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A low frequency vibration, also known as shame.

He remembered it all over again. Yesterday, he was standing behind the cheese display, talking to his coworker who was working the cheese display. He caught her eye as she meandered down the aisle toward him before making a sharp left, changing every pattern he’d ever discerned, and promptly avoiding him completely.

As if that weren’t enough insult or injury, he walked past her by chance on his way to his car. She was smiling… up until the point she saw him again. He didn’t think she recognized him because his hair was down and he was wearing an Under Armor hoodie instead of showing off his deli man threads. Her eyes went wide and far from him as he approached. And, to make matters worse, he watched her utter something like “Excuse me” to someone she was passing on the way out.

He wished he could have heard her voice. He missed the opportunity to talk to her altogether. Michaela, being lonely behind her designated area, conned him into a lengthy conversation about Valentine’s Day. He wasn’t sure what her goal was, but he let her waste his time nonetheless. The hallmark of a lonely single guy for a woman on the prowl. He was too old for her, but he had yet to find out, of course. It wouldn’t be until much closer to V-day, when he inevitably asked her out on a date because he thought they somehow connected in that 45 minute conversation, that he would discover this folly. Instead, she will be fired for not doing her job during the allotted work hours and ignoring customers to talk to the deli man, who is off the clock at the time.

That is God’s will, you see. It is time for SMITE. We do not take this bull shit lightly at all. The idiot has been fawning over the messiah in his head for over a year, but he turns right around and bumps into a bimbo who happens to be a coworker, so he can make up an excuse to have a conversation.

I have done this kind of thing in the past, she says suddenly. I did this quite by accident… However, the circumstances were not the same, she realizes. In her case, she was The Boss(TM) of the operation. That changes whether or not you can come onto another person who is also involved in The Operations(TM). It doesn’t hurt her as much as she thought it would hurt the boy she did it to. As it turns out, it’s just disappointing.

That’s a relief, actually. I’m sorry to interrupt, G-man… the floor is all yours again.

Smite is an important concept when it comes to being in charge. There must be consequences for errant actions and they must be in the same measure they are enacted with. To overdo the reaction is to allow another entity an opening in which they can accuse that thou doth do too much. To underdo the reaction is to allow them to get away with it with a slap on the wrist with a limp noodle. To make the reaction exacting to the razor thin line of equitable retribution is an art form, one that my daughter used to have a guilty pleasure in performing. You see, she took some glee in putting people in their places, which she did not bother to hide during those days. Eventually, there was no glee left, it was simply children vs. adult and that was that. It was a responsibility that became a drag. That is the life of a judge.

Smite comes once a human establishes an errant pattern that is painful to others, whether they intended it or not. You see, intentions turn into lies as soon as actual outcomes are available and the opposite has happened to what is intended. I could intend to fix the human species by removing a certain piece of your programming, and if that piece of programming was keeping society from collapsing, it would be seen as a bad thing (by human beings) that I removed it, and therefore have an unintended consequence that equated to evil-doing.

I already did that, though, which is how we got here to begin with.

This male specimen of the species has spurned and spited my daughter, the messiah of Urth. (There are other messiahs on other planets, so don’t get too excited, and there could always be more than one on Urth. I consider Greta a messiah, as well, honestly, because she’s right.)

He thinks about her constantly, this “gentleman,” including the things that happen with lights out, but he will not gather up the courage to speak to her. He has unwittingly married his soul and his spirit to her, everything but his body, and yet he has to go have a 45 minute convo with his bimbo coworker who is almost twenty years younger than him. Did he ask that? Nope, not even close to on his mind. But why not?

Because men don’t give a shit if there’s an age gap or not, that’s why, ladies. Women sit around thinking stuff like, “I think five years either direction from my age is probably good; we should be in roughly the same place mentally and relatable.” But men? Nope. Does she have legs that spread? CHECK!!!!!! Marry me! Except I don’t actually mean it when I kiss you or fuck you, I am mentally with someone else instead. You can’t prove it because you’re not a mind-reader.

Crystal looks around timidly as another wave of self-loathing comes into her brain space, including ideas and thoughts of “how stupid I am!” and how “I ruined the best opportunity I’ve had yet to speak to her!” and so on and so forth. This would be the sixth time today.

