Shit.
Oh, damn.
GodDAMNit!
Fuckity shit.
Let it not be so.

Please, God in Heaven
whose existence I constantly question
even after you helped me
get Amazing Spider-Man number fifteen
all those years ago,
do me this solid:
Do not let me get that job.

I am not qualified.
I do not want it.
I would under perform
– and the job’s beneath me.
Wouldn’t you want me living
up to my potential?
How could I do that there?

Look, God,
the interview went well
even while I was trying to tank it.
Can I help it you made me so damned charming?
Durned. I meant durned, God.
No offense.
They were fooled completely.
Please let them see the truth.

If I’m offered the job
I’ll have to take it.
I have no excuse not to.
The bosses
unemployment
my parents and my own identity know
I have nothing better to do
than work for the Man.
I’ll take the job
and I’ll have to wake up
and I’ll have to smile
and I’ll have to do work.

How will I finish my screenplay that way
God?
How will I learn to play slide bass?
I need time.
I need no work.
Please, Big Guy,
help me out
and let them find someone qualified.
If you do
I’ll donate my Spider Number Fifteen to science –
To God!
I meant you.
I’ll give it to you.
PLEASE!