A Funny Conversation with that Kooky Intelligent Designer
It was about four in the morning, the usual time for me to wake up with an idea, a solution, a question, or some gas. But this was no ordinary wake up call. I was contacted by the big guy himself. At least I think I was. You see, I have been mulling over this whole Intelligent Design stuff for a year now. And finally, I got my answer but I never expected to get it from the Designer’s mouth.
Here is the transcript of our conversation as best I can recall.
“Hey Crane wake up.”
“What? Who’s there? Who’s talking to me?”
“Are you awake?”
“What? I hear choirs.”
“Hold on. Let me turn down my iPod. There. Is that better?”
“Yeah. Who are you? Where are you? I want you to know I am a practitioner of the seven death blows. I can and will kill you!”
I was making it up. Who was I kidding? I watch Project Runway.
“That won’t be necessary. I bring you no harm. I’m the guy responsible for Intelligent Design.”
“Oh that’s nice. What’s your name?”
I couldn’t tell where the voice was coming from. It seemed to surround me. I fumbled for the lights. They didn’t work. I checked the radio. It was dead. The dog continued to sleep leaving to me to believe this was all taking place in my head.
“Never you mind my name. I’m the big Designer.”
“Hold on a second. It can’t be. God is that you?”
“No. It’s the cable guy. Yes it’s me! I’ve given you the answer to your question, now take it to Robertson!”
“But why me? Why are ya tellin’ me? I mean, you know, I haven’t exactly been what you might call a big fan of yours recently.”
“Yeah, I know that. Consider it a blessing of sorts; a reaching out; an olive branch if you will.”
“If you want to bless me, find me an agent or publisher. Get me a spot on Oprah for Christ’s sa”
“Yo!”
“Um … oh yeah, sorry.”
“No problem. It’s just a sensitive issue that’s all. And as far as your request is concerned, good luck. Even I can’t find a good agent.”
“Hey, wait a minute. How do I know you’re God? This could be my subconscious playing a cruel trick on me. You sure don’t sound like God.”
“Thou hast cast from thyself a rife and great shadow in the midst of attestation and advisement fore with thine glory who hath spoken unto thee revealing the holiest of intelligence and design to instilleth! How about them apples?”
“Holy cow! You are God.”
“Bingo!”
“Hey, how come you use to talk like that? Nothin’ for nothin’, I’ve gotta tell ya, nobody understood a word you said. Everyone’s runnin’ around saying they know you best. It’s a mess around here.”
“First of all I had nothing to do with the Bible or Koran or any other manual. They were all written by a bunch of men filled with their big ideas and high brow language skillsthe self-serving nudniks. And secondly, like I said, I couldn’t find a good agent.”
“Well maybe you should consider giving us the word now. Thought about using a good Holy Ghost writer? I’d suggest Stephen King but he might take some liberties with Satan and the Fire and the Brimstone. How about John Grisham? He writes clearly, he’d be pretty good; besides, he’s a former attorney and could keep everything you have to say on the up and up.”
“I don’t like lawyers. They were a mistake along with talk radio.”
“Wow. Imagine that! God made mistakes.”
“Believe you me, I made plenty but I’m not getting into that! Listen, I don’t have a lot of time. Are ya or aren’t ya going to tell Robertson?”
“Well, how come you don’t talk to him yourself? I mean you’re always telling him who’s sick in Pagetown Ohio and stuff.”
“Say what?”
“Yeah, he’s always telling people you told him they’re healed and to stop their dialysis or their medication and stuff.”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
“Oh no. Ya mean you’re not talking to him. Jesus Chri”
“Yo!”
“I mean, darn! There must be hundreds of people he has healed. Or killed I guess.”
“He’s nuts! I’ve never talked to him.”
“What about Benny Hinn, Jerry Falwell, Tony Robbins, Mayor Nagin?”
“Mayor who?”
“Come on. You’re kidding right? The mayor from New Orleans.”
“Why am I talkin’ to him?”
“I don’t know why? It was your hurricane!”
“What hurricane?”
“Katrina? Dah!”
