[ WP ] Every time someone says `` God dammit '' it gets added to a list for God to damn . After being behind for hundreds of years he 's finally beginning to catch up .

`` Good morning, everybody,'' says the man in the suit with the briefcase. He lifts his briefcase to the table and pulls out a laptop and small projector, handing it to one of his cronies, who gets to setting it up. 
 
 The crony looks at me and then around the cloud. I sigh, and snap, commanding a nearby cloud to float over and position itself as our projection screen. I glance at God and lean in. He does the same. `` Fucking hacks,'' I say. He laughs and we both sit up. The man in the suit clears his throat. 
 
 `` While Gerard is setting up the presentation, let me give you the skinny,'' he says. `` Basically, since you hired us last month, we've spent most of our time evaluating the best way to manage this project with the priorities you requested, namely, keeping this easy and efficient for God and, secondarily, minimizing the shock to humans inherent in these operations. Unfortunately, since you refused to share with us some of your own methodologies for security reasons and since this has n't been done in so long your administration could n't provide us with last time's statistics, we had to reinvent the wheel here.'' Here the man stops and stares at me. 
 
 `` Tim,'' I say, `` No one cares how hard this was for you. You're getting fucking prime real estate in heaven, so just give us the results and let's get on with it.'' God nods and Tim's stare softens. 
 
 `` Alright then, here goes.'' The projection shows us charts and Tim explains to us what we already knew: The majority of God damnits, in a global sense, are focused around terribly trivial matters. You know, spilled coffee, concert cancellations, and paper cuts. On the other extreme are rarer though still significant numbers of tragic God damnits. Like, well, nuclear plant failures, despotic elections, and stillbirths. 
 
 God nods and smiles. He turns to me, `` Jacob's finger,'' he transmits telepathically and we both laugh, but no one besides us knows the joke. God motions Tim to continue. 
 
 `` So, without getting into the details, which are listed in the Action Plan we submitted this morning to your Planning Committee, we suggest what we, um, like to call the Aggregate Plan.'' 
 
 `` The Aggregate Plan,'' God says. It takes a few moments for everyone, including me, to recuperate from God's deafening roar. Once we do, Tim loosens his collar and continues. 
 
 `` So, it works like this: We group instances of similar ilk God damns in categories. Within the categories, we subcategorize and sometimes into a third level, as well. Are you with me so far?'' 
 
 I glance at God and can see he's confused. `` Why do n't you give us an example,'' I say, and God nods at the idea. 
 
 `` Of course,'' Tim says and turns to his laptop, pulling up a slide to the cloud. We all turn and look at it. `` As you can see, in the last 674 years, since the last Damning, there have been over 12 billion instances of stubbed-toe God damnits. Now, some of these damns curse high-energy labor for God, like a person's clumsiness—just over one billion, actually. In other instances, the curse is against an easy target for God. For example, a bedpost, a table leg, or a children's toy—here we're talking about upwards of eight billion instances.'' 
 
 `` Jesus Christ,'' I say, considering the paperwork that will be involved in this. God turns sharply to me and telepaths `` excuse you,'' to which I humbly say aloud, `` Ehm, excuse me.'' Should've said *God damnit* and slapped God on the shoulder, but I'm keeping those jokes for lunch. 
 
 `` If I may,'' Tim says, looking from me to God and back at me. 
 
 `` Oh, go on, Tim, just fucking tell us how this will get done, you fucking nimwit,'' I say. God smiles. No one likes a suit. 
 
 Tim clenches his jaw and says, `` So the way we envision this working is we set up a time for God to damn all of the personality curses. Say that takes a week or two. Once that's done, we move on to all specific types of furniture that need to be cursed. We have it broken down by manufacturer and, in some instances, model numbers, but the working assumption is we can avoid that level of detail, for time's sake. And on and on until we can move to other categories like former lovers or fallen pianos.'' 
 
 `` Alright then,'' I say. `` What's the total amount of time required?'' 
 
 Here I notice Tim swallow hard. `` Well,'' he says, `` the request was for a century to be done with the whole project, and we tried. We really, really tried. We hired on extra help, opened up two new departments, and used up funds from our own reserves—so no expense to Heaven—to work out the logistics. We got it down to...'' Tim looks at God and I notice sweat building up on his brow. 
 
 `` Out with it, Tim!'' I say and wave the cloud projection away. `` How long?'' 
 
 Tim nods to himself, whispers a prayer, and says, `` 786 years.'' 
 
 God leans back in his chair and laughs so loudly the laptop and the projector beside it snap to pieces. Tim's suit even catches a few scratches and we all get blown back a bit. Moments later, we're all standing beside the table and looking at God, who's telepathing to me what to say. 
 
 `` We'll accept two centuries, Tim. And since you've asked for three extensions, God, in his graciousness, will give you an extra three weeks.'' 
 
 Tim shakes his head, `` My lord, I beseech you, please understand that there's just no way we can—'' 
 
 `` Three weeks, Tim,'' I repeat, and motion God he should stand up, which he does. `` Heaven's a nice place, bud. You do n't want to lose your contract.'' 
 
 `` Please! There's just no—'' 
 
 `` Tim! Surely you remember God damning God himself,'' I remind everyone, noticing some of his cronies did n't know the genesis of this agreement. I smile at them, `` Yeah. Anyway, three weeks. Not another word. Goodbye, Tim. God bless.'' 
 
 `` Us all,'' Tim mutters and stands up, bowing to God. 
 
 God and I hop off the cloud and fly back to the court. `` Korean?'' I ask. God nods. `` I've got a few real good ones for you,'' I say and tell him the best human jokes from last night's talk shows. 
 
 I love his laugh. 

