GOD: Well, it looks like the USA, My favorite nation, is about to get its freedom-loving panties in a wad over abortion rights this summer.
JESUS: Your favorite nation? You mean “the nation I bitch about the most,” don’t you?
GOD: Yes, hijo. That was sarcasm. You’ve always been kind of immune to it. No, the Americans have been annoying me for centuries. They started out well, being founded by a bunch of agnostics, although mostly they were agnostic because they didn’t want Me disapproving of them having sex with their slaves. Then they got taken over by all kinds of born-agains and Mormons. Their latest thing is the Rapture. What, I’m going to suck up all of them at once? All of them with a church bake-sale cake in one hand and an AR-15 in another? That’d be a shit day at the front desk, wouldn’t it?
JESUS: My You, yes. But I’ll be glad when they ban abortion. A big fat Amen to that, Pop.
GOD: Ain’t gonna happen, boy. There’s already 8 billion people on Earth already. Anything to minimize their numbers, I’m all over it. Not that anything seems to work. That fellow Covid had a great sales pitch, but what did he really accomplish? Just more begging to Me to spare the lives of anti-vaxxers. Why do humans think I have a special obligation to save the stupid? I sent the Prophet Darwin to them a century and a half ago to clear that up. That didn’t work. You know it’s the endless prayers ringing in my ears that blows my Eternal High. People will bother me about anything from land mines to Minecraft.
JESUS: You know you put in that special negative pressure system to keep prayers from penetrating into here, so you don’t have to listen to them.
GOD: Yes, and it costs a fortune. And You keep forgetting to turn it off when You leave.
JESUS: You’re such a cheap-ass, sometimes. Anyway, the sooner they ban abortions, the happier I’ll be.
GOD: And whose fault is your abortion problem? “Suffer the little children to come unto Me?” Who said that? Sure, it was back when you were turning way too much water into wine, but words have consequences, my Son. It’s not my fault you’re surrounded by the souls of aborted fetuses. You asked for it.
JESUS: Oh, You, and do they itch. All the little fluttering's from their proto-limbs and blind eyes drive me crazy. It’s like standing under a porch light in South Carolina in the summertime.
GOD: You do seem to be under quite a cloud of them, now. Why don’t you go take a shower?
JESUS: Don’t you think I take a dozen a day? You know Mary Magdalene won’t lay a finger on me until I scrub them off?
GOD: Don’t let your Mother know that. She’d just laugh. You know how she feels about that girl.
JESUS: Well, she’ll be happy to know I’ve been side-chicking Joan of Arc. That smoky smell she gives off seems to repel them.
GOD: Well, good luck. I don’t know if you’ll like this, but I’m sending that old bastard Alioto to Hell, anyway. Let him think it’s for staring up Amy Barrett’s robes, for all I care.
JESUS: (scratching) No skin off my resurrected ass. Or Mom’s either. He prays to Her, like all the other You damn Catholics.
GOD: Yep, that’s one good thing about the Catholics. Between Her and that bunch of rummy old saints they make statues of, Catholic prayers to Me are considerably reduced. Another great thing about Catholics is that they never seem surprised when they end up in Hell. Alioto will fit right in.