Dring.. Dring.. Dring..
Hello. May I speak with God please?
Sorry. He’s not available at the moment. This is Saint Peter here. May I be of assistance?
Howya, Pete. It’s Grandad.
Ah, Grandad! I won’t ask how you are because we already know. I know God would love a chat but He’s very busy at the moment.
It is a bit. Twenty eight of our main servers crashed earlier while trying to compute Dubya’s sins, misdemeanours, immoralities and other such infractions.
Wow! But I thought you lot were all powerful and all knowing and didn’t need computers?
Normally, yes, but Dubya was beyond even our powers. God is down there at the moment, up to His oxters in cables and disk drives. The language is foul.
I’ll bet. By the way, thanks for the snow this morning. It was very pretty.
You’re more than welcome. We’re arranging a bit of sunshine now as you’ll be going to the village later.
Yup. Is there a message I can pass on?
Yes. Could you just tell God that that was a brilliant piece of marksmanship yesterday. A moving target and all..
Ha ha! We all had a great laugh at that one. It made Bertie crap himself, but you won’t hear about that on the news.
Great stuff! It’ll teach him to go by train next time.
I’ll pass on your congratulations anyway. He’ll be delighted.
Not half as delighted as we were.