A row of unassuming semi detached houses. A sunny day. An unseen bird tweets the Nokia ringtone as a small flock of tiny people with wings instead of arms dart out of the privet hedge and into the sky. We hear a diesel van pulling into view revealing it to be the sound of a HPS courier.
The van stops outside number 7.
After retrieving his clip board and a fairly large box The driver (Courier) saunters up number 7’s short path and knocks on the front door. He waits almost a whole 5 seconds before knocking again.
Old Man(OS): Alright, alright. I hear you.
We hear the Old Man Clomp down the stairs muttering to himself and to the courier..
OM: Jesus Christ!
OM: Don’t “what” me son. What the hell is this? I told you before to clean up after yourself… there’s fish everywhere.
Courier knocks again.
OM: OK. I’m coming! I’m coming.
KID: Can’t you see I’m doing something?
OM: No I can’t cause I’m on the stairs and you only leave your room to make a sandwich or knick another toilet roll.
The Old Man with white beard equally white robe reaches opens the door whilst shouting back into the house. His figure for all the world looks like a hallmark greating card version of God who’s let himself go a little. Which is exactly what he is.
OM: You better not be playing with yourself again.
OM turns to the courier.
OM: If only I believed in abortions right?
Courier holds out his clipboard to the OM and points to a name.
COURIER: Is this you?
OM: Yes, but I don’t remember ordering anything.
COURIER: Can you sign here?
COURIER: Out of interest, how do you say your name?
OM: You can’t. Its unpronounceable.
OM hands the clipboard back. The Courier just looks at him.
OM noticing the sceptic within the Courier, leans in close and starts to whispers into the Couriers ear.
Cut to a long shot, so we can’t hear the name and we see from far off as OM continues telling the Courier the true name of God. We then cut back to the same angle as before. We see a line of blood trickle from the couriers ear. His hair blown back. Eye brows gone.
COURIER: An initial will be fine.
The Courier then hands the large box to the OM.
COURIER: Have a nice day.
With that the Courier bimbles back to his van and drives off.
OM opens the box.
OM: What the fuck!
KID: What did you get?
The Kid walks up to OM and looks in the box. The kid is a 22 year old college drop out version of his father. Jesus before the trials. Which is exactly what he is.
KID: Foreskins. They’re foreskins.
Then Kid walks off back to his bedroom.
OM: That is so goddamn disgusting. Did you order this?
KID: Where’s it from?
OM rolls his eyes.
KID: Who sent it?
OM: I don’t know.
KID: Look at the packing slip .
OM: The packing slip?
The Kid comes back and takes the packing slip out and unfolds it.
KID: I thought you knew everything? You’re omnipotent.
OM: It’s a big fucking universe.
OM: Who’s it from?
KID: The chosen people.
OM thinks about it for a moment.
OM: Which ones?
KID: Doesn’t say but I’m assuming its old testiment judging from the handwriting. There’s a card in here too.
The Kid hands the card to OM who tries to read it at arms length then searches for his glasses before realising they’re on his head. OM puts the glasses on and reads.
OM: The all mighty God of the Fathers, The God of Abraham, The one who is many, Blah blah. As per previous instructions please find enclosed two thousand baby foreskins. Kindest regards the people of Israel.
For a moment nothing.
OM: What instructions? I gave no instructions. What the hell am I supposed to do with two thousand baby foreskins? Are you sure you didn’t order this? It sounds like the sort of thing you would do.
KID: Always blaming me. Maybe if you didn’t drink so much.
OM: I do not drink too much. I drink just enough so I don’t have to listen to you and your friends and your bloody ashram music.
KID: It’s Vedic chanting.
OM: Oh excuse me Vedic fucking chanting…
KID: You didn’t mind it on Kali?
OM: She’s blue and hates bra’s.
KID: Your kind of lady.
OM: Listen son, when you get you my age, if it involves a promise of a blowjob and a cuddle you will listen to anything.
