The world. Had. Changed in multiple, irreversible ways. People scrambled. To find some. Quantum. Of solace amongst. The chaos. What a disappointing. Film. Quantum of Solace. Turned out. To be. Film criticism aside, all of the chaos looked like nothing but ants in a suburban ant farm, grains of sand replaced by little boxes, several of which were now the source of spiraling plumes of fire and smoke, like Sodom and Gomorra, and it’d passed through the minds of more than a few little ants that this was the type of shit initiated by The Almighty Above. So we should. At least. Check in with. The Gods.

Ouagadougou, in this. Case was the God of Fucked Up Shit. This was. Just a term. The other Gods used. To. Describe him. His real job title. Was something. Like. Executive Management of High-Level Chaotic Events, Destruction and Reconstruction of Human Civilisation. Though that’s. So long that. Most Gods have forgotten. It. Ouagadougou was. As handsome. As Gods can be. He had some of. The longest tendrils. Of pure light and energy. In the pantheon. And the eyes situated. In the ethereal face in. The middle of the. Tendrils of pure light and energy.   Sparked with. Beautiful blue. You could look into. Them and get. Lost, literally lost. And you might. Never find your way back.

Ouagadougou stood on. The precipice of. His cloudy fortress, surveying. The Fucked Up Shit. Below him. GOODNESS ME, I THINK I DID MY JOB A LITTLE TOO WELL, he blorbed. It’s understandable if you’ve never heard of blorbing before, but for the benefit of your comprehension, I should explain: Blorbing is how Gods speak, a sort of thought-echo that comes from nowhere in particular. Djibouti, another God, approached Ouagadougou from behind, secretly tying Ouagadougou’s tendrils together. As Ouagadougou went to float away, he tripped over. HO HO HO, blorbed Djibouti. He was such a joker. I HOPE YOU’RE NOT TOO TIED UP AT THE MOMENT. He took a moment. To let. The pun sink in. While he admired. His wordcraft. Ouagadougou slipped off. The edge of his. Cloud and began to. Tumble towards Earth. While you might assume. That a. Divine being could. Survive a fall. From any height you’d. Just be. Making an ass out of you. And me. Ouagadougou began to make peace. With his. Fate. Non-existence quickly. Approaching from below. He thought about the. Problems with his ex-boyfriend. And the regret from. The breakup. He thought about the. Alcoholism and drugs. And how he alienated all his. Friends. Including Djibouti. SHIT, he blorbed. IF I WASN’T A DEGENERATE ADDICT, DJIBOUTI NEVER WOULD’VE TIED MY TENDRILS TOGETHER, CAUSING ME TO TRIP. I HAVE NOBODY TO BLAME BUT MYSELF… AND THIS BOTTLE OF HENNESSEY, MMMMM. As the ground came. Closer and closer. He rushed to empty. The green bottle of. Its delicious liquid. The mass of blinding. Light and energy. Collided with the ground.