“Oh grrrrross,” the immortal, all-knowing, divine being says as he peers past Alpha Centauri, reaches around the sun, and gingerly collects a planet with two fingers while crinkling his nose and pretending to dry heave. “I totally 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 constant heat Frank,” his wife calls out from across the universe, where she is working on clearing a block in the ultra-massive blackhole at the bottom of their sink. “But you insisted you’d have it on your cosmos in the morning.”
The Frank-god takes a deep breath before replying 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 stops, still holding earth at arm’s-length, and peers 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 very little 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 other helpful things.”
Daphne rolls her orbs. “Yeah. Not these ones. Dump it in the ether Frank, and quit messing around, 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 nods, absently scratches his nebulae, and squares up to shoot earth into the undefined reaches of infinity.