"They blame me," God raged, his fist pounding the hardwood table in anger, "They cause their own problems, then they blame me for them." Peter cringed back in his high-back chair, he hadn't seen God this angry since Lucifer and Hitler had formed the Third Reich.
"They are human…" began Peter tentatively, only to be silenced by another building shaking thud from God's fist.
"The same old excuses. They're human. They can make mistakes, I made them that way. They blame me even when they don't mess up. They are trying to cover their tails. The ones that are not attached to their behinds anymore. 'god gave us free will' 'we're supposed to sin' 'that's the way god made us' that's what they say. I've had it. No matter what I have done for them they never give me anything but blame. I make the sun rise. I keep gravity in working order. I send rain. I keep people ALIVE. And for what? Hatred, distaste, ugliness. I ought to send rain of fire, and keep the earth from turning so as they will only have one time of day. I should make people suffer. Drown them all! That's what I should do." God thundered to a stop when he caught sight of Raphael and Peter's faces. (As God is the all powerful being he does not need to stop for breath.) "What?" he asked the two archangels crossly. Both angels scooted as far back in their chairs as they could get. Neither one wanted to say a word to the angry god.