Job

"Check out Job—he’s got it going on, and he loves me with everything he's got.” God looked over the top of his beer with a smirk.

“Of course he loves you! Only a fool wouldn’t—look at everything you give him. Look at that fine-ass wife, all them animals, good kids, nice spread, neighbors like him. Easy for a man like him to get down on his knees and thank you.” God’s adversary tossed back a shot of tequila. “You think he’d be praisin’ your name if he didn’t have it so good?”

The line of shot glasses looked endless, disappearing when the empty glass hit the table and became full.

“Are you saying he only loves me because I gave him all of these blessings?” God appeared taken aback.

“I didn’t say it, you did.” Satan tossed back another shot. “I do like meeting here instead of my place. Better atmosphere.”

“You for real think this dude is just into me because of the stuff I give him?” God put his beer down. It was always half- full. "Job loves me. It ain't about the swag."

"Easy to say when he's kicking back in his castle with that fine woman who's a great cook and a better lover, livin' the sweet life. Bet he wouldn't be so into you if life wasn't so soft for him."

"Did you say 'bet'? Care to make a wager?" God smiled into his beer.

"Alright. Job. Winner gets him." Satan leaned back in his chair. "Whatsa matter? Scared I'll steal him from you?"

"As if. Knock yourself out, but you can't harm Job himself. It would be just like you to fuck him all up then leave me with another soul you've mangled beyond all recognition with your sick games." Thunder rumbled ominously from behind a bank of oddly glorious clouds.

Satan rolled his eyes and tossed back another shot. "That's the only rule? You're going to regret this when I take him from you."

"Unlike you, I have no regrets." God flicked his wrist and the clouds disappeared.

"Sure, keep telling yourself that. Whatever gets you through the night. Watch this."

Disatrer struck the Job ranch. Two bands of raiders from different directions, a bolt of fire from the heavens, and a tornado took out Job's whole world except for Job's wife, a couple of messengers, and Job himself.

"Dude."

"What? I didn't touch Job. I even left his fine mamsita alone."

"Yeah, but . . .do you see why you have such a bad rep?"

"One man's bad rep is another guy's street cred. It's all a matter of perspective." Satan tossed back another one.

"Whatever. Check out my man Job, on his knees praising me, even after you slaughtered just about everything alive on his land and wiped out his castle. You don't understand loyalty, never will."

"Fickle souls shovel the coal just as well as the faithful."

"It burns differently. I wouldn't expect you to notice. Anyway, you think he doesn't know this was you? Always with the fire . . . " God shook his head. "Besides, you lost. He's right there on his knees praising me, just like when he was rich."

"Yeah, sure. Maybe he still loves you through loss, but Job doesn't know anything about pain: physical, visceral pain, but your pansy ass won't let me touch him." Satan rose from the table and began to pace. "You and your rules."

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Do you ever stop bitching? I won, fair and square, and now you're all 'oh, I couldn't make him writhe in pain, and that's why I lost'." God put his beer down and reached for the bourbon.

"What's with the bottles and the pouring? You act like you're not the almighty with these mundane little tasks."

God poured two fingers of Basil Hayden Toast over one large ball of ice, glanced up, then made it a double. Some company tried his patience. "It's an aesthetic thing. Again, I wouldn't expect you to understand." He took a long, slow sip. "Okay, you're not satisfied with the ration of shit you've already unloaded on Job? Fine, but no more killing, ffs.

Satan rolled his eyes and reached for the bourbon.

"Are you crazy? If you think you're drinking this good Kentucky bourbon on top of that salty tequila up here, you better think again. Maybe you mix your liquor like that downstairs, but we're more respectful up here." God pulled the bourbon out of reach.

"Sounds lame, if you ask me. I can't see why everyone's lining up to get in here, what with all of your rules. I notice that you added a bouncer, though. Nice touch." Satan plopped back down in his chair.

"Yeah, Pete's a rock. Nobody sneaks past him. Stopped the trouble with the outlaws snatching pearls off the gates, too." God took a sip and swirled the bourbon in his mouth before swallowing. "My rules? Puh-leaze, I know all about how you run things in the basement. You're not exactly getting five-star reviews down there."

"Yeah, I never cared much about popularity or devotion. That's your jam, not mine. We get shit done, and there isn't a bunch of bullshit policy driving everything, so, as far as I'm concerned, things are just fine. Anyway, back to Job," boils spontaneously burst from Job's skin, covering him from head to toe in painful protrusions that did nothing for his looks.

"Really? You couldn't just give him arthritis or something?" God gave Satan a condescending look.

"'Couldn't you just give im arthritis or something?' Dude, are you sure you're not the mother of Mary's baby instead of the other way around?"

"That hasn't even happened yet! Don't get ahead of yourself. Anyway, check out Job, on his knees, worshipping me and praising my name."

A vein may have bulged in Satan's neck. "The love of a good woman will keep a man faithful. Let's see how Job reacts to her turning on him."

"In all my time, I never met a worse loser than you. You're worse than the GOP with your goalpost moving." God leaned back in his chair. "Don't you ever get tired?"

"No, I don't get tired. What kind of question is that, Mr. I-Know-Everything?"

"Rhetorical was the intention, but you know what they say about those." God swirled the bourbon in his glass.

"Been paving roads to my house time out of mind!" Satan clinked his glass aginst God's, and they both drank.

"Alright, Job still loves me, even though his wife told him to curse me and die. Seems like maybe Job has real loyalty from here. Just sayin'."

"He still has his friends."

"There you go again! I knew you wouldn't stop. Fine, but no killing."

"Alright, check this out." Satan muttered something under his breath and Job's friends began to approach him.

"Was that Latin?" God rolled his eyes. "I'm so impressed."

"You're about to be when you see this ice cold shit Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar are about to put down."

"Whiskey tango foxtrot. That is frigid. Creative, having his friends sit shiva in his face. I'll give you a style point for that." God took another sip of his bourbon. "But check him out, still praising me. That was quite the long-winded lament about the day he was born. Makes for a nice consolation prize. That day is yours from now on."

"Fine, you win again."

"You never learn. Will you lay off Job now? You'll never take him."

"Fine, I'll even give him back double, but this isn't over."

"Bring your chessboard next time."