Genesis

Benny Neylon
11 min readMay 23, 2022

From ‘The Holiest Bible, Ever!’

Make a monkey outta me, would ya?

In the beginning, God created Heaven and Earth.

Now, God existed Himself before this ‘beginning’, so it was not the beginning beginning, as such, merely the beginning of recorded history. It is unknown what God was up to before this, because He didn’t keep a journal, but it may have involved God creating Himself.

An unofficial and unsanctioned good-but-not-great book tells us that:

“…Earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.”

For centuries, scholars have puzzled over what this means. Some argue it’s meant to be poetic — one scholar noted its clear allusion to unploughed fields, a lamb and a prize heifer-in-calf. Others claim that it hints at God’s vanity, and that the Deity was always admiring Himself in His reflection on the water, but since it was dark at that point in time, no one takes such suggestions seriously. Whatever the reason, He did what He did, when He did. And He did it all at the beginning of the working man’s week: Monday morning.

Having created Heaven and Earth, God would have been within His rights to take it easy, but He wasn’t called God for nothing.

Let there be light, He said. And there was light.

Ah thanks be to Me, He said. I couldn’t see a damn thing.

Now, God continued, as He looked about: Okay, the part where I can see things is called Day, for Doris, and where I can see nothing, I will henceforth call it Knight, for Michael.

He stood back and surveyed His handiwork.

There! He announced to no one in particular: I’m pooped, but not a bad day’s work done, if I do say so myself.

And with that, God was off home to Heaven, where He lived all alone, with microwave meals and floating fluff for flooring and walls.

The next day, Tuesday, God got up late and lounged around on His comfy couch-clouds in Heaven all morning, pleased with Himself for all He had done on Monday. Eventually He came down to Earth (as we all must) and looking about Him, said: Let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters, and let it divide the waters from the waters.

And lo! Land burst up out of the water, parting the water.

Ooh, that was pretty neat, said God, looking at the way the water peeled back from the land. I must remember that trick.

Having started work late, night was already beginning to fall, so God took off home to Heaven. Once there, He felt a pang of self-doubt. The old Tuesday evening blues.

What on Earth am I doing? He wondered. That wasn’t a decent day’s work, considering I created an entire Universe yesterday. Okay, tomorrow I’m really going to step up my workrate.

So saying, the microwave binged and He retrieved His chicken szechuan in its plastic container and ate quickly, burning His tongue only once.

On Wednesday morning, God looked down on Earth as He ate His porridge. The land had once more fallen beneath the water, undoing all His Good Work from the day before. As He blew upon His porridge to cool it, He had an idea, and said: Let the waters under the Heaven be gathered together unto one place, and let the dry land appear.

And it was so, and it looked great, except the water kept flowing back over all the world, Earth still being completely level and spherical and water being subject to something called gravity, which never took a break, unlike God.

After a bit of experimenting, God found that by pinching land between His thumb and forefinger, and pushing in other parts with the heel of His palm, He could make the water gather in some places and stay away from others.

Et voilà, He said. Dryness, wetness… a touch wetter on the whole, but you can’t have everything.

By now, it was time for a teabreak, so God went up to Heaven and looked down with pride on His work. Unfortunately, He had no one to share it with, but He was getting around to that.

During tea, He decided to call the dryness Land, and the wetness Sea.

This is good, He said, and the blue sea is lovely and sparkly. However, land is a bit dull. The blue and the brown work well together, for sure, but it needs something to really make it pop from a distance, more…

He looked down at his colour chart.

More green! He said. Yes, more green, that’d be lovely, some texture. Dammit, my masterpiece needs life!

With that, He commanded the Earth to bring forth grass, and herbs, and fruit trees.

And they will all live and die and self-propagate, He said, and it was so.

By the time God was finished crafting all the little pears and mandarins and bananas, He was exhausted.

Let’s call it a day, chaps, shall we? said God to Himself.

And with that, God was off home to Heaven.

On Thursday, God got up early and said: Let there be lights in the firmament of the Heaven to divide day from night; and let these lights be for signs, and for seasons, and for days, and years.

And God made two great big lights in the sky: one to rule the day, and a nightlight for His future creations when they might need to find their way out of hovels for an emergency pee or the like.

