"Man, I need a freaking drink." - The Essence of Survival, I/2
Build a cosmic bar where sufficiently chill gods can hang out. Then get a drink in said bar.
"Oh, and hey, void dude. I can't speak for the other gods, but all I want is just a place to be, with some actually sane, mortal people. You know yourself you can't prevent that from happening, right? Life will prosper and blossom, inside this void, I'm afraid. Fate wills it. Best learn to deal with it.
Perhaps it wouldn't have hurt to ask you before all this, but I wasn't exactly around for that, and now my job description is keeping life down here alive... you and me, we sit on opposite ends of this one. Great shame.
Anyway, where was I? Oh, right, it shouldn't really be a problem for you to tolerate this world. Look at it this way. Imagine that this universe is your couch, an infinite couch, and you're chilling on it, spread all over it so that there's no more space for anyone else to get on the couch and watch TV with you and munch popcorn and stuff. Now, we're in here - and all that I want, at least, is a finite amount of space on that couch. It's a comfy couch, you see. That's totally not a problem for you, your infinite space stays infinite but I can also sit and get some rest, but instead you're acting like I hammered a red hot footlong nail into your digestive tract and trying to shove us off. Cue disproportionate retribution, disproportionate retribution to that disproportionate retribution and, bam, we have a cosmic war. As far as I'm concerned, there's two options now. Either guarantee us that infinestimally small space on the couch in exchange for us respecting your borders, or just get us a second couch. That'd probably be the better way, even - you get your couch, and we get our couch, and everybody promises to keep to their own couch, and everyone's happily having a great evening. But if you don't have a second couch, I'm here to stay. After all, I'm God of Survival now."