Just then a Second Courier arrives.
OM: Besides You’ve met her, not like I really had any say in it.
The 2nd Courier holds out his clipboard and points to an entry.
2nd COURIER: Is this you?
2nd COURIER: Special delivery! Sign ‘ere please.
The 2nd Courier looks for all the world like a young Michael Palin. Which is exactly what he his.
As OM is signing the 2nd courier eyes up The Kid then winks at him.
2nd COURIER: Morning madam.
OM: That’s my son.
OM hands the back clip board.
2nd COURIER: Oops. My Mistake. Sorry ’bout that.
2nd Courier hands over a large box similar is shape and size to first.
OM: Not as much as me.
The 2nd courier heads off and leaves the old man and the Kid with the box.
OM: You open it.
The kid opens it.
OM: What’s in the box?
The Kid is silent.
OM: Oh Christ ! Who’s it from?
KID: The Muslims.
OM: Which ones.
KID: Middle Ages. There’s a card
OM: Read the card.
OM: All Praises and thanks to Allah all Mighty. Glory to him etc etc. As per previous instructions please find enclosed two thousand baby foreskins. Kindest Regards Islam.
The Kid shakes his head pulling out a foreskin, then drops it back in the box.
OM: What the fuck is going on? What am I supposed to do with all these foreskins?
KID: You could make some pork scratchings. Sell them to Pubs. Make a packet.
OM: Not even funny.
KID: You sure you didn’t make some sort of decree? You know you do stupid things when you’re drunk.
OM: I do not.
KID: Yes you do.
OM: Like what?
KID: That time you called Abraham at 2 am and asked him how much he loved you.
KID: You remember asking him to prove it.
OM: I didn’t ask him to prove it.
Kid starts to do an impression of God “drunk calling” Abraham.
KID: Abraham? Hi Abraham It’s the lord here… Yeah I know it’s early but I’ve been thinking about stuff and we haven’t talked in a while… I’m sorry… Yeah…2 in the morning… Really? Bit of a time difference… Wow…I can always call back… Ok. What do I want? Oh just wanted to say…um I miss you Abe…I mean I love you man…Really…You are like a brother to me….You love me too? Then why don’t you call unless you want something…. You know I have feelings too… You love me… Prove it… Wake your kid up and take him up the mountain… Yes… Isaac… What you’ve got another one?…To the summit…. Look Abe I know it’s 2 in the morning and you’ve got work tomorrow but this is important… He’s got school? He’s home schooled for Christ sake… Go wake him up… No I can wait. It’s fine… What? Listen if you really loved me you would do this….No leave the wife at home… Just us… the boys… Ok…
The Kid turns to the OM.
KID: Ring any bells?
OM: That wasn’t my fault. I was out with Kali and you know how she gets what with being the goddess of destruction and rebirth.
OM: She’s got these arms… Four of them and she does yoga. She’s really flexible.
KID: Dad that’s disgusting.
OM: Really long tongue.
KID: Stop now.
OM: You’re such a prude. How I ever spawned you I will never know.
KID: Should we send the boxes back?
OM: Can’t send them back. It’s rude.
KID: Ruder than four thousand baby foreskins?
OM thinks about it just a moment.
OM: Hang on I’ve got an idea.
Cut to OM and The Kid wearing dark glasses and suit jackets over their robes pretending to be salesmen. They are standing in a pub shaking hands with the owner. OM turns around with a wad of cash counting it.
OM: You know that was a brilliant idea you had.
KID: Thanks Dad. Shouldn’t we tell the Muslims and Jews to stop chopping off bits of baby dick?
Behind them the Barman starts setting up a pork scratching display.
OM: Good idea. First, let’s go to the Crown and have a couple of sneaky pints. Ok? I’ll call them Both tomorrow. Promise.
The Kid just stares incredulously.
OM: Set your alarm just in case. Not too early.