Being the first day of 2050, I was going to wish you a Happy New Year. But I’ve decided that I’d rather tell you why you’re all so happy. Which sounds ridiculous, but it’s not.
You think you know, but really, you don’t.
See, you’ve probably heard about Christmas – don’t laugh, I’m being serious here – an annual event they held back in 2023, and I want to explain why we don’t do it anymore.
Back then I was a young man, single, worked in a factory, and had no real plans for the future. Women didn’t seem interested, so I pretended not to care, and for company, I adopted a bunch of stray mutts from the local pound.
Late one night, I thought one of the dogs had farted under my bed, but it was God.
Nobody ever wonders what he smells like but now you know. His son – who is also God – washes prostitute’s feet, which sounds fun and kinky, but that’s another story.
Anyway, He was under my bed, woke me from a dream, and decided to chat.
He said, “People are dumb, you know it?”
I said, “Yeah, I got the tee shirt, right over there in the drawer.”
He said, “I know. I went through your stuff before crawling under here.”
I said, “Are you a pervert, too?”
He said, “Nah. Just bored.”
I wondered if there was a point.
He said, “Of course there’s a point.”
Not being rude, I didn’t answer. He’s in my head anyway, so talking seemed pointless.
Much better, God thought, and again I didn’t answer.
Instead, I thought: What are you doing under my bed?
And He thought back at me: I wanna show you how stupid you are.
“You wanna prove I’m dumb by hiding under my bed?” I said.
“Who says I’m hiding? Is it just because you can’t see me?”
“Nobody can see you,” I said. “Nobody ever has.”
“Uh-huh. But you’re talking to me anyway.”
“Because I’m stupid?”
“Umm, let’s just move on, hey?”
So I settled back, closed my eyes, and listened to the voice in my head.
He said, “You people never stop to think if I ever wanna do something different. All you ever do is ask me for stuff. Constantly. Thoughts and prayers. Help me help me. Want want want. You all think I must be so happy. That I love my job and never need a holiday. Well, you’re wrong. I need a break. So, here’s an offer you can’t refuse. You ready? We’ll swap places, and you can be me for as long as you want.”
I didn’t even need to think about it.
I said yes.
And instantly, He disappeared. And I became God.
And that’s when I bought this country: Australia.
I paid one hundred billion trillion dollars for it and kicked everybody out. It was mine, and mine alone. And if that sounds like a lot of money, consider this – as soon as I paid the bill, I instantly created another one hundred billion trillion dollars and put it back in my account. I have a billion other accounts, and all of them are full.
No limits, right? I can make money and I’m made of money. It’s worthless.
So, I have this entire country and everything in it – it’s all mine, from coast to coast, and I can do whatever I want.
I built up a wall of ten million television screens in a corner of the backyard and tuned them all to a different station, simultaneously showing every city and suburb of the world. Now I was everywhere at once, but that proved to be boring.
I was able to write a play, compose an opera, author a manuscript, play every musical instrument ever conceived, paint, sculpt, design, build, and indulge in any of the arts that I so desired. But that wasn’t interesting, either.
I briefly considered medicine, and curing all known diseases, then pondered the concept of creating an environment without war or famine, then establishing a sustainable landscape that would perpetuate the growth of the natural world and its resources into eternity. That project was stopped when I couldn’t be bothered.
I had enough food – and could always create more – to feed everyone who wasn’t allowed in my country. I could make them all rich, too. I could make everyone happy and comfortable and content, but did they deserve it? I imagine they were all looking to me for help, with envy and jealousy and incomprehension, but if they didn’t wanna help themselves, it’s hardly my problem.
I changed the weather patterns for a while and found one I liked. Rain was more interesting without gravity, so I made it fall up into the sky and then had a nap.
Eventually, I got tired of pizza and exploring below the sub-quantum so I cut my hair. It looked terrible so I immediately grew it back and had another go. I did that for a few days and made it into a movie that nobody will ever see.
I took some drugs, changed my gender, drank a pub dry, then decided I needed a holiday.
After much thought, I drove out into the middle of the desert. There was plenty to do in the city, but that was now of no interest.
I drove past shopping centres and pubs and schools and libraries and houses. All mine. But I kept driving.
I drove past museums and art galleries and sporting fields and cinemas. Past factories and airports and mansions and ghettoes and theme parks.
I drove past beaches and mountains and rivers. I saw cattle and sheep and crops and farms and didn’t slow down once.
I drove through towns, small and large, that didn’t interest me at all.
When I arrived in the desert, I stood and gazed at the endless horizon, stretching in every direction, then went for a walk. I walked a thousand miles and saw butterflies and birds describe random circles on the clouds. I saw wild horses galloping and kangaroos crouched beside creeks and snakes leaving slithering tracks in the sand. I kept walking, as none of it held my attention: I was deep in thought.
