A long time ago in a galaxy not yet created, God was out for his post-slumber stroll through the void when he suddenly tripped over something. He fell down onto nothingness, skinning his divine knees, and shouted, "let there be light", and there was light, and God saw that it was good, for he could now see what he had tripped over. It was a rock, so God smote the rock with all the might his omnipotent rage could muster, and the rock ceased to be, and God was alone in the void with the light, and there was evening and morning the first day.
The next day, God woke up feeling a trifle guilty about having destroyed the rock, because there wasn't much point in having divine powers if you just used them to destroy things. After vowing never to destroy anything ever again, God decided to make something, so he went to his big potter's wheel, took a wet pile of clay, and spun out a firmament, which divided the waters from the waters, although why there were waters to be divided God couldn't quite figure out. He called this firmament Heaven, because it sounded like a nice name, and then he went back to bed, because besides sleeping and creating firmaments, there weren't a lot of things God could do. I mean, he couldn't exactly tune in for Days of our Lives now, could he? And there was evening and morning the second day.
The second day after making light, God thought the waters were getting to be extremely monotonous so he gathered them together and put some dry land in the middle. Calling the water Sea and the land Earth, God thought that his dry land was awfully bare and boring, so he commanded the Earth to bring forth grasses and trees and flowers and gooseberry bushes, and the like because not only would it look nice, it would also give something to do to things not yet created when they found that they would like to tear down all the trees and bushes and such and burn all the grass, and go back to the bare and boring dirt that was there before. He was then tired, so he went to sleep, and there was evening and morning the third day.
When God woke up, he realized that even though there was light, he hadn't yet created anything for that light to be stored in. Therefore, he created a golden casket, filled it with light, and tossed it like some celestial Frisbee into the sky, and called it the Sun, because, well, God only knows why he called it that. That had been so much fun that God made a moon and some stars and got everything going in nice, circular motion, and then chopped up what then passed for time into days, seasons, years, and other such things, and then he went back to bed, because he was as old as the void itself - older even - and was bound to get tired after playing with pretty lights all day. And there was evening and morning the fourth day.
God was lonely, so the next day when he woke, he told the sea to bring forth animals that lived in the water and told the Firmament to bring forth animals that lived in the air. God then sat down, sniffed some flowers, and, starting with the birds and the bees, proceeded to tell the animals how to live long and prosper, with the intention that they might cover the Earth. Having done more than a good day's work, without getting overtime pay, God slept, and there was evening and morning the fifth day.
Birds and fish are all very well but God found on the sixth day that having an intelligent conversation with a seagull was as much fun as watching grass grow, which he'd just done a couple of days earlier. The porpoises and dolphins were okay, but the whales! I mean, even God has his limits, and hour after hour of hearing about aches and pains in two tonnes of whale flesh is no way to spend eternity. The Sea and the Firmament had had their shot, and blew it bigtime from God's point of view, so God now ordered the Earth to bring forth, and I quote, "the living creature after his kind, cattle and creeping thing, and beast of the earth after his kind." God took great delight in watching what were not-yet-named-monkeys play, and he loved the way that the what were not-yet-named-lions tore their claws into what were not-yet-named-zebras. Hey, who said God wasn't violent? This is the guy after all who buried (who will bury) a couple of cities in fire and brimstone.
During his coffee break, God was sitting around, sipping nectar and talking with a couple of his angelic pals, and he said, "You know, let us make man in our own image, you know, after our own likeness and all that kind of stuff, and we'll let them have dominion over my goats and praying mantises and cardinals and starfish." Dominion, he said, giving no thought to animal rights or any other rubbish. If man wanted to make a couple of fur coats, more power to them. "That's a good idea," the angel Gabriel approved, not that he'd have disagreed anyway. Would you tell the total supreme this-is-the-top-chief-of-everything God that you thought he was wrong? I don't think so. "I bet it'll really tick off our not-so-good pal Lucifer too," another nameless archangel commented. "Well then, let's get to it." So God created man in his own image, because he was God and he knew the best should be first, and then he created woman, because he knew Adam would be too busy having dominion over the buffalo and gooseberry bushes to worry about getting the laundry done. After telling them the usual claptrap about being fruitful and multiplying, he told them that whatever should happen, they shouldn't eat apples because that'd be a really bad idea and he just didn't think they should do it. And there was evening and morning the sixth day.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the ethical spectrum, Lucifer had a good laugh at what his old buddy God was doing, left his pitchfork with a pet succubus, turned himself into a serpent, and then slithered along to Eve, who was doing the supper dishes in a stream. "You know," the snake hissed, "an apple a day keeps the doctor away." Eve couldn't refute his logic, so she ate an apple, and she felt so much better that she gave one to Adam. At first, he wouldn't eat it, loyalty and obedience plaguing his conscience and all, but once Eve explained that by eating an apple they'd avoid having to go to the doctor and thus avoid paying for health care, he was onto that apple faster than you could say 'Nebuchadnezzar', which got God really mad, and there isn't anything as fearful as a really peeved God. "You're outa here buddies," he yelled, closing the gates on Eden, "and when you're on the verge of disaster in several thousand years, don't come asking me for help, 'cause you blew it bigtime!" Adam looked at Eve, and Eve looked at Adam, and they both looked at the serpent, and then the three of them walked (okay, well Adam and Eve walked and the serpent slithered) across the desert, their silhouettes dark against the setting crimson sun.