Just before being born again, I’d like to meet and converse with this god:
[Apparition appears to me in the dark void of the pre-birth holding dimension]
Tibby: God, is that you?
God: Yo, Tibby, my main man! Wassup?
Tibby: Well, I’m a little scared about this whole being born thing. What’s my life going to be like? How responsible do I have to be? What if I make a lot of mistakes. Make bad choices. Forget to put the toilet seat down…
God: Don’t you worry about a thing, Tibbs, I got you covered. I’m your wing man. I’ll be looking over your shoulder all the time. Well, not really all the time…I got no interest in seeing you pinch loaves on the toilet, or beating your bishop, or any number of disgusting things you’re certainly going to do.
Tibby: I can live with that. Keep an eye on me, but not too close an eye, eh? That’s cool
God: Well, I mean, I may be a lookie-loo when you’re scoring with the ladies and such, just to make sure everything is on the up and up, you understand.
Tibby: Ah…a voyeur, eh?
God: [blush] guilty as charged.[/blush]
Tibby: How harshly will I be punished for all the mistakes and indiscretions I’ll no doubt make throughout the course of my life?
God: You’ll never be punished for anything you do!
Tibby: Say wha!?! How can that be?
God: Well, you see Tibbs, I’ve made this universe 100% deterministic. I’ve got everything all mapped out, including each and every thing you will ever do? You will never have to say, mea culpa. It’s all deus culpa, dude!
Tibby: Hey, I like that! But, if I have no say in the unfolding of my life, I’m totally at your mercy for my life’s fulfillment and satisfaction, right? That’s kind of frightening.
God: Dude, don’t you worry about a thing. I got you covered. I like you. I got a kick-ass life programmed for you, dig?
God: Remember, I’ve been partying with the likes of Jimi Hendrix…and Janice Joplin…and Jimmy Dean…and Rodney Dangerfield…and Abe Vigoda—bruh, I known fun! Oh, man, I’d love to tell you all the shit you’re gonna get into, but I won’t spoil the fun!
Tibby: …well, hell’s bells! That does sound pretty damned good. Sign me up to be next born!
God: Here you go, sign here…
Tibby: How come there’s a pitch fork and a goat on your letterhead?
God: Don’t worry about it, son, just sign your name…