Alright, let's take a deep dive into this ancient, divine drama that went down way back when, when I, the OG of the universe, the Big Kahuna, the One who started the whole shebang, was kicking it in the VIP suite of the heavens, sipping on that heavenly nectar, the good stuff that would make even a demigod's taste buds do the electric slide.

So, the scene is set in the middle of Nowhere---the desert, where sand grains got more stories to tell than a seasoned hustler on the street. And here comes Moses---the man who could make water dance and the Nile look like a blood drive gone wild---strutting around like he owns the place. But then, plot twist! He's got a bit of a family feud on his hands, courtesy of his siblings, Miriam and Aaron, who had more beef with him than a golden calf at a drive thru.

These two, who thought they were all high and mighty, started whispering sweet nothings about Moses' love life, throwing shade at his union with that fine Ethiopian queen, Zipporah. This girl was so beautiful, she could make the sun go, "Damn, I need to put on my shades." They were acting all salty, saying things like, "Does God only chat with Moses? What about us? Did He forget our number or something?" Talk about some jealousy with a side of "who do you think you are?"

So, I'm up there, watching this mess unfold, sipping my holy tea (switching between: Earl Grey, Chamomile and Ambrosia) and just shaking my head. I mean, these fools had seen me drop miracles like they were hot cakes—turning water into blood, parting that Red Sea like it was the line at the DMV, and giving Moses the ten commandments like they were free samples at Costco. And now they wanna act like they're on the same level? Nigress, please!

I roll up in my heavenly ride, a chariot that's hotter than a habanero, ready to lay down the law. The tabernacle's vibe was tense, like someone just farted in a crowded elevator. Moses, that cool cat, is just waiting for me, not even breaking a sweat.

"Aaron, Miriam," I boom, my voice louder than a bass drop at a rap concert. "You got a problem with how I do things? You think you know better than me? Let me school you on the pecking order up here."

I break it down for them, real simple. Moses isn't just my boy with a direct line to the top; he's like my BFF, my ride or die. "He's my main man, my confidant," I say, "the one I tell all my secrets to without the need for a celestial group chat."

But Miriam, she's got more salt than a pretzel stand. "And what about me, Big G?" she says, all sassy. "I got the gift of gab, too, you know. Why I gotta be left out the loop?"

I'm looking at her like, "Girl, please. You think because you got a little prophet action going on you can come at me? You ain't seen nothing yet." So, I whip out the leprosy stick, the celestial equivalent of a time-out chair. She gets zapped and turns whiter than a Klan rally.

The whole camp goes silent, like they just saw a ghost at a funeral. Miriam's out there looking like a walking, talking leper, and Aaron's all, "Oh, snap, what have we done‽"

For seven whole days, she's strutting around like a sad, spotty snowflake, serving as a walking billboard for "don't mess with the Almighty." And let me tell you, it's a sight to see. They're all whispering, trying to make sense of my divine smackdown.

Aaron's finally had enough of his own BS and starts begging for her to get back in my good books. Moses, bless his heart, jumps in, playing peacemaker like he's in the Middle East. "C'mon, Lord," he says, "she's just human, you know, prone to the occasional mess-up."

And that's when I feel a little soft spot. I mean, Moses is basically saying, "Don't be too hard on my sister, she's just trying to find her way." So, I pull the stick back, and Miriam's skin goes back to normal, but her ego? That's gonna take some time.

They all go back to their tents, looking at Moses like he's the golden child. And let's not forget, I'm still the king of the universe, the one who's got the final say in this whole shindig, you dig?

So, let this little story be a street sign for you all, pointing you to the right path. Keep it humble, keep it real, and don't you ever think you can play me. The path to the promised land is paved with respect and a whole lot of "yes, sirs" and "yes, ma'ams."

Remember, I'm the big cheese, the boss of the cosmos, the one who writes the script and casts the stars. Keep your eyes on the prize, and maybe, just maybe, you'll get a cameo in my heavenly sitcom.

But if you start tripping, acting all high and mighty, I got a whole bag of celestial woes ready to drop on you like a meteor shower. So, keep it tight, keep it right, and don't forget who's running the show.

This right here, this is the gospel truth, the lowdown dirty on what went down back in the day. So, next time you're feeling like questioning the man upstairs, think about Miriam and Aaron and how they learned the hard way that you don't mess with the Almighty's chosen one.

© Travis Allen King aka DTH