Their names would probably mean nothing to you, assuming, for a moment, that you could pronounce them at all. They were two members of the Cosmic Cleaning Crew. Let's call them Ted and Bob.
Ted and Bob were dusting the cobwebs off one of the more remote portions of the Milky Way Galaxy, when Bob noticed that they had missed a spot. "Hey," Bob said, "don't forget that little bit over there."
Ted, with an unconcerned gesture, shook its brush in the general direction which Bob had indicated, accidentally obliterating an entire solar system. After a second, the two did an interstellar double-take.
"Oops," the perpetrator of the deed said.
"Now you've gone and done it," Bob whined. "One sun, nine planets, four billion sentient beings..."
"I...I'm sorry," Ted said.
Bob grunted. "Well have to return to the head office," it remarked. "They aren't going to like this."
God's receptionist, one of the most exquisite creatures in the Greater Universe Census District no matter what your species, smiled blandly at the two as they entered God's office. "May I help you?" it asked in a mildly unhelpful manner.
"We...we would like to see God," Ted stammered.
"Do you have an appointment?" the receptionist asked, it's tone indicating that it knew full well that they didn't.
"Well, no," Bob admitted.
"I'm afraid that God isn't in at the moment," the receptionist told them. "He's out in the field fixing a rend in the space/time continuum. Can't have that, apparently. Would you care to wait?"
"How long might that be?" Bob asked.
The receptionist took on a philosophical air. "Difficult to say, really," it mused. "A job of this magnitude could take a few seconds or a few hundred years. It depends upon how much God applies himself to the task - you know how He can get sometimes. Then there's the problem of transportation - the hole is in a rather remote portion of the universe..."
"We'll wait," Bob decided, and dragged ted off to a chair way in the back of the vast reception area.
"As you wish," the receptionist shrugged as choirs sang its praises.
An hour passed.
The hour stretched into several hours.
The hours suddenly became a day, the day turned into a week, the week into two. And, still, there was no sign of God. Watching the parade of magicians, demigods and rock radio announcers that came through the reception area, Ted was struck by the incredibly boring routine that God must deal with.
Bob was getting fed up with the whole thing.
After three weeks, the two floated up to the receptionist. "Is God in yet?" Bob asked.
"I'm sorry," the receptionist, with a disinterested air, said, "but, God hasn't returned." After a slight pause, it added: "I did warn you that it might be a long time."
"Is the Vice God in?" Bob asked.
The receptionist wasn't sure, so it buzzed the Vice God. Sure enough, the Vice God was in, and it had a few hours to spare, so Bob and Ted were ushered into its office.
"What can I do for you?" the Vice God, an unassuming creature, asked when they had all made themselves comfortable.
"We seem to...to have wiped out an entire planetary system," Ted said, and, with appropriate pauses indicating abject humility, explained the entire situation.
"My goodness," the Vice God, wringing its frontal appendages, commented when Ted had finished. "This is serious, indeed."
Ted and Bob were silent.
"I mean, have you considered the paperwork you've created?" the Vice God continued, mostly to himself. "The snuffication of healthy suns T98 form, the obliteration of planets FL 74, and - oh, God will love this one - four billion loss of sentient life forms!"
"We were hoping," Bob, barely whispering, said, "that you could put everything back the way it was..."
"Put it back?" the Vice God thought for a moment. "Hmm, it is within my powers to affect changes in solar systems containing less than 30 celestial bodies...yes, that would simplify matters..."
Bob and Ted breathed a sigh of relief. "But," the Vice God added almost menacingly, "you two have a lot of explaining to do..."
When they got to the now empty spot in space, Ted and Bob could not agree on the exact time at which the solar system was destroyed. "Now, how am I supposed to return everything to its original state if you cannot agree on the exact time of this system's demise?"
The two were adamant in their stories, which differed by a very large second. In the end, the Vice God, unable to verify either story, flipped an asteroid and chose on. Thus, after a three week hiatus, the solar system was restored.
Now, you might think that this is just another of my lunatic fantasies, but it's not. I'm sure it really happened. How else can you explain the fact that when I looked at my watch yesterday, the hands moved backwards one second?
