In the beginning there wasn’t.

God, from the expensive seats, saw this and was bored.

‘Bored!’ He exclaimed to nobody, gesturing wildly, knocking over His Pepsi — which, for the purpose of this simplification, will be the official beverage representing God’s abstract and unknowable end-game — and – in so doing – fixed the destinies of every atom for countless trillions of years. It seems that in the beginning, there was the word, and the word was ‘Bored’. In His utter holy boredom He created the universe, a sort of mathematical palindrome filled with radiation and sadness.

‘Good,’ he said, wrongly, then noticed His Pepsi and screamed.

Seeing the new universe created, He had a plan — a plan to really set the wheels in motion for a new Pepsi supply. Like, imagine God’s Big Gulp cup.

Nope, bigger.

So big. So with the universe conjured but unlikely to provide a reliable drink supply, He set about really conjuring the fuck out of a particular ball of matter called earth. The universe was already pretty big, so God got moving. We assume the trip took 4.6 billion years, because the earth took its sweet time existing – picture God riding the gnarly wave of the big bang, paddling across The Big Orange – the gentle glow of a universe burning orange at 3000˚ kelvin, and hitching rides to our solar system for eons on end.

‘Pick up, I made you’, says His cardboard sign, like a heartbreaking but tolerable answerphone message from an ageing parent. Given the current state of things we can assume God made it to earth, and set about His great and refreshing work.

The earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.

‘I can’t see shit,’ said God. You may remember mentions of a big bang, a glowing universe, and a solar system. Ignore that because God’s making light.

‘Let there be light,’ He said, to Himself I guess. And bam.

‘Brighter,’ He said, and bam. For proof, look outside directly at the sun. Do you see? Now we can’t look into the sun. God did that.

God saw that light was good, and said so. He liked saying things were good. Everything was pretty good so far.

‘Nice,’ said God.

Nice.

On the first day, the prior 4.6 billion years notwithstanding, there was a morning. Groggy and wind-burned from His long weird ride, God decided there would be breezes to refresh him. He’d create the sky.

‘The very sky I came here through’, thought God to himself. Time and logic were God’s to command.

God admired the heavenly vault, the gently rotating planet, and the placid violet glow of sunset — the dust motes casting a spell over this wild new place, on a planet finally coming to fruit. But this was short-lived ‘cus God was thirsty as hell and everything was salt water. Have you tasted the ocean? Things were not going well in Camp God. He decided aloud He had to fix things up.

‘…right fucking now’.

An entire day later, He got around to creating land. Until now God had been floating about, pointing at things, yelling, but now He got to sit and stand and what-have-you.

‘Nice,’ He said, standing. ‘Feet are great. More people should have feet.’ God realised there were no people. People are key to Pepsi. Pepsi is a big believer in people, and God is a big believer in Pepsi. God realised He had to make people.

‘Off I go.’

God said, ‘Let there be lights in the vault of the sky to separate the day from the night’, and made stars, a moon, and then the sun, which He had now done three or four times.

‘Let the water teem with living creatures, and let birds fly above the earth,’ God said. ‘The chronology of evolution be damned!’

God said, ‘Let us make mankind in our image,’ because He spoke in that plural-third-person like the Queen. ‘In our likeness, so that they may rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky, like rad fuckin’ beast lords.’

‘Also they should fuck like crazy.’

Lo, men and women were fruitful and multiplied. They used their nifty feet, wore crowns of ribs and leopard print and ermine, killed the shit out of their fishy, birdy subjects, and smashed ‘til they filled the land and mountains, staining the lands white and red with their gross lust.

‘Hot,’ said God, ‘that’s now frowned upon. Your sex is bad.’

‘Aw,’ said men and women. ‘Dude. Undo that last one.’

‘Fuck off,’ God suggested. God decided things. Fucking off was one of them.

‘Plants!’ God yelled suddenly, feeling and looking stupid. ‘*Hahaaa*, plants. Seed-bearing plants. This is the perfect time for food to arrive.’ The denizens of earth clutched madly at the fruits and roots and pressed them insanely into their eyes and bellybuttons, entirely unaware of how to eat.

God saw all that He had made, and felt it was very good. And on the sixth day He admired them. And then on the seventh day He rested, because admiring things is tiring, ask anyone boarding a coach from a tourist spot.

He reclined and reached for His big cup.

In the ensuing fit of curses, God made the seventh day holy. What follows is the extended history of the PepsiCo multinational food, snack, and beverage corporation.

Amen.