In the beginning God created heaven and earth. Your mom was already around, looking for customers.

The earth was without form, and void, especially of moral fiber, what with your mom running around air-humping nothingness and offering five-dollar handsies to the void.

And God said, “Ew.”

God felt queasy and collapsed on the couch for a while. Then God got Himself together and moved upon the face of the waters.

And God said, “Let there be light.” And there was light. The light provided a clearer view of your mom, and God said “Ack!”

God said, “Jesus, that’s too much light! Way, way too much light.”

So God divided the light from the darkness and made damn sure there was always some darkness, because of your mom and her face.

And God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night, and your mom he called “Ugh!”

And the evening and the morning were the first day.

And God said, “Let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters, and let it divide the waters from the waters, and maybe if I get lucky your mom will drown.”

And God made the firmament, and divided the waters which were under the firmament from the waters that were above the firmament, and your mom said, “I like things that are firm!” God sighed.

And He called the firmament Heaven, and put up signs warning against your mom, and also some chicken wire.

And the evening and the morning were the second day.

And God called the dry land Earth, and the gathering together of the waters he called Seas, and God saw, much to his chagrin, that the abundance of waters had neither drowned your mom nor improved her complexion.

And the earth brought forth grass and herbs and seeds and trees, and your mom smoked or inserted or tried to sell it all.

And the evening and the morning were the third day.

And God said, “Let there be lights in the firmaments of the heaven to divide the day from night, and to shine a light about the earth, especially on your mom’s activities, so vice squads can catch her.”

And God made the sun and the stars. Lots of stars. Surely one could support life intelligent, violent, and wise enough to take care of your mom once and for all.

And the evening and the morning were the fourth day.

At this point, your mom was really pissing off the supreme being, so God said, “Let the waters bring forth abundantly moving creatures that hath life, and fowl that may fly above the earth in the open firmament of heaven.” The birds, God hoped, would crap on your mom’s head, and maybe something else would maul her. God had to catch a break sometime.

And so God created great whales, but they were not big enough to eat your mom. In fact, she molested them. And God created every living creature that moveth, and every winged fowl, and before the fifth day your mom had humped 71.6% of them. God was seriously thinking about nuking this planet and trying His luck on Mars.

But God blessed the creatures anyway, saying, “Be fruitful and multiply, but not with your mom. She’s got hepatitis B, and God knows what else.”

And the evening and the morning were the fifth day.

And God said, “What the hell, let the earth bring forth more living creatures, such as cattle, and creeping things, including the creeping things in your mom’s hoo-ha.” God cracked Himself up with that one.

And God said, “Let us make man in our image, after our likeness, and let him have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over the Queen of Whore Island, your mom.”

And God said, “Behold, I have given you every herb-bearing seed, and every tree, and I tried my best to get rid of your mom. She is dumb, so I am hopeful she will soon eat a poisonous mushroom or choke on plastic fruit. Also, I am looking around for a good asteroid.”

And the evening and the morning were the sixth day.

And on the seventh day, God took a long, sad nap. Maybe your mom was just another symptom of God’s medication. After God got some goddamned sleep, maybe she would go away. That would be good.