The following document you are about to read is a transcript of a recording taken by the Russian satellite Spufamov. In what can only be described as an unprecedented example of eavesdropping on a cosmic level, the powerful sensors of the Spufamov – originally built to monitor potential alien transmissions – has succeeded in recording a conversation between a man named Bob McDougleson and God. That's right, God.
I mean, Christ! This is big, big news. The other editors and I, here at The Atheist Review, would just like to take this moment to announce our resignations to this now woefully defunct publication and to also proclaim our newfound faith and loyalty to the creator. As you can probably imagine, we have whole lot of time to make-up for as well as a whole lot of ass to kiss. Is it a sin to say ass?
Anyway, for this, our final issue, we would like to present to you, our beloved but equally hell-bound readership, the conversation between Bob and God. There are still hours and hours of un-transcribed audio, so be sure to keep an eye on fanfiction.net for any future conversations.
God save us all… please?
John T. Wilcott
(Man's scrambled voice in the distance)
Voice #1: W-w-wha? Where am I? Where— Huh? What's going on? Martha?
Voice #2: Welcome my son.
Voice #1: … Who's there? … Mom?
Voice #2: No my son, I am not your mother. It is I, your Father.
Voice #1: Ah well Christ, dad! Why didn't you tell me it was you in the first place? Jesus! Where the hell are we? What's all this fog doing here? What's going on?
Voice #2: No, my son, I am not yo—
Voice #1: I mean, I can't even see my feet… or the ground for that matter… Anyway, how's mom doing, pops? Still got that hernia?
Voice #2: Bob McDougleson?
Bob: Yeah, dad?
Voice #2: I – am God.
(Trumpets in the distance)
Bob: … So… You're… God?
God: Yes, my son.
Bob: So that means I'm…
God: Yes. You have finally disregarded your earthly altar and returned to that from which you came. Welcome home, my son.
Bob: … (sigh)… I'm dead, then?
God: Reborn, my son.
Bob: Um, how'd I go, um, Lord?
God: God will suffice.
Bob: Ok, uh, God? How'd I die?
Bob: Really? Wow… where'd it happen?
God: Uh, are you sure you want to know?
Bob: Oh, yes please. I mean, the last thing I can remember was going to the can and kinda having a tough time doing my business, if you know what I mean. Actually, scratch that, you probably don't. Well anyways, it was a real fighter, God, let me tell you. Really had to put a lot of effort into it, though you probably can't relate… or can you?
Bob: Anyway, one minute I'm in the bathroom, the next I'm here. I mean how can I go from grunting on the can—
Bob: — to heaven? I mean…
Bob: Kind of undignified, eh God?
God: I've seen worse.
Bob: (sigh) Well, I had a good run. Martha alright?
God: Oh, she's in heaven. I received her right before you came in.
Bob: What?! Martha's dead?! How?!
God: Well, you know how you had that habit of smoking while in the bathroom? Well…
Bob: Oh, God! I set the house on fire?
God: Unfortunately… yes. But fret not, my son—
Bob: Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God! (gasp) What will her father say?
God: — Martha is fine. She's actually quite happy to be here. She's having tea with her parents right now.
Bob: (sniff) Really?
God: Would I lie to you, my son?
Bob: No… I guess not… Hey… Wait, if that were true, wouldn't I be the first to die?
God: Did you… just question me?
Bob: Oh! Um, well, don't take it the wrong way, God. It's just that., um… well, could you explain to me how that could be? It's kind of important to me.
God: Fine. Well, if you must know, while you were in the bathroom, doing your thing, you didn't just suffer a heart-attack from the, uh, "strain", you actually succeeded in causing yourself to faint from it…
God: Oh, yes. You keeled over right on the john, dropping your cigarette in the waste-basket and starting the fire that would char-broil you and your wife.
Bob: Kind of like that episode in King of the Hill…
God: Yes, quite humorous… Anyway, you're right, you did catch fire first, but like I said, that's not what killed you. Yes, you were burned like a human tortilla but by some miracle that had absolutely nothing to do with me, you survived long after Martha went up in smoke.
Bob: Kind of insensitive there, God…
God: Well, it's not like you don't deserve it, Bob. Anyway, the truly amazing part is that you not only survived the intense heat and pain of being burned alive but it didn't even wake you up. The heart-attack was triggered by the sudden blaring of your broken fire alarm. Kind of ironic, actually.
Bob: And does Martha know what happened?
Bob: And she's not mad, you say?
God: I'd say more amused than anything else. She said that it was just like you to get you both killed in such an idiotic and protracted manner.
Bob: Yep, that sounds like her. Always using big words… Thanks, God.
God: No problem. Now, on to business. Judgment time, mortal.
Bob: What? You mean I'm not in heaven yet?
God: Uh, no. You're kind of at the gates, so to speak. Oh, you thought you'd get into heaven just like that?
God: (sniffs) Oh, mercy! Good me, no!
Bob: Oh… kind of a tease there, God.
God: SILENCE! THE ALMIGHTY DOES NOT TEASE! BOW BEFORE MY RIGHTEOUS MIGHT!
Bob: OH GOD!
God: That's right.