“You try their minestrone. You’d have eaten those cookies, too.”
“Hey, I remember putting it in the laws that you are not to partake of carnal desires exactly so this sort of thing wouldn’t happen. I don’t even know where you get your appetite from.”
“Are you serious? You’re serious aren’t you? Death is the most human thing anyone can do and you’re telling me that I’m not supposed to have carnal desires because it's in the laws?! It’s right up there with birth and you know, ‘self-mutilation’! Everyone does it! God, seriously God, go to earth. I dare you to not go into a strip club. Dare you.”
“I could if I wanted to.”
“You're kidding. That’s your defense?”
“No really, I could. Think about it: I’m the Father of all Creation so if I go to a strip club it’s like watching one of my daughters strip. It’s pretty gross. And gross for you, too, after all the rotting flesh you’ve seen. Besides, you're like the Uncle of all Creation ... or is it Uncle once removed?”
“Did you see Sally’s rack?”
“I know, right? But this is about cookies.”
“Sweet tooth. Long hours.”
“You’ve seen what he’s done. He’s got an army now. Not really filling in your shoes like he was supposed to. He doesn't even know anything about the quotas. They're there for a reason, you know.”
“He’s a pubescent teenager who can’t drive and has the powers of death, plague and destruction in his hands. You’ve never been an adolescent, have you? You really need to get out more. You’d be leading a zombie army to conquer all of mankind too if you were fourteen and awkward.”
“Would not.”
“So would.”
“Huh-uh.”
“God.”
“What.”
“No, ‘god’, as in ‘sigh’.”
“Why do people do that?”
“Because everyone but you knows how frustrating you are.”
“Am not.”
“God.”
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