Who the Hell is in Charge Here

It sucks being God. It just sucks. Well, actually that may not be true, but I have anotion of ahint that it just does. It's disconcerting, for one. Not the God stuff, writing stories, I mean. I'm a little discombobulated right now. I had a meeting with my story characters, all in my trailer (it was hell getting that elepants character in, talk about togetherness--the nerve, insisted on bringing his trunk!) Anyway, we had to talk, cause I needed to head off what appears to be a mutiny.
The point is that I am the writer, the author. Notice that author and authority are first cousins. I am the authority and what I say goes. I make this shit up, It may be shit, but it is my shit. There will be no add-libbing in my stories. I put my foot down. It was the bear, the chicken shit moron bear, that's who started it. Not such a moron, after all. Anyway, he was crouched all the way in the back of my trailer, all fifteen feet of him under a six foot ceiling, in that tiny bedroom wringing his hands and talking about his precious balls and how he just isn't any good at rhyming. Of course, Tugg was on his best behavior, sitting there by my God-like feet, with that adoring look on his doggie face, cocking his head every so often slightly to the side and making cute sounds of agreement to everything I said. Every so often, he would look back at the bear and snarl: "I gettin' them ba- alls," sing-song-neener-neener like. That would launch the bear into another fit of hand wringing and crying, pleading and begging for his preciousnesses and trying to make deals about how the story should go. How the story should GO? I had lost my cool and boomed in a God like voice. I decide how the story should go. Not you, ME. This is not a democracy, I pointed out.
It just got weirder when the 150 foot whale fell out of the sky, flattened my garden and my truck. What the hell was that I said, looking out my window, right into a buggy whale eye. "Sorry I'm late, boss," he whaled out. OH, his breath was bad. And so much of it, too. I was just jumping up and down like a crazed world leader at that point. "What are you doing here?" I wanted to know. "You called a meeting of all your story characters, didn't you, boss?" "Yes, I did and I never wrote about a whale, certainly not about one in a spacesuit!" "Ah, but you will. Whales from the star Sirius. Serious, boss. Science Fact genre. Won an Peanutbody award." "A Peabody Award for reporting?" "Yeah, boss, that's it. Peabody. UHM, you got any plankton laying around, boss, I'm famished." "What's that banging and hammering?" I wanted to know. "Boss that would be the three legions of Roman soldiers setting up a portable fortress down the street, moat and all. Guess they are staying for a while. Lot of mouths to feed, boss." What? "Yeah, boss, the barbarians are in the Indian Village getting drunk and pillaging. You got some diplomattin' to do, boss."
It must suck to be God, just suck.