While God was carving the sun into a circle, bits of light dust scattered all across the sky. He only noticed afterwards, when it was getting dark. By then, He was tired, so He pretended to Himself that it was on purpose, and named them the stars.

When He got up to Heaven, the daylight was fading out, disappearing to the west, which was a new thing for Him (both the light and its fading effect). He sat in Heaven with a tikka masala on His lap and admired the effect of the gathering dusk on the curvature of Earth before drifting off to sleep.

On Friday morning, God was awakened by a searing light.

Holy Myself, My Eyes are burning! What in the name of Me is that? He asked Himself.

It’s the sun, He answered. I-you created it.

So I did, He replied to Himself. Well, it’s a fine bit of work, the sun, but you wouldn’t want to have had a few social drinks taken after work on a Thursday evening.

He got up and made His porridge, basking in the glow of the dawn, and looking at the blue-green ball below. It was good, but God wanted great: He was a perfectionist.

Animals, He said, snapping His fingers. Let there be creatures in the water, and fowl above the Earth, flying, except in the case of landbirds such as the ostrich and domestic fowl.

And just like that, fish and birds! Just like that. Proof, if needed, of the strength of a good breakfast, an early rise and a regimen of vigorous calisthenics.

Then He made every other living creature, up out of the water. And He was chuffed, and blessed them, saying: Be fruitful, dear little animalses, and multiply, and let fish fill the waters in the seas, and let fowl multiply on Earth.

Then God went for tea in Heaven, with His legs dangling over the edge of Heaven while He looked at Earth with His brilliant eyesight and His notebook of great ideas.

Flying things, check. Floaty-swimmy things, check. Whoops… Tsk-tsk! He chided Himself. Where are the walky-movey things on the land?

After tea, He came down to Earth and said: Let there be cattle, and creepy-crawlies, and bellysnakes, and lumpyhorses and monkeys and so forth: and it was so forth, because whatever God said happened.

After a long hard week of making the Universe, one couldn’t begrudge God a rest on Saturday… Pah! What nonsense, God never rests!

On Saturday, God looked down upon Earth. At this stage, He was immensely proud of all He had achieved, but something was lacking.

I need validation, He said, some obsequious miserable wretches. Let me pick one of the animals and elevate them above their station, to almost-me-but-really-not-even-close, so that they might wonder at my greatness and make me feel great and worship me.

Lion bounded about majestically, his mane blowing in the light savannah breeze.

Something about the animal put the Almighty in mind of pride, and thus He searched elsewhere.

An eagle soared high above, grace and power in combination.

Too elegant, thought God, and looked on.

The blue whale, enormous, gliding through the deep sea, rose to the surface and blew a spurt of water a hundred feet in the air.

Not bad, thought God, but perhaps too humble.

A hairy monkey grinned on a tree, as it poked about his nether regions with a stick and sniffed the results.

Perfect, said God.

He took one, straightened him up and shaved him bare, so he looked ridiculous, then boosted his mental faculty just a shade.

Now, said God, you I call Man.

Man shivered and grinned.

For a brief moment, God paused and reflected on what he was about to do.

I might regret this one day, He said.

And so say all of us, said Lion sullenly.

Quiet you, said God. You would have been chosen but for your pride.

What pride? said Lion. We lions are very modest creatures. Pride is just the collective term for us.

Right, said God, mentally chiding himself for forgetting this. Yeah well, no one likes pious humility either.

Lion growled and leapt beautifully away across the grass.

Now, said God, where is Man, that I might give him instruction on my worship?

He looked about and discovered Man, perched on a tree branch and poking his stick into a beehive.

You there, thundered God. What are you doing?

Nothing, sir, said Man, throwing the stick away and standing to attention on the branch. Due to a combination of fear and terrible balance, he fell from the tree and picked himself gingerly off the dusty ground.

Now, said God, I have some instructions for you. Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the Earth, and subdue it, and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the Earth.

Okay, said Man.

Did you get all that, said God.

Every word of it, sir.

Good. Repeat it back to me.

Em… be full of fruit… Multiply the fish and… em, something about subduing them, too?

God sighed wearily. It had been a long day, and a tough week.

Fine, He said. Good Man yourself.

Man beamed with pride. Lion raised an eyebrow and looked at God. God ignored him: he might not be proud, Lion, but he could still be one smug bastard.

