Just the other day, I was wandering about someplace and stumbled upon an old bloke with a long white beard sitting on a bench. I said, “Hello,” and he replied, “Hello, I’m God”.
“Well that’s interesting,” I said, humouring him. Not wanting to appear rude