I Met God.

I sat, humbled by my experience.

After all, an audience with God is a humbling experience.

I was actually surprised. I'm not much of a believer, more of a conscientious objector.

When I was seven, my Hebrew school made all the students write a letter to God, apologizing for any sins we may have committed throughout the year. Most kids wrote "sorry for lying to my mom" or "sorry for stealing those Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle action figures", mine simply said "Sorry for not believing in you".

Still, my teachers put it up on the wall, along with the rest of the letters. That's one thing about Reform Jews, they're very open minded.

Anyway, the God I met was a magnificent God. He would make Atheists blush, Agnostics bow their heads in prayer, and Communists cream their pants. This God was a Taco.

So here I am at El Coyote, one of Hollywood's oldest Mexican restaurants. Of course, I have one too many margaritas, so I run to the bathroom.

What do I see when I walk in? God: a five foot tall Taco Grande with big, gooey tomato eyes and a soft baked smile; washing his hands.

WHAT a taco this God be. I'm talking guacamole, sour cream, pico de gallo, SOFT SHELL, three different types of cheese and habanero braised beef on top.

I walk over to him, eyes shielded, deflecting the bright glow of heavenly shredded lettuce.

Me: God? Is that you?
Taco: Come closer, my son; Speak into my crispy shell.
Me: God, I...I can't believe it's you. Why did you reveal yourself to me?
Taco: God didn't reveal himself to you; you revealed yourself to God.
Me: I caught you coming out of the shitter, didn't I?
Taco: Sorry about the smell.
Me: So...why are we here?
Taco: I don't think you want to know.
Me: Lay it on me.
Taco: I created the universe 5000 years ago; suns, moons, air, sky, all that fancy shit. I mean, I'm a fucking genius, I can do anything...or so I thought.

God gets a serious look on his face and cries a salsa tear.

Taco: I wanted to test my powers, I wanted to see what I couldn't do; then a question popped into my head. Could I create a taco so hot that even I couldn't eat it? So I did...I took one bite and the spices became overwhelming, I began to sweat, literally began to sweat pieces of that taco, my body couldn't handle it...and each droplet of sweat fell to the earth, and with each droplet of sweat, a human was born.

Me: Humans are...

Taco: Humans are just taco sweat. It got so bad, the heat infested my body to such an extent that...I started to become a taco. First my skin got hard and crispy, my blood boiled and turned into little bits of onion and tomato, my hair melted into jack cheese and my penis...my penis turned into skirt steak.

Me: Skirt steak?

Taco: I was so angry at the taco (after all, I'm fucking vengeful), that I wanted to exact revenge on anything and everything that reminded me of it. Since humans are just the sweat from the most vile taco of all, I decided to make your lives as miserable as possible; cancer, plague, "The 700 Club"...all these things are designed to make you miserable; you little sack of taco shit.
Me: Shouldn't you be angry at yourself for creating a taco so spicy, even you couldn't handle it?
Taco: God only punishes others; not himself.
Me: So...we're here as a sick, miserable joke, playthings for your vindictive taco amusement?
Taco: You got it!
Me: So you don't hate gays?
Taco: I love watching humans take it up the ass.
Me: Abortion?
Taco: Between you and me, I can't stand fucking babies.
Me: War?
Taco: The more of you killed, the happier I am.
Me: Republicans?
Taco: Actually, they kinda piss me off. I told Bush "refry the jack", because we were talking about preparing cheese, and he thought I said "invade Iraq".

It was at this point that I tuned God out. We ended up splitting a pitcher of margaritas; and BOY, the man is a bad drunk; there was a lot of "my life isn't turning out the way I want it to", "I don't have any friends in LA" and "I chose the wrong career", he started turning water into wine, which was pretty cool, but after people drank it, he turned it into urine, which he got a big kick out of, but we all thought was pretty fucked up.

We ended the night at his place...needless to say, he's a bit of a cokehead and as soon as he called the escort service to "send over Shelia for the regular", I left.

So, all in all, pretty much what I expected.

God and me (after his fourth margarita, he needed some help getting up)