Sunday, October 17, 2004
At Ze Elysee Palace
"Stop! Ze Elysee Palace is closed at zis time of ze night, sir."
"Stand aside, for I am the Lord your God, who brought you up out of Egypt."
"I did not come up out of Egypt. I am from Algeria."
"It's a figure of speech. Hey, you're Jacques Derrida, aren't you?"
"Why yes, I am."
"You were up in heaven for what, a week before you took this gig?"
"Somesing like zis, yes."
"What'd you get, some kind of special poststructuralist dispensation?"
"Martin Heidegger and Paul de Man, zey got me zis job."
"Hey, more power to em. Say what you want about Mussolini, he made the trains run on time."
"I am not a Nazi collaborateur."
"Hey, me, I don't judge. Whatever works, man. Whatever floats your boat."
"You don't judge? Did you not say you were Yahweh?"
"That's right."
"Do you, erm, have some sort of identification?"
"Union card do? Deities Local #405. Strongest damn union in the cosmos. Never busted."
"Zis card, he does identify you as Yahweh, Judeo-Christian deity, yes. But it was another form of identification zat I was expecting."
"Yes?"
"Do you have ze Holy Prepuce?"
"Right here in my pocket. Here, let me get it out."
There is a flash of light and Derrida collapses to the floor in a heap.
"Wow," Satan says, pushing through the door into the palace. "This Yahweh suit works cherry."
