I had always considered myself a spiritual being.  I was interested in human potential, mind expansion, and scientific information.  Technique, not philosophy, fascinated me, occupying much of my time as I attempted to unravel the mystery of me.  The entire realm of spirituality tickled my curiosity enough to allow me an on-again off-again regard for many of the kooks and crazies parading themselves around the city of faults.  My life wasn’t in disarray, but then again, it wasn’t operating with the efficiency and precision of a Swiss watch either. 

 So, I indulged myself by rubbing cosmic elbows with abductees, angels, psychics, and goddesses.  Mostly goddesses.  They’re women, usually unmarried or divorced, in their thirties who are extremely horny.  Relationships for them never worked out, so in their personal quest for self-improvement and understanding they are more than happy to display their wares as they approach life’s sexual peak.  Being the accommodating sort, I was up to the task at hand.  My mission?  To bed as many goddesses as possible. 

Would that then elevate my status to a God?  I’d be satisfied to merely be god-like.  Just once.  Maybe I’d change my name to Zeus, or something along those lines.  Speaking of names, all goddesses have names like Athena, Ariane, Venus, Isis, Geneva, and Shintara.  They could have been named Farina, for all I cared.  Most of them sported real names like Debbie or Linda, but I suppose those names were reserved just for checking accounts and rental agreements.  These were heaven-sent handles.  Dual identities, multiple personalities… consider the possibilities! 

By way of many mystical routes (personal ads in the L.A. Times) I offered myself to the goddess universe.  Funny how even other-worldly beings such as my bevy of goddesses connected to us G.I.T. (gods in training).  It pays to advertise. 

My ad read, GODDESS AUDITIONS:  “The wings of my heart flap and flutter in the wind without you.  My incessant urge to soar toward the heavens preoccupies my total being.  I will sing to you and captivate your imagination.  There’s a dimension for us.  I’ve got cash.  Are you a local goddess with a killer body?  Call 1-800-IAM-AGOD.” 

The response was overwhelming.  I had goddesses coming out of the woodwork.  They were double-parked in my pleasure zone and it was up to me to gently guide them into eternity.  I would contact them, prioritizing calls based on judgments of their voice and their use of language, utilizing an elaborate method I had designed for goddess evaluations.

The stage was set.  Come to papa.


{End of Part 1}