[Tyr Zalo Hawk]: 712.Stories.I'mKidding.Chapter2

"Chapter Two: You Didn't See This Coming?"

Marching.
It was ALWAYS with the damned marching in the Army. Every morning: Marching. Every afternoon: Marching. Every bloomin', bloody, friggin' (insert several multi-ethnical adjectival curses here) day: Marching.
You marched so much, you could fall asleep while doing and keep on going.
Heck, he WAS asleep at the moment that you're coming in on. So don't be too loud, we don't want to rewrite history. And even if you do, this is a book, so you'll just look silly making loud noises at a book.
And, as he slept, he was dreaming of just how much he hated marching.
You would too, unless you're one of those people who loves marching. (If you are, there's a toll free number in the back of the book that you should call, A.S.A.P.)
The 'He' in question was, in fact, God.
That's right. Private God Dammit Johnson. A man of character, principle, and very sore feet from all the marching.
He's also Ghit's best friend, in case you were wondering about that connection. (Don't lie to yourself. I know you were asking it in your head. Oh, and 513. I know you were thinking that one too...)
So, Private Johnson (or God. Which do you prefer?), was marching as he slept, in line and in step with 415.6 other cadets, half of which were also asleep.
God (I know, I liked it better too) suddenly snapped awake at the sound of a crunch beneath his feet and NOT at the sound of the gunfire, as most people would've thought. Gunfire was far too commonplace to actually pay any attention to.
The crunching was, unfortunately, a bug which he'd stepped on. (R.I.P. Muarice Juan Luego Diez Rodriguez Gazpacho Taco Paco Mocerena Jones The Third). "Great..." God whispered to himself under his breath. "Another stain."
(He was a proud, fully blooded German Cockroach... and he will be remembered forever.) As an African American, God often considered things to be an act of God more often than necessary. (This is NOT a racial miscontruency. As I'm positive that miscontruencies are for those claiming things as facts.) This particular event was just one more reasons why God didn't much care for God.
It wasn't that God had always done God wrong, or that God wasn't a firm believer in God. It was simply that God didn't understand why God did the things he did and, coincidentally, neither did God know why God did the things that God did. (To those of you who figure this out, give yourself a gold star, and a vacation. You need one.)
But, there was no stopping in the Army, and so on God marched. Until they stopped.
After an hour of relentless drills, saluting, and several painful choruses of 'Hoo-rah!' God was finally allowed a break with the rest of his platoon.
As he sat down, another soldier handed him a letter addressed to him. It was from his pal Ghitta Job, probably another letter about how great it was NOT in the army.
Probably about how cool skipping school was when it meant you weren't in the army.
And it more than likely had more than one reference to bagels. Which were completely disallowed in the army. Or at least in this army, for some reason.
Probably because it's going to come in handy later in the book to have rules like that.
Without waiting for another order to march, God hastily opened the letter, thinking about bagels.
This is what it said. Exactly. Word for word. Nothing omitted. Not even spelling mistakes. (admittedly, there were no spelling mistakes in the original document, but after I got my hands on it I couldn't help but spruce it down a bit.)

Dammit Johnson!
How are you? I'm doing fine back here in St. Boringsville. Butt, I know you know that already.
What Eye really wanted to say was that Jez finally admitted she liked me. I know, big shocker, butt we're going out now. Literally. So I'll tell you more about it next time.
Later days
-Ghitta "Real" Job

(You see? Butt! Isn't that hilarious? And no, Eye isn't a typo. Eye is the name of Ghit's sister, who happens to like God, and who wanted to tell God about it, just to give him ideas that he's never had. Ever.)
It made him laugh to think of it. They were the perfect pair, and everyone had always told them they should be together. (Not God and Eye. I already told you that he's NEVER going to think that way. So nor should you.) Now that they were, it was all too much. (EVER!!!!)
Taking a pen and some paper out of his boot, God started writing. God always liked to be prepared to do just about anything he needed, so, in addition to the pen and paper I just mentioned, he also had on him: A roll of stamps, three envelopes, one manilla folder, a stapler, a staple puller, hydrogen peroxide, a cell phone, two electric razors, a triangle, a cross, a copy of the bible,
a vial of holy water, a vial of unholy water, fingernail clippers, a muffin, two drops of Sunny D, pliers, a monkey wrench, his Ipod shuffle, the world's smallest violin, a harmonica, a shrunken head, sunglasses, glasses, a photo of his friends/family/pets AND a single autographed copy of "I'm Kidding", his favorite book.
Not surprisingly, God was often thought to have a limp, and to be relatively fatter in uniform. Surprisingly though, no one could ever find out why, even when they strip searched him. God just didn't look good in uniform.
Also, he did have a limp.
(He's VERY good at hiding things.)
So, setting down, he began to write.

Hey Ghit,
Congrats on the...