Well, whatever it was, maybe God, flowed along for quite a while in a place where there was no while or place, unknowable and unknowing. Then suddenly creation happened, the ten thousand things happened, and whatever it was found a voice and said, “This is good,” and I think that whatever it was meant it. But, there was a problem with this paradise — a little boring maybe, too slow, you know how nothing changes in a sleepy little town — and whatever it was had bigger fish to fry. There were these two newcomers, but they were as slow as anyone or anything else, with one difference: they could be tempted, or rather, should I say, tricked. So whatever it was became a brown coyote, stopped for a moment to appreciate his form reflected in a nearby puddle, farted twice, licked his balls, then told the newcomers, “Don’t eat that fruit,” and trotted off. Coyote then found himself taken by the sight of his own penis, decided to revel in that one for a moment, and so became a snake, an emerald green tree snake, or maybe it was just his penis painted day-glo and hung around the tree like an arrow, pointing at what was forbidden. The snake said, “Eat it. Who you gonna believe: me or that hairy coyote god who licks his balls?” Well, who were they gonna believe: a glistening emerald green talking tree snake or a flatulent brown coyote? Choices, choices, suddenly there were choices, like an eight-alarm fire bell in a sleepy little town. Creation heated up; the ten thousand things heated up. Coyote mocked the newcomers from his hiding place, thundered and damned a little to keep things interesting while they hung their heads, convinced that they’d chosen the prize from behind the wrong door. They passed this story on to their kids, while coyote laughed from behind the tree.