God: Yeah, it’s me again. What I told you ‘bout dis ‘lection bidness?
“JB”: (cough cough) I gotta finish the job. (cough cough.)
God: Job, my ass. You ain’t done nuttin’ but eat ice cream cones, spend money dat don’t exist, and sniff up every chile come near you.
“JB”: No, you don’t understand! I’m defending democracy.
God: Oh yeah? Since when my will subject to some pissant caucus? In my mansion dey’s many doors, and this one is da exit, son. What I say, go. And when I say, ‘go,’ dat mean you git yo’self gone! I done wrote the letter and you signin’ on da dotted line right now.
“JB”: What if I won’t?
God: I’ma have to smite yo’ ass.
“JB”: Well, since you put it that way. . . but, say, do you happen to also have that pardon document we talked about. . .?