“I have nothing to do with the weather. It is what it is.”
“Ya mean the tsunami wasn’t a message to the Muslims?”
“What tsunami? What the hell is goin’ on here?”
“Robertson said you told him it was a message.”
“It was a big wave. It was a big wave because the ocean floor had an adjustment. What do ya want from me already?”
“So you are tellin’ me you haven’t talked to Pat Robertson?”
“Who’s Pat Robertson?”
“The guy you want me to tell all your big design secrets to.”
“I mean that new Supreme Court fellow, John Robertson.”
“You mean John Roberts?”
“Roberts, Robertson, whatever.”
“Whatever? Ya see what I’m talkin’ about. You’re kind of blasé about your instructions.”
“Got a lot on my mind okay.”
“Like what?”
“Like I have this new project and I’m trying a few minor tweeks so that if life takes hold and evolution starts up that it will stop with the apes and dolphins will develop hands and reading skills. It’s when you damn humans come into the picture that all the trouble starts. And it keeps happening over and over again. And I’m runnin’ out of space, so to speak, out here! It’s enough to make a grown god cry I tell ya.”
“Aha! So there is evolution!”
“Hello … of course there is. That’s the whole design: a little predictability, a little chaos, some survival of the fittest. That’s the plan. What do ya think? I just throw down a man here, a rib over there, and a few penguins in for fun? Come on. Think Bobby think!”
“You’re startin’ to sound like my mother.”
“Speakin’ of which, you know you should have listened to her more.”
“Yeah, I knowthank you very much. So let me get this straight. You are claiming to be the Intelligent Designer and the design is evolution.”
“Bingo again!”
“What’s with you and bingo?”
“Great game! Gave it to the Catholics you know!”
“No I don’t know but what I do know is that you are kind of kooky.”
“Yeah, tell me about it. You’d be too if you had all these things going on.”
“So what’s the issue on the new project that has you all in a knot?”
“I already told you. I haven’t found a way to stop humans from evolving. Every time they do, the planet is eventually destroyed. The closest I came to getting the right mix was a planet where the humans had both sex organs. They called themselves Phmales. Everything was looking pretty good until they discovered they could be their own sex partner. That created some serious inbreeding issues. And talk about same sex marriage. How about marrying yourself? It was a disaster, truthfully.”
“Wow! And you want me to tell John Roberts all this stuff.”
“Just tell him that I am the intelligent designer and the design engine is evolution. Tell him that I got the wheels in motion, and it’s up to you guys to keep them moving. Tell him, I’ve got no llama in this race.”
“But I have to ask again. Why me? And why tell John Roberts?”
“You both seem like good guys; like you could work well together.”
“But he’s a pretty serious Christian and I’m kind of a lowly humanist.”
“Yeah and your point would be?”
“Well, humanists are considered atheists in many Christian circles and atheists don’t make great messengers for God.”
“Are you and atheist?”
“I don’t know right now. I like to keep my options open. Besides, look who I think I’m talking to. Like I’m gonna to tell you I’m agnostic or something.”
“Well whether you are or aren’t, it doesn’t matter. The mistake humans make is that they place this blind faith in me, as if I have plans to do something, to save them, whatever that means. That I listen to their prayers or, what did you tell me earlier, send tsunamis as a message. I’m not into that. As I said before, what you see is what you get. WYSIWYG bigtime! You are on your own unfortunately and that is why I have to fix the formula.”
“So all that talk about Revelations and the Rapture and all?”
“That was no message of mine. Talk to the folks at King James publishing.”
“And you didn’t talk things over with President Bush about going into Iraq?”
“I have to laugh. You call me wacky! I don’t talk to anyone much anymore. I used to. But it always ended up wrong. A lot of killing in my name. So I disconnected my phone. Let’s see the last time I talked to someone was Gandhi. Now he got it right.”
“Wow. And now you are talking to me. Jerry, Dubya and Pat aren’t going to like this. I just want to be double sure I heard this right, you don’t mind humanists?”
