Act  I. Scene I.

Me and Him walk into a bar …

me: (angrily) Are you fucking kidding me with this Sandy shit?

Him: (casually) What can I say? I was bored. (He downs a shot of whiskey)

me: (very loud) Bored!? There are millions of people without power! (Larry takes a pull on beer)

Him: Now they all feel what it’s like NOT to be me! HA! I crack myself up.

me: (getting more perturbed) You destroyed homes! You killed people!

Him: I guess that Geico lizard is going to be a busy beaver, excuse the mixed metaphor.

me: You really suck, you know that?

Him: Why are you getting all Erin Brockovich/Norma Rae on me? You still have cable and wi-fi, right? (He takes another shot)

me: (meekly) Um…yes. Thank God.

Him: You’re welcome.

me: What about screwing up mass transit? People can’t go to work and kids can’t go to school? (Larry nurses beer while slowly peeling off label)

Him: Like I said, you’re welcome.

me: (Waits a beat, thinking) Don’t you usually save this armageddon shit for Florida or the Panhandle? Isn’t it enough that New York gets the terrorist shaft every time you read a Tom Clancy novel?

Him: (laughs) Oh, don’t worry. I have something extra fun planned for Florida, especially if they wind up going for that idiot Romney.

me: (deep sigh) My closest friends in Manhattan and Long Island are sitting in the dark, finishing the last of their ice cream and eating mayonnaise out of those disgusting little squeeze packets. Do something!

Him: (pleasantly) This is me doing something. I’m watching! You know the famous Twilight Zone episode when the alien monsters fuck with the Maple Street people by turning the lights off and on, and they get all paranoid and panic-stricken? Who do you think gave Serling that idea?

me: (angry) This is the Devil’s work! How are people supposed to believe in you when you do horrible stuff like this? (Larry finishes rest of beer, rips off remainder of  label)

Him: Hey, it’s just nature! It’s not like I’m sitting up here judging you. Um, wait. And the devil’s work? You offend me, sir. Did you see the satellite-view of that hurricane? It was a thing of beauty. The Devil is an amateur. I’m an artist. (He takes another shot but the glass is empty) Hit me one more time, will ya!

me: (softly) You know, I was supposed to go for a sonogram tomorrow and now it’s been postponed.

Him: Dude, I’m doing you a favor. Unless you were really looking forward to having a probe stuck up your ass. And I may be wrong about this, but I don’t remember making you gay. (He downs another shot) Mmm. Nectar of the Gods. No, no, wait! Nectar of me! That’s good.

me: (almost whispering, eyes shut) I just want to get it over with already. That’s all.

Him: (puts his arm around Larry’s shoulder and looks him in the eye) Lemme hit you with a newsflash: You don’t have cancer! (pauses) Or maybe you do! Who knows? HAHA! This is like a private Twilight Zone screening just for you! I love fucking with you people! (to bartender) One more for the road! I’m feeling no pain. HA! I never feel pain!

me: What ever happened to your famous compassion?

Him: You should’ve seen me last night. None of those Muslim virgins were complaining, I’ll tell you what.

me: (exasperated) I thought God is love.

Him: Like I just said. (pauses and leans in close, speaking conspiratorially) Look, Lar, here’s the deal: Sometimes I do unspeakably horrible things and sometimes I do unimaginably beautiful things and sometimes I truly fuck up and you read all about it in UsWeekly, but mainly I’m a good guy just trying to get by. Like you. (hiccups and then sings) “What if God was one of us? Just a slob like one of us?” I fucking love that song! (He puts on his leather jacket) You got this, right?

God exits stage right into the cold, dark night.

Curtain