Republican state Sen. Michael Buckley stared at the almighty creator with all the vehemence of the GOP. "What's with the getup?"

God shrugged. "I really thought it would be the squids. I mean, apes? Last time I checked in on you guys you were flinging shit at each other." He took a look at the protesters outside the bullet-proof window. "And not much has changed, as far as I can tell. I'm sticking with it. I still have hope for the squids."

"They'd love you over in Japan."

"Eh!?"

The senator frowned.

"I went to Tokyo last week," said God. "Took a stroll down Akihabara. That's an accurate expression of shocked surprise. Eh!?" God moved his tentacles around.

GOD IS A LIE. ALL HAIL CTHULHU OUR LORD AND SAVIOR. ASK HIM IF HE'S SEEN SQUID GAME. The protesters were a mixed bunch. When God announced he was coming down to Earth to check up on his creation, the GOP cheered. When he revealed that he'd taken the form of the humble squid, no one really knew what to think. Still, it was Michael Buckley who had managed to score the first interview with the almighty creator of the world and he was hoping to clinch the primaries with the revelation that God favored both conservatism as well as Buckley himself. A particularly fervid protester held a sign that simply said, AS A SQUID INKETH. "It's clever," he mouthed with desperate eyes.

Sen. Michael Buckley cleared his throat. "You were in Japan? But this is, as I understand it, your very first interview with humanity?"

"Oh yeah."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I can see why you would be reluctant to present yourself in all your glory before a godless nation. As Christians, we—"

"You're Christians?" God blinked.

"... Yes. As Christians—"

"Hmm."

"What's that?"

"Well ... It's just that I'm not all that big on religion."

"You're God ..."

"Yup."

"God isn't 'all that big' on ... religion?"

"That's right."

"... May I ask why?"

"I'm glad you asked! I like to think of life as controlled anarchy. I made a little RNA soup and chance and necessity is what has led us to this exact moment. Freedom is important. Anarchy. That's how evolution works, you can't put all your eggs in one Darwinian basket. You need diversity. And religion is the opposite of that, with its demands that everyone act and think the same. It's stifling, frankly. It's not controlled chaos. It's chaos, controlled. And that's no good. No bueno."

"D-Darwin? Evolution? Wait, did the libtards get to you? What have you been smoking? You created everything."

"I set things in motion, but that was pretty much it. And Earth is, I'm so sorry to tell you, my least favorite of my creations. Because of religion. It's like you've made this wonderful salad and then suddenly there's a bug in it and you're like, oh man, that's disgusting. And you're sad because you were proud of making the salad, you looked forward to eating it, but that little bug just ruined everything. And that's how I think about religion: it's a bug in my salad of creation."

"B-But what about Jesus? What about the afterlife?"

God squinted his eyes at the senator. "Jesus? Afterlife?"

"There's ... no Jesus? No afterlife?"

"Oh! Well there was a prophet."

"There was!?"

"Yes! She was a squid, though."

Michael Buckley slunk down in his seat. "Your prophet was a ... squid."

God made a tentacular gesture. "Again, I really thought it would be all about the squids here."

A protester outside scowled at the two of them from behind the glass. NO SQUID PRO QUO, his sign read.

State Sen. Michael Buckley groaned. Of course it was a live debate. Of course he would have to be the one to interview God and break the news that their treasured desert carpenter turned out to have just been some guy. That there would be no afterlife. That God didn't care for religion. They would all blame him for it. He'd never become the Republican candidate. "What are you even doing here, then?" he said. He could feel the veins of his forehead throbbing. "You're not the almighty father—You're a deadbeat father!"

In the moment, insulting God felt like the right move. But when he saw the sly smile curl across God's molluscular lips, he knew he had fucked up.

"Why am I here? I am here to remove the bugs from my salad," said God.

The divine squid creator of all things stood up and let rip a pulse of electromagnetic radiation like a laser of pure sunset. Red, hot, and searing the beam moved like a cosmic whip from state Sen. Michael Buckley's groin to the top of his wig. I am sizzling, thought Buckley's left hemisphere. Hot hot hot, thought his right hemisphere. Then neither thought no more.

Outside, the man holding the sign saying ALL HAIL CTHULHU OUR LORD AND SAVIOR slowly nodded his head while the rest of them ran for their lives. "Badass," the man mouthed. "Bad-fucking-ass."