“Look humanists revel in the “goodliness” humans have. It is the only evolutionary weapon you have to work with quite honestly. It doesn’t matter that you believe in me; like I said, wouldn’t do you any good anyway. But by believing in “goodliness”, you in essence believe in me, after all “goodliness” is just “godliness” spelled with an extra “o” for “good” measure.”
“Oh, that’s cute God.”
“Yeah, kind of like it myself.”
“And why me? Why not talk to Roberts directly?”
“Too risky. It might make him think I’ve been talking to him all along. I don’t want it to go to his head.”
“So you want me to talk to him.”
“Yeah. You know that deal with Gandhi? Well I didn’t really talk to him directly. I got a hold of some sheep herder, Raataahaninghianna. He took care of it. That seemed to work. This is the same idea.”
“I see. Kinda like that movie, “Oh God”, with John Denver.”
“Didn’t see it.”
“Yeah, I think George Burns played you.”
“Nice choice. He’s funny.”
“You know, you really are out there.”
“That’s what I’m talking about.”
“So, you don’t care that I’m a humanist.”
“Could care less. I’m not the least bit interested.”
Swept up in the moment, it occurred to me I had an opportunity to ask the million dollar question.
“Can I ask you one last thing?”
“Make it quick. Gotta a super nova planned in an hour.”
“What happens after we die?”
“It’s a god damn mystery ain’t it?”
He chuckles. God chuckles. Ain’t that a hoot. I pressed on.
“Yeah, it sure is. But sadly, I pretty much think promises of answers are at the root of a lot of what goes wrong here.”
“Yup, ya might be right. Look, I wish I had the answer for you, but I’d have to be like 250 times smarter than Einstein and da Vinci and the rest to answer that one. I’m probably only 150 times smarter, 175 tops.”
He laughed. God laughs. He’s a pip, he is. I continued.
“So anyway, that’s it? You want me to tell John Roberts about Intelligent Design and Evolution? Again, the reason why John Roberts would be …”
“Well, it’s just a suggestion. He is after all the most important judge on your planet. I think that is a good start to getting this evolution and “goodliness” idea back on track. Make it clear that I’m not on anyone’s side. You’re headed for disaster if you do. I know, he could put it all in the Constitution.”
God stopped for a moment. The dog continued to snore. I pinched myself. He continued on.
“And while you’re at it tell him I said to forget that marriage amendment crap. Phmales tried to do the same thing and it didn’t work so well. Besides, sexual orientation is all a result of design and shouldn’t be punished by stupid human fears. Damn humans!”
“Now you want amendments to the Constitution. It doesn’t really work like that. But hey, if you think it’s a good idea, I’ll send him an email and await his response, although I’m not holding my breath.”
“I can hold my breath a long time. Just do what you can.”
“Do what I can”
“You know Bob, I’m thinking you’re right. I need to get this place back on message. Remind me again, who was that Holy Ghost writer you suggested before?”
“John Grisham.”
“A good fella is he?”
“I wouldn’t know. He is a lawyer remember.”
“Yeah, that troubles me. Well what about you? Maybe you could be my Holy Ghost writer.”
“Are ya sure you want me to be your writer? A humanist?”
“Sure why not. You don’t have an agenda.”
“I mean no disrespect but I really do think you are nuts.”
“You have a business card?”
“You’re kiddin’ me?”
“All right, I’ll tell ya what. I’ll mull it over during the Super Nova and drop you an email.”
“Sure whatever. Just get me an agent. You know … during your breaks with the Nova project. And speaking of Nova, could you kinda help Villanova in the NCAAs this March?”
“You’re pushing your luck little man.”
“I’ll settle for the final four.”
“Don’t hold your breath. Will catcha later. Ta ta.”
“Yeah. Later.”
Here is what has happened since:
Sent the transcript to NPR hoping to get an email address for John Roberts.
Holding my breath.
Awaiting NSA agents at the door soon.
No email from God yet to greenlight our project.
No agent.
No calls from Oprah.
Not real reliable, I’d say.
This article was sritten by humorist Robert Crane. If you like it, please visit his free, wildly popular website: http://www.cranelegs.com
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