Not to mention the incarnations and demigods, founders of religions and natural beings who pushed for the party of the year in a Zarathustra-hard way.
Spectacular games
But who the hell came up with the crazy idea of North German Protestantism? Sure, of course! Old Peter, who had long since ceased to be a rock in the paradise business and was no longer in his right mind, had recommended an experienced angel named Ahlenfelder to organize the program. According to Peter, the plump cherubim came from cloud nine in Bremen and was familiar with spectacular games, because that was what it was supposed to be: a spectacle! If God was going to organize the mega party, then it had to work really well. God absolutely wanted to surpass the huge party last year in Mecca, at which Allah offered everything the Kaaba had to offer. That’s why this fat Ahlenfelder suggested having a kale dinner with pee. And the highlight of the evening was something very, very special.
Shivering, God pulled the blanket up to his neck and couldn’t believe his eyes. Another delicate foot appeared. But even Lakshmi only had two heels, and certainly not satanic ones. God lifted the blanket slightly again and opened his eyes like a ground squirrel before a weasel. Margot Luther Käßmann lay snorkeling next to Lakshmi. In all its glory! In the Eva costume! Not even a fig leaf adorned the uncovered body of the old bishop, who cuddled up to Lakshmi.
God suddenly remembered what had happened. First there was plenty of Oldenburg-style kale with potatoes, Kassler and cooked sausage and pee from the Meerpohl butcher’s shop, which even the picky Indians really liked, and then Old Hullmann. And the 35 percent grain caused all the dams to break. The party planner Ahlenfelder actually came up with something very special as a show act.
Diaconal school
All the deities were carted to Rotenburg an der Wümme in Lower Saxony. For the first time, a diaconal school was named after Margot Luther Käßmann, the former Hanover regional bishop and council chairwoman of the Evangelical Church in Germany. The new teaching subjects of running traffic lights and chattering on talk shows had a break today in the newly and piously christened Käßmann School, but in honor of the Protestant demigoddess, the Hullmann flowed freely at the not at all puritanically simple ceremony. When Sister Käßmann was elected Kale Queen at the suggestion of Zeus, peace among the gods was over.
Jealous, Hera, who claimed the royal position for herself, hurled one of the lightning bolts of her husband Zeus, who was snorting after Margottchen as a bull, at the Queen of Green, who escaped into the arms of God. The lightning narrowly missed Käßmann, but set Wotan’s rustling beard ablaze, who was only able to save and extinguish himself and his facial growth by a courageous jump into the water. About the rest of the night and how Lakshmi initiated the threesome, the banquet singer’s politeness here better replaces the winter coat’s silence.
God, however, was certain that the devil was behind Ahlenfelder’s kale plan. The last thing he remembered was the sardonic laugh of the spherical angel at the witching hour at midnight, when the chaos reached its climax and the deaconesses of Rotenburg let the holes fly out of the cheese with the higher beings of the other world at the duck dance.
Ouch, off, ouch! God’s skull was buzzing, his stomach was rumbling. He carefully stole out of bed and headed for the toilet, where he turned his favorite novel by HP Lovecraft into reality: “Mountains of Madness”.