In His Image

Satan came upon Spam in the Garden.

“It doesn’t look a thing like you,” he said.

“You’re not looking closely enough,” Spam snapped back.

“Oh, come on! Lord, you’re blue-and-white; that thing is brown. You’re full of processed meat; that thing is… okay, I’ll give you that one. But! What about this? You’re square and boxy, and that is long and has five… extrusions-”

“He’ll call them arms, legs and a head when he starts naming things.”

You’re going to let it name things? You kicked me out for putting a chores list on the fridge!”

“You’ve never been able to see the big picture. ‘Man’ is imperishable and pork-like within his packaging, just like Me.”

“Imperishable, eh?” Satan murmured, then had a devious notion. “So,” he said, “are you going to make more of them? Expand the brand, etc.?”

Spam looked as stricken as a can could.

“Well… maybe I could take one of his ribs and make him a helpmeat,” Spam fumbled. “Then they could reproduce themselves.”

Satan smiled. He always liked having an in…

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