I then stood still for seven days and seven nights and came upon an epiphany: I can have everything and anything I want, and if it doesn’t yet exist, I can create it from thin air. Hell, I don’t even need air. Nothing is impossible. And I’m pure, flawless, and perfect. I created humans in my image, and the experiment has failed. They’re nothing like me. They hate and fight and kill each other in my name. They let children starve and they rape women. They kill my animals for fun. They’re greedy, selfish, and uncaring. I created them a home and they’re destroying it. For money. Anything and everything’s about money.
And I finally said it aloud, “Time to set them free.”
With the decision made, I lifted my wings and landed in the North Pole. From within the walls of the nearby workshop, I heard the distinct sound of hammering, and knew the elves were busy. The reindeer were gathered outside the stable, polished and waxing the sleigh. The front door opened, and a rotund man stepped outside. Large and jolly, decked in the familiar red and white costume, he chortled when our eyes met, and said, “I’ve been expecting you.”
“Really, Santa?” I said.
“Uh-huh,” he said. “They don’t really believe in me anymore, and I figured your time would come.”
I offered a wry smile and slowly nodded my head.
“Then you’ll help me?” I said.
“Of course,” he said. “That’s what friends are for.”
He gestured at the door, and said, “Come on inside and we’ll talk. Mrs Claus has a pot of hot chocolate on the stove and she’s always happy to have company.”
“Do many people drop by to say hello?” I said.
“You’re the first,” he sighed. “We get letters once a year, and then nothing.”
I put my arm around his shoulders and said, “Cheer up, my man. I got a plan, and I think you’re gunna like it.”
We walked through the door, and began to plan for the end.
And twenty-four hours later, we were ready to go. Though it was only mid-August, I clapped my hands to occasion a time warp and it was suddenly Christmas eve.
“Cool,” Santa said. “Can you show me how to do that when we’re done?”
“Too easy,” I replied. “And I can teach you how to make it go backwards, too.”
He grinned, said “Shall we?” And we climbed aboard the sleigh.
In front of us stood a dozen reindeer, Rudolph still leading the pack in popularity. Behind us was an enormous sack, a bag carrying just over eight billion presents, one for every person on the planet.
The sleigh left the ground, we delivered the presents, and in just over three minutes, we skidded to a stop, back in front of the Claus’ house.
“Phew,” Santa said, wiping sweat from his brow. “I really don’t know how those people work so much. Forty or fifty hours a week. That would do my head in.”
“They’re used to it,” I said, climbing down to the icy ground. “But it won’t last much longer, thanks to you.”
“My pleasure,” he said. “And it takes a lot of pressure off, now that I don’t have a job.”
“Me either,” I grinned. And we both laughed – it was over.
We shook hands, went our separate ways, and promised to keep in touch.
And here’s how Santa Claus and I became unemployed.
To begin with, Santa tore up his ‘Naughty or Nice’ list, saying he was done with judging people. He was done with punishing or rewarding children based solely on their behaviour. He was done with hurting children’s feelings because they didn’t obey the rules. And he’d had enough of the adults using him as a scapegoat. You didn’t get the present you asked for? Blame Santa. Because he’s the one who judges you.
And as for me, I could only empathise. People judged each other as sinners or saints, apparently because that’s what I told them to do. They wanted rewards such as eternal life, forgiveness, and a permanent residence in heaven, so announced themselves as morally superior and cast aspersions on those they considered inferior, whilst simultaneously embracing bigotry, racism, segregationism, xenophobia, homophobia, and a general disdain cast upon anyone who didn’t agree with their judgements. Because, yet again, I told them to.
Well, and excuse my language, but that’s not what I fucking wanted.
You were given the opportunity to live. To exit the darkness and finally be alive. An ephemeral blink in the infinite cosmos, a billion-to-one chance at existence. And you blew it. By hating and loathing and killing in a never-ending war of greed and judgement.
So I made a present for every human on the planet – a box of magic fairytale dust. And I then sprinkled my essence into the mix. So when you opened the box, my magic powder flew into your nose, and changed your perception of me. I altered the chemistry of your mind. Not brainwashing as such, but something very similar. I was no longer taken seriously, as the arbitrator and overlord and supreme ruler of the universe. Rather, I was the main character in a fairytale. I still existed as a character of fiction, but no one actually believed that I existed. Thusly, I rendered religion obsolete.
And as people have proven, time and again, whilst religion continues to exist, the idea of global unity and world peace is simple impossible.
Religion was invented to divide and conquer, to make society subservient, and to afford power and control to the men who least deserve it: The self-appointed judge and jury of your worthiness.
And now that I have removed it, people are happy.
Welcome to 2050.
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