Lord Almighty Seen Leaving White House in Disgust

"It was like you talking to your mother about using her hearing aids," God says.

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The Lord Almighty was spotted this morning leaving the White House in disgust.

“Biden says he’s open to a meet, I put aside annihilating huge swaths of the human population, and when I ask him to step down as the Democratic nominee, he refuses,” the All-Powerful One told me. “He says he’s the only one who can do the job. ‘I’m running the world, ’ he says. ‘Excuse me?’ I say.”

“There was no way you could convince him to leave the race?” I ask.

“Remember the arguments you used to have with your mother about using her hearing aids and she’d say, ‘I hear what I need to hear’?” the Lord Almighty says. “It was like that.”

“Sounds rough,” I say. “Want to vent?”

“Well, I was going to wipe out 756,000 people in the Sudan,” the Vindictive One says. “But I guess they can eat leaves and soil for a few more days. So, I hear Joe Biden invoking my name. Usually, I ignore people when they do that, but it’s prime time and I was feeling extra benevolent, so I pop in when he’s napping. I go easy on the blinding light — the cornea clouds with these old guys, making them more sensitive to glare. ‘Joe,” I say. ‘Get outta the race.’ He flat-out refuses. Says he doesn’t know what I’m talking about.”

“You’re kidding!” I say.

“Have you ever known Me to have a sense of humor?”, God says. “I remind Joe he told George Stephanopoulos on national TV he’d step down if I told him to and ask him if he’s seen the videotape. First, he says he doesn’t think he did. Then he says, ‘No.’”

“Bad answer,” I say. “Giving weight to the argument of a lessening of Biden’s mental acuity, perhaps even a neurological event.”

“You’re cute when you try to talk about medical issues about which you know nothing,” the Almighty One Who Never Sported a Mustache Without A Beard tells me. “Unconvincing, but cute. I try to drum a little logic into his head. ‘Joe,’ I say, ‘Perception is all. Your debate with Trump was a ninety-minute display to the voters that something is seriously fakakta. You’ve got a 36% approval rating — even I can’t help you out with a 36% approval rating. You use the word ‘malarkey’. Do you even realize how much that sidelines you to voters under seventy-five?”

“What’s he say to that?” I ask.

The Almighty sighs.

“You remember a few months before your mother had a stroke, you guys were in Cuba and you realized she hadn’t put her street address on her luggage tag?” God asks. “And when you pointed it out to her, she said, ‘All you ever do is criticize.’”

“Yeah,” I say, “I feel bad about that. It was a sign that she’d probably had a mini-stroke and I missed it. I should have dragged her to a doctor. How is Mom?”

“There’s no afterlife for Jews,” God says. “Sorry. She was fun while she lasted.”