“Oh gross,” the immortal, all-knowing, divine overseer said, as he peered past Alpha Centauri, reached around the sun, and gingerly collected a planet with two fingers while wrinkling his nose and holding back a dry heave. “Forgot I even had an earth in there. Ugh. It must be over four billion years old. And now look at it. Absolutely covered in humans.”
“I told you not to leave it that close to a medium-sized, relatively stable source of heat Frank,” his wife called out from across the universe, where she was working on clearing a block in the ultra-massive blackhole at the bottom of their sink. “You said you’d have it on your cosmos in the morning, and then forgot. Sure is a lot of space between those stars of yours, old man.”
Frank-god took a deep breath before responding, in his most almighty voice-of-heavenly-patronization:
“Daphne. You know I have been extremely busy expanding everything. I can’t remember every damn thing I say.” He stopped, still holding the earth at arm’s-length, and peered in at the blue planet; bristling with urban sprawl, scarred by wanton destruction, and rapidly filling with noxious gasses.
“It’s kind of incredible what those little fuckers can do in such a small amount of time. Maybe we should let them keep going, see what they get up to? Some humans can be good for you, did you know that? They can make cheese, and penicillin, and memes, and other things.”
Daphne rolled her orbs. “Yeah. That’s what the universe needs: more memes. Quit messing around and dump it in the ether Frank, they’ll spread to the other planets if you give them half an epoch. Before you know it we’ll have another infestation on our hands.” Frank nodded, absently scratched his nebulae, and dropped the diminutive planet into the insinerator, before moving on with his eon.