I'll... I'll smite their heads off

Noah got home from the pub late. ‘Why are you late?’ demanded his wife.

Noah rolled his eyes, ‘it’s bloody God again.’ I ran into him down the pub and he wasn’t in a good mood. He kept ranting about wiping all he had created from the face of the Earth—rain for forty days and forty nights—you know how he gets…’

‘Yes dear, we could do with some rain.’

‘Are you listening too me? Just wait, there’s more. He wants me to build a giant fuck-off boat—out of gopher wood.’

‘That’s nice dear.’

‘Christ woman, make some sense. I’ve been building shit for nearly 600 years and I’ve never heard of bloody gopher wood. And I bet it’s fucken expensive!’

‘Yes dear, don’t forget the Forsden-Smythes will be coming over for your birthday dinner.’

‘Damnit, you know I don’t like those pretentious hyphenated-named tossers! Besides, that’s the day God’s chosen for the kick-off. My fucken birthday too, It’s not everyday you turn 600 you know! Bloody God! He can be so small minded. Lord only knows what kind of father he’ll make.’

‘Would you like some tea?’

‘No, I don’t want any bloody tea! I’ve gotta build a fucken boat—seven days to build a big-ass mother fucker of a boat—out of some non-existent wood! And why does he always want shit done in seven days? How the fuck am I supposed to rest on the Sabbath?’

‘Well, you better do what he asks dear, he’s not pleasant to be around when he gets in one of his moods.’

‘I know, I know; you’re right as usual. But, God—he can be so unreasonable. And boy was he pissed tonight—I don’t know what’s got his goat—he came over and slurred in my ear:

I love you man. I love you. I do, you know. I just want you to know that, man. I love ya… But them (God gestured wildly with a bottle at the rest of the bar); they’re all cunts. And, I’m gonna smite them. I’m gonna smite their heads off…

‘And then he told me to build a boat or he’d smite me too! He drew me a little plan on a napkin—the boat's gotta be 300 cubits by 50 wide by 30 high—that’ll make it about 138 metres long…’

‘What’s a metre dear?’

‘It’s about two cubits and eight centimetres…’

‘What’s a centimetre?’

‘Damnit woman, I’ve got a boat to build, I can’t explain everything! Anyway, you know how God is with maths? He wants me to put two of every animal on Earth on it. Two! Christ, do you know how many species there are, wife?’

‘Well, last time I googled it dear, there were about 1.4 million documented, with an estimated 20 million as yet unnamed.’

‘Yes, well… God reckons we can fit it all onto a 138-metre boat.’

‘Did you tell him he was dreamin’?’

‘He passed out after handing me the plan for the boat—anyway, do you know how much food we’re going to need for our 40-million-odd creatures? A shit load, that’s what! Which brings me to another point—who’s going to clean up after them? Not me, I can tell ya that now!’

‘Don’t worry dear, you’ll work something out…’

‘Well, I’d better: seven days to fell and cure all the timber, build the giant floating zoo, cover it with pitch inside and out—we’ll have bloody giraffes stuck to the ceiling—round up two of every animal on Earth, find enough food for everything for 40 days and nights and someone to clean up after them…'

‘Bloody God! And on my fucken birthday too…’