Diminutive Steve

I'm not too much of a liberal, but the themes are obvious here.

Steve was a diminutive man. So very intelligent. So very dense. He shakes hands with disingenuous fingers. His speech is infected with sarcasm. His heart wasn't a heart, it was a collection of cells that made up the cardiovascular system. He lived off of coincidences born from coincidences. However, his flow charts were impeccable.

Every day, he climbed his pearly tower of porcelain and nonsense. At the top, he mounted a tall noble steed of a pure and rare breed. He stood on the saddle and climbed the ladder to the heavens. He brushed up heaven's imperfections, the stained windowns and dusty corners. He also taught God proper dining etiquette. When he finished making the heavens pure and superior, he built himself a stairway and climbed to Jupiter.

Steve peered down at the Earth below him. In a single 1960's dance move, he destroyed every bud of marijuana and Bob Dylan CD in existence. Every inferior and every baby-killer. With another wave of his ego, he obliderated every goddamned, blasphemous, hell-bound liberal.

Steve gallavanted across Jupiter for a bit looking for a place to set down his white picket fence. That was when the Perfect came. A sentient creature of impossible beauty. It strutted with grace and elegance, its vibrant violet skin set the atmosphere on sapphire flames. His body, without anatomy or imperfection (though to it, one and the same) caused the barren ground to shimmer. Dopamine had replaced the blood in Steve's veins and arteries.

Then the Perfect killed Steve with a wink.

Poor, diminutive Steve. Until tomorrow!