God's Sneeze
DB1: You bless you.
God: Thanks. Oh crap, I got hott/douche all over you. Sorry about that.
DB1: It’s okay. You’re God.
God: That’s true. I am God. Hope you don’t have too big a cleanup ahead of you.
DB1: Nah. I’ll just mock the scrote from a safe distance while drooling on the boobies.
God: It’s what I would do.
DB1: While I have you, God, explain to me the significance of the Ubiquitous Red Cup. Is it a clue to the higher mysteries of the universe? The key to unlocking the wrongness of hott/choad cohabitation?
God: It is everything. And it is nothing. And tribal tatts smell like poo.
DB1: Exactly. Thank you, God.
God: No problem. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have sixteen DJs hanging from my nose and need to go get a douchewipe.
DB1: Of course. I understand. Later, God.
And… scene.