In the beginning, God created New Year’s Eve, obviously, because he had to start somewhere. He shook all the bottles of stars in the universe and sprayed his new creatures until they were drunk and the sparkly confetti falling from the cosmos stuck to their skin. His creations looped shiny plastic beads on themselves and howled with laughter, creating the first (really bad) singing, and also dancing, which was lovely until the one of them created vomit and puked all over the place. This was less fun, so God created hangovers so everyone could shut up and get some rest.

On the first day, God made plants with leaves and flowers and seeds. He also made little grasses with four round petals. He named these grasses clovers and gave them a little magic because humans were bored but they didn’t have slot machines or YouTube makeup tutorials yet. The clovers’ magic sprouted leprechauns and bright, candy-colored rainbows. The leprechauns didn’t like their fate. “We wanted to be pirates!” they said, so God created luck and let the leprechauns oversee it if they stayed hidden. That way they could steal small joys from all the humans who chased the pretty rainbows.

On the second day, God created cows from coat hangers and bubble wrap. He painted some brown and some black and white. He created fields with tiny plants called grass and enormous plants called trees. However, the cows kept going missing, so God created fences. Only later did God see that humans had created cheeseburgers. Getting back to work, God created round creatures and decked them in feathers. He called these chickens. The chickens kept going missing too, and humans started worshipping two large plastic yellow arcs. They recited TV commercials that said you deserve a break today. God shrugged.

On the third day, God watched humans dig holes in the dirt with sticks. What are these creatures doing now? God wondered, realizing He’d run into the human boredom glitch again. As He pondered the right update, He scratched a few comets out of His beard and watched them shoot out into space. Oh, right! They found the dinosaur bones! Dinosaurs had been an interesting prototype, but He’d found them unnecessarily large and a little fangy. A beard comet hurtled toward his little blue planet. Oh shit! God said, batting the fireball away from earth. Let’s not do that again.

On the fourth day, God broke Adam’s rib. This much is true. God was sorry, but Adam kept standing on top of cliffs yelling, “I’m king of the world!” like he was the only guy on the planet. It got annoying. So one day God pushed him off, snatching a rib to slow the guy down. While Adam whined about his injury, Eve showed up. God thought a girlfriend might be what Adam needed. So what if Adam thought she was the only woman on Earth and she was made for him. Don’t they all for the first ten minutes?

On the fifth day, God didn’t plan to douse humanity with water. But give a species a little fire and they turn into a bunch of three-year-olds screwing around with the pilot light, always on the verge of blowing up the place. One day when humans were shooting flaming arrows into each other’s houses (thatched roofs are such a problem), God doused some water on them to rein in the chaos. But this one dude made a boat and he told this whole story about saving some animals, and yeah, whatever man. Let’s just say you saved the planet. Sure.

On the sixth day, God watched humans figure out roads and buildings and stairways. He wished they would hurry up and figure out sewer systems because, if he was honest, humans were gross. Their cities stank to high hell (God didn’t want any part of their shit in high heaven) and while God is generally a fan of chaos, he doesn’t like his planets to stink. So He conjured up droves of bugs and beetles and maggots to deal with the mess, pissing off humans by grossing them out and flying smack into their faces, which was a bonus, really.

On the seventh day, God took a power nap. He dreamed of traffic lights and escalators and gigantic Stanley tumblers. He still had work to do, but it was difficult because humans moved in unpredictable ways, sometimes falling into the Grand Canyon even though it was big enough you’d think they’d see it. But humanity hadn’t done themselves in with the internet or atomic bombs or predatory student loans—there was still hope—so He arranged the stars into constellations to point people in the right direction and figured from here all creation would have to hope for the best.