The Case Against God

By C. Sean McGee

Amidst protests and calls for his impeachment, God is interviewed by famed Rolling Stone columnist, Gene, to get his side of the story and to set the record straight once and for all. What follows is a grand conspiracy that will change the course of humanity forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C. Sean McGee
• Release date: Nov 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463298541

C. Sean McGee

"I write weird books."

Book preview

The

Case

Against

God

c. sean mcgee

The Case Against God

Copyright© C. Sean McGee

CSM Publishing

Published at Smashwords

Araraquara, São Paulo, Brazil 2018

First Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means including photocopying, recording, scanning or digital information storage and retrieval without permission from the author.

Contents:

The Prophet

The Bureaucracy

The Best Practices

The Ruse

The Sheep in Wolf’s Skin

The Mad Scotsman

The Martyr

The Churros

The Prophet

You’re the best. You can do anything. You can be anyone. Just do it. Don’t quit. Never say never. Say always. Say yes. Say now. Say I’m in. You’re unstoppable. You’re a star in the sky. The world is your oyster. It’s a sea out there. There’s plenty of fish in the sea. Have a break, have a kit-kat. Think different. Snap-crackle-pop. Be someone. You are someone. You’re special. You’re you. And there’s only one you. Tony Robbins believes in you. I believe in you.

Why didn’t he feel it, though? Why did it feel as if he were inspiring a cripple to climb a set of stairs? If any of it were true, would he have to declare it? Would he have to be so convincing? If he was all those things, wouldn’t it be apparent?

The truth was, he could barely stomach his own reflection; now more than ever before. Whether it was his bitch tits or his yellow crooked teeth, it was clear that he had let himself go. He looked flaccid; like a mound of o jelly in the mould of a man. His stomach hung over his waist, covering his tiny genitals while his arms and legs were like bones picked from the meat of a fish with nary a scrap of muscle between them. His hair was ragged and balding; his eyes were narrow and uneven, and his beard looked like patches of weeds growing from beneath cinder blocks. He looked fetid and disgusting; exactly how he felt inside.

Once he had on his uniform, though, he was a different man altogether. It was amazing what a few stripes on a man’s shoulders and some golden pins on his pudgy breast could do. Gone was his common persona. So too was any hint of him having a slack spine or a questionable character. It was like he had been doused in moral integrity. For the most part, he looked reverent, imperious, and predatory. And it was all down to those stripes and pins.

He didn’t wear the whole uniform, only the jacket. The shirt and pants he left folded by the toilet in the corner. His fat gut still hung over his tiny penis while his flabby buttocks dropped out from below the lapels of his prestigious green jacket. It didn’t matter, though, not with all those stripes and pins.

I am God, he said, narrowing his eyes even further and furrowing his freckled brow.

His flat shapeless lips vanished entirely as he grimaced at his own vile reflection.

And all shall come unto me.

Then he hunched over the sink, resting his fat disgusting belly on the edge, and as he stared into those stripes and pins, he masturbated with repugnant vigour; snorting like a pig and screaming as he did, Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full.

And when he ejaculated, he immediately looked at himself with shame and disgust. Then he took off the jacket; curled up into a ball beneath a warm shower; and cried.

The Bureaucracy

Take a ticket.