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Thanking Goddess
by Albert Russo

Job’s wife complained to him and cried her eyes out, wailing, burping and farting ra-ta-ta-ta - yeah when you get so hurt, you can’t control what comes out of you:
“Don’t be such a … ra-ta-ta-ta … coward! Look in what a state of poverty we have fallen, and worse, all of our children are dead, except one. You should curse Goddess for all this evildoing … ra-ta-ta-ta … boom.”

And as if that wasn’t enough, she peed all the way back home, a home that had no more roof.

“Stop this blaspheming! We must accept both the good and the bad Goddess gives us. She is the Mistress of the Universe, remember that.”

Instead of being rewarded for these words, Job became ill, so ill that his friends hardly recognized him, finding him at the dump outside of the village; he was ashamed to show himself in that state of purulence in front of his apples and pears.

He started lamenting that Goddess had cast such woe upon him, for he assured them he had never sinned.

One after the other, his friends blamed Job for doubting the actions of Goddess and cursed the poor guy, adding that the fact that he didn’t trust Her was the greatest sin a man could commit. Job didn’t appreciate their comments and said that he needed to hear this from the mouth of Goddess Herself. Why did he get hit in this manner, after losing his whole family? He really felt wronged.

As he was thinking this, a storm broke out in a tremendous din, yet, in between the ear-splittinglightnings, he heard the voice of Goddess.

“You think you’re a know-all. What arrogance, what impudence! Who built this earth, who brought the light and the shadows, who created animals and humans, who put the seeds in the ground for plants, flowers and forests to grow, who divided earth and the oceans? Where do you think the stars come from?

Put this in your mushed-up scatterbrain, once and for all: I am the Ordinator of the Universe - and don’t try any word trick such a calling it the You-MeVerse, pretending that we are equals. And don’t lie, I read it in your mind. You’re a pip-squeak and ought to behave, otherwise, I’ll turn you into a mongroloid.

The storm had abated when Job finally answered:

“Oh Goddess Almighty, forgive me, I pray You forgive me, I shall be your servant from now on and bless every moment of life You accord me, for You are the sole Grand Maestra of our you-ni-verse (see, I took out the ‘me’). mea culpa, mea massima culpa”.

He suddenly used Latin, long before that language was born; because he was so genuinely repentent he became some kind of a diviner. But he continued to wail, falling on his knees - wow he got badly scratched on account of the thorns, but this time he didn’t dare complain.