On Sunday, God woke because of the searing light of the sun, but couldn’t muster the energy to get out of bed, and merely pulled a fluffy cloud across to bring the darkness back.

Taking a close look at Earth early on Monday morning, God noticed that the newly-created world was in danger of falling into complete chaos, on account of Man’s idiocy.

One day, just one day? said God despairingly.

You’re the one who put him in charge, noted Lion.

Shut up, Lion, said God, I wasn’t asking you. Anyway, I’m fixing it.

And He was, too. God built a ‘garden’ with high walls and angels standing guard outside with flaming swords, and put Man in this garden, to let him think about what he had done for a while.

That’s a prison, God, said Lion.

Don’t you ever get sick of being right, you sanctimonious overgrown pussycat? said God.

The prison-garden of Eden was built to Victorian reform-of-prisoner ideals, as follows:

It was four-sided, with angels stationed in turrets at each of the corners. Each of the four walls was seven hundred metres long, thirteen metres high, and of solid drystone construction. The thickness of the walls at the base was two metres, and one at the top. Each of the angels took turns walking around the top of the wall and trimming back ivy and briars from the top of the wall, which might have aided the prisoner in an attempted escape. There was a gate, the sole entry and exit point, midway along the western wall.

Within the walls was a garden, with all manner of plants and trees. This was to calm and educate the prisoner, so that when ready to return to the world he would have a profession and abilities, and hobbies involving marigolds and geraniums.

A river passed through Eden, to water the plants, although regular rainfall or mist were both considered.

Now, Man, said God, this is your new home.

God brought Man to the Western gate and led him in.

Your home, Man, see? A big house all to yourself.

It has no roof, observed Man.

Have you been talking to Lion? asked God suspiciously.

Man looked confused.

Never mind, said God. You don’t need a roof, Man. Now, you can eat anything in here, anything you like…

Great, said Man, reaching for the nearest fruit.

A sharp thwack across his knuckles had him howling in pain.

Except that tree. Nothing from that tree.

Then why’s it here? asked Man.

Meh… temptation, plot device, tragedy — take your pick.

Upon this command, once more Man reached for the fruit.

Once more, God rapped his knuckles, and Man howled in hurt.

But you said– began Man.

Not from the tree, idiot; I meant take your pick from the list of reasons I gave you. Don’t you listen to anything I say?

Yes, sniffed Man, I just don’t understand you.

At this, God felt sympathy for the poor fool. He also realised that He had neglected to provide Man with a counterpart with whom he could carry out the multiplication part of His divine instructions.

Right, well, never mind all that now, said God soothingly. Have some berries and a little snooze here in the afternoon sun, there’s a good little fellow.

Before long, Man was out cold. The narcoleptic berries were a wonderful invention, God thought, even if He did say so Himself.

He slapped some distilled berryjuice on a napkin and laid it over Man’s snoring orifice and got to work.

With a deft Hand, he opened Adam’s side up, cracked a rib out and resealed him, then crafted a female from the rib, and called this new creation Woman. Having had experience with Man, He made a much better job of Woman, and He was pleased. He laid her beside the sleeping Man and went back to Heaven for a microwave meal before bedtime.

When Man awoke, he had a searing pain in his side. He looked down to discover that he had a nametag pinned to his bare chest. Adam, he was called.

Ow, yelled Adam.

The sound of his voice awoke the woman. Eve, she was called, if her nametag was anything to go by.

Eve yelped with fright when she saw Adam. Adam screamed when he saw Eve, then looked about for a stick to kill her with: he hadn’t progressed very far along the evolutionary tree as yet, but recognised in this other Man an improved version of himself. Thankfully, Adam lacked a stick with which to kill his rival, so he was unable to end the human race before it really got going (much to Lion’s disappointment).

Subsequently, Eve employed a charm offensive to subdue the brute in front of her, and before long, Adam and Eve were inseparable… and that’s when the trouble began, with Cain and Abel.

If you like reading this sort of thing, the Holiest Bible Ever! is available on Amazon here, in its full rendered glory. I’d love it if you take a look…

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Benny Neylon
Benny Neylon

Written by Benny Neylon

Voted "Greatest Living Irish Writer" four years running 2016-2020. More honest + humble in person. Comedy @ Slackjaw, The Haven and more. Amazon best seller.

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