Paris Portingale speaks with God again and asks him about smiting and learns an important lesson. Consider this a warning. [Do not read Part One, it went nowhere.]
I was speaking to God again this other time. It was at night, around 10:15 p.m. He usually comes in the evening. You have to be careful because one minute you’re alone and then suddenly he’s there. I mean, you could be doing anything. You could be wanking into a sock.
Anyway, I said to him, “Mathew Davidson doesn’t believe in you.”
He said, “Why?”
I said, “I don’t know, he didn’t tell me. So, what are you going to do about it? Are you going to smite him?”
He said, “No.”
I said, “Do you want me to smite him?”
He said, “No.”
“So, you’re going to let him get away with it? Not believing in you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Fair enough. If it’s any comfort, a lot of people think, because my name’s Paris, I’m a woman. Because of Paris Hilton. It used to be a good name, but then she ruined it.”
“I know, you told me that before.”
“Any chance of smiting her?”
“Just a little?”
“Do you even smite anymore? I can’t remember seeing anything about it in the news, like, forever.”
“Yes, I still smite.”
“Who was the last person you smited?”
“Okay, who’s the last person you smote?”
“You wouldn’t know them.”
“Look, I can’t give out names, okay?”
“Why? Is it like a doctor/patient thing?
“I can’t tell you.”
“I can’t tell you that either.”
He left shortly after that.
So anyway, Mathew Davidson, if you’re reading this, better watch your back, man, God’s still smiting.
Next Week: Talks with God, Part Three