God and Trump: The Real Story
The following is an article I originally wrote for a satirical newspaper called The Daily Rot. Since the paper is no longer online, I decided to publish the article here.
I recently had the privilege of interviewing one of the most famous figures in history, Yahweh, the God of the Israelites. This interview was unlike any other I have taken part in; rather than sitting in a comfortable office opposite the interviewee, I had to climb to the top of Mount Sinai and shout into the clouds.
At first, I was unsure if God could be reached for comment, but after a few moments, there was a blinding pillar of light, and a voice like the blast of a trumpet came booming from the Heavens, ‘What?’
After a lengthy discussion, I managed to explain to him that I was a reporter.
‘Oh, Me,’ he sighed. ‘I know where this is going. Look, I know you lot down on Earth like to think that I’m in control of everything that happens, but I just set the ball rolling. It’s not my fault that there are natural disasters, famine, wars, and Justin Bieber. You guys did most of that on your own.’
Reluctant as I was to contradict the supreme deity, I replied, ‘No, that wasn’t what I was going to ask. My question is, what’s up with Donald Trump? A lot of people are saying that you were the one who made him president.’
The atmosphere was palpable, and after a long pause, God sighed, ‘Ergh, I was wondering when this would come out.’
‘Oh, so you did have a hand in it?’ I ventured.
‘Well, kind of. But it’s not what you think!’ protested the almighty. ‘You see, back before I kicked Satan out of Heaven, he and I used to be drinking buddies. We’d often place wagers on things, and, not to toot my own horn, I always won. I mean, I am God. Recently, I was out drinking with the angel Azrael, when I realised that Satan was drinking in the very same pub. To be honest, it was pretty awkward. I mean, we hadn’t spoken in a few millennia. But anyway, we got talking, we had a few beers, and we reminisced about the old days. So, to cut a long story short, he brought up the idea of making the least qualified person in the world a presidential candidate.’
‘You mean, you made Trump president as part of a bar bet?’ I gasped.
‘No, I didn’t actually intend for him to be president,’ snorted the Lord. ‘That’s the bizarre thing. Satan and I agreed that nobody would ever be foolish enough to actually vote for the idiot! We just thought it would be funny if he ran, I mean, he was guaranteed to make an ass of himself and put on a hell of a show! We never dreamed they’d actually elect him. But, of course, I underestimated the stupidity of the average American voter.’
I attempted to get additional details out of the Lord, but he declared, ‘No further questions,’ and in just as dramatic a fashion as he had appeared, he was gone.
