I have no clue exactly when I had this idea and wrote up the first bit, but I'm sure it was within the last 4 years. I think maybe 2015.

I had a recent conversation online that made me think of this story - it's definitely one I might add to, but I'd probably need to get 3-4 novels out of the way first.

Genre: Comedy

CHAPTER ONE: WHAT IF GOD WAS ONE OF US.

Is there a God? Perhaps the most fundamental question in all of Human existence. For more than a thousand years the most eminent minds in history, as well as students, taxi drivers and blokes down the pub, have pondered this very question.

The simple answer is Yes, and he lives in a cramped three room bed-sit at Number 5 Wallace Street, an intermediately grim location in suburban London. How the creator came to be there, living on take out and mars bars, contemplating suicide and what the next series of Doctor Who will contain to enliven his mundane 21st century existence, and if he'll go the full decade (anniversary swiftly approaching) without getting laid ... well, that's another story.

If there's a God, why does he allow so many terrible things to happen? A valid question, but for the sake of your teeth, I hope you won't ask it in front of God, like that bloke did in the late night kebabby, who they ended up carting off to casualty while 'old bill' bundled God into a cell at 2am to cool off.

Thankfully for our deity, the piss head student didn't press charges, but as you can see, this is a major, and I mean MAJOR sore point for the Lord. So, girlfriend? Don't you be going there!

Y'see the thing is, God's been living down an inflated rep for an eternity now. The Bible? False advertising ... totally. Well ... it got the essence right, but it bigged up its star in a lot of ways, and like an Old West gunslinger, there's poor God expected to ante up miracles at the drop of a hat, like the time that old tramp had asked him to do the ol water into wine bit, except that time it was water into whiskey or gin. Anyway, it was his son's party trick, but as old Mackey was kind enough to share his fire and a space in his cardboard shack, so that the Lord could sleep off a heavy one, God was happy enough to oblige on that occasion, just as long as nobody starts taking the piss and expecting him to make a habit of it.

So yeah, the Lord's still got it, but even the 'All Powerful' thing has its severe limitations, but we'll touch on that later. The thing that really steams God's lenses though, is the 'All Knowing' part. Yeah right, like he can be everywhere and with everyone at once. Pure Science Fiction! And the bane of God's immortal life.

Take last week, he was feeling energetic for once, and so after an hour or so of concentration and some hard focusing, he pinpointed an event going down in Iraq; Engineer from Leeds was about to get his block knocked off ... literally. Sword wielding fantatics, yer typical hostage thing AND sprouting on about doing it in HIS name. This kinda thing pisses God off no end, so he spontaneously combusts seven terrorists and causes the engineer's bonds to snap so the fella can nip off, right sharpish!

Job done and out man's had it away on his toes, vowing to be on the next flight back to Leeds. God, as you can imagine, is feeling pretty damn good about himself ... until he hears that at the exact same moment this was going down, five American soldiers got blown up at a checkpoint a few miles away. Severe depression ensues and THIS ... this is why it pisses God off to hear all this 'omnipresent' shit.

*

Monday morning - The Lord's eyes flicked open and he shivered as the tepid water sloshed around him. Haltingly he raised himself out of the red fluid and stood naked and dripping wet in front of the cracked bathroom mirror, staring down at his wrists. The cuts were already starting to heal, and he sighed, thinking that now he'd have to drain the bloody water, and rinse out the tub. Scrub with a bit of dettol n'all.

Bleeding and drowning combined - still no effect, except now he had a slight cold. Next time, he'd go the whole hog and dump the television in the bath too!

God sighed again. Course he wouldn't - life without the telly would be unbearable, and it wasn't as if he'd actually succeed in killing himself, not after 337 attempts, and even the bomb had failed! THAT had been a really bad six days, as he had reformed slowly, cell by cell - and thw whole entrails sliming across the floor to reunite with his torso, was like something out of a bad horror flick.

Worst suicide ever, as Comic Book Guy from the Simpsons, might say.

The creator chuckled. He loved that show, although in his own brief animated appearances they had insisted on portraying him in the typical 'long white hair and beard' stereotypical way. He WISHED he had the Charlton Heston thing going on!

Having finished scribbing his bath out, he stepped in to have a quick shower, and pulled his stomach in as far as it would go. Another sigh - still too much flab, and then ... then he couldn't help but thinking about his Ancient Rome incarnation. He'd been a bit of a hunk actually, with yer abs, yer chiseled jaw, buns of steel, the works.

Ah hell, just one more thing to get depressed about, and a useless exercise anyway, as he wasn't due another incarnation until the 23rd century. And don't get him started on all those fuckin' trekkies that seemed to think he should be able to shape shift at will, like some lame sci-fi alien.

The sad fact was that God was, and had been since the 1890's, a 49 year old, balding man, who tended to run to flab if he didn't watch his diet and exercise. Which he didn't.

*

NOTE: And there you have it, the start and set up to ALL SEEING.