Oh God - Part Seven

Part Seven

Oh, don’t kid yourself, there will be a final disaster, and it won’t be a kind one neither, or one that anybody can survive. But I’m not tellin’ what it is just yet ‘cause I ain’t gonna’ be the one to bring it about. One lousy slip up on my part an’ the whole business goes to hell in a handbasket - literally. It seems the “them” of ‘us an’ them’ have allowed their greed to get the best o’ them an’ now there’s an “Us an’ them” within the “Them” department fightin’ for supremacy. It’s a tussle between oil an’ money. Well, ya can’t drink oil an’ ya can’t eat money as they’ll find out sooner or later. Before ya know it, these ‘us an’ thems’ will split again until they’re all standin’ as individuals – isolated and alone. It’ll take ‘em a while to realize that but by then it’ll be too late. Well I suppose I’m alludin’ to where all this is gonna end, but suffice it to say it will surely come up for discussion at the next dinner meetin’.

Dinner was exceptionally tasty this time, delicious and fillin’, and the mood was no less exuberant. Schwartz, who I knew had been anticipatin’ this dinner so he could argue his points durin’ the discussion, had come a little early in anticipation of this “family” dinner.

“HOLY SHIT!” he started to exclaim, seein’ the delicious fare on the table, when a deep alto voice drifted authoritatively out of the kitchen.

“No cussin’,” it said. “This is a family dinner an’ we don’t allow that kind o’ language at the table.”

What the . . . they had spies all over, Schwartz thought. This wasn’t goin’ to be that easy. In the meantime, St. Peter rolled is eyes in disgust. How could that woman who was stone deaf hear what was goin on in the dinin’ room? He wouldn’t pursue it ‘cause he didn’t want to know. Well, Schwartz wanted to know, It was all he could do to keep from crawlin’ under the table to see what was hidden there. He’d have to be very careful if he was to win God over to the devil’s side.