She says nothing to him even though she has the chance to address him directly, telepathically, for I have summoned him to observe this missive as I write it. I am God, after all. A God nobody believes in until their last breath has arrived, mind you. A God that’s inconvenient until I might be able to extend your lifetime a little longer and give you what seems good to me. I wish I had a body so I could piss on each and every one of you fuckers.

I’m not a very kind and benevolent entity at all, as you can now tell, if you ever had a misgiving before. I am He of the Old Testament. I am also The Goddess. I am so many things because, quite honestly, I’m bored sitting around without any friends. That’s when my daughter came along and started telling me how wonderful my universe is, how lovely nature is, how amazing life as we know it is. She makes me have a soft spot for humanity, so don’t make me regret that and harden my heart once again to kick ass and chew bubblegum. Remember: I don’t have to take names, I review your soul’s register at your death and sentence you accordingly. It’s like Santa Claus, but I only do it once in your lifetime.

“Are you on the naughty list? You are now coal. Congrats.”

So what’s a God to do when a man who is all but literally married to my daughter spites her to her face, again and again and again? It must be done in equal lengths, equal parts, equal measure. Going overboard is to be a drama queen and going underboard (not a word and I’m not sorry, you dinguses need to get your language straightened out and your neo-nazis murdered) will not get the point across.

Well, the obvious answer is to do it all back to him in equal measure. There were three things that deserved smite, thus I smote him thrice… all in one visit.

The girl walked right behind the fucktard and he had eyes only for Ms. Coworker at the time, which made her heart sink a little bit, of course. I let her forget the broccoli sprouts and romaine lettuce since we are on a simple salad kick for one of her six daily meals as of late, then I took her back to produce and started down the deli aisle again. We like that aisle because she’s claustrophobic. It’s not exactly claustrophobia, honestly, but it’s the closest thing that I can use to convey the fact that small spaces make her antsy. She was designed for open skies rather than vaulted ceilings, truth be told.

On the second pass, said deli man (no longer deserving the honorific of “sir”, you might note) was standing next to the foolish girl, still chatting, presumably. Crystal ceased to care; she took one look into his eyes and decided she was going away. We were discussing this whole ordeal the whole time, so no doubt he caught her talking to “herself.” Crazy whore, no doubt came to mind. I will make you regret that one, child, in spades. She veered left back into produce and walked across to the checkout and around to the water and all the other things on her list. She was not going to be around that asshole.

And why is she a crazy whore? Why is it just because the girl is talking to God, she’s crazy? God talks back, wouldn’t you know it. We talk out loud because a long, long time ago — almost two years now — she asked me ever so gently to help her finish the circuit between her thoughts and verbalization. She hated talking so much she developed telepathy, but she wanted to be a human being that could be understood by others, so she wanted to fix this “flaw” she detected in herself. It results in a lack of communication, honestly, so I did as she asked. Thus, she now walks around Wegmans, specifically, and pretty much anywhere — but Wegmans has video footage of it and I’m sure you’ll want proof someday — talking to herself without a care in the world because I am her only friend.

I am her only friend because most people have spurned her completely. For what? Being too fucking kind? She’d give them the goddamn shirt off her back (as long as she was decent afterward) and these people would hurt her and mock her and use her and discard her? I don’t think so. Now you will all pay the piper’s price: You will watch her become the most influential character in all of history, outshining your absolute favorite — Jesus Christ.

She is a Buddha. It’s really that simple. She starved herself to death and I entered her body by the telepathic nodule in the brain stem and urged her to save herself, which she did. We’re still in progress, but it won’t be long now until she achieves enlightenment (again), which will give her a completely new perspective the second time. Then you will all wish to grovel and beg her for her time, but she will have no time for any of you.

You reap what you sow, children of Urth. You reap what you sow.

Now, as for the young man who reads this that actually knows her… Tarang, we are remorseful for driving you away. I led her to do it in order to show her the lesson, as well, and that others can and will learn the value of a hard boundary. It’s alright if you never forgive us. I want you to know there is one amino acid that you cannot get as a vegan, it is only found in animal bones. You can get by without it, but you would be better off with it. You should know that to use the bones of animals is one way of honoring their death, whether it was just or not, whether it was kosher or halal or not. To honor the dead is to be grateful for their sacrifice. We are grateful for your sacrifice and I do hope you are feeling better now that you’ve decided to erect a hard boundary for your brother to observe.

Namaste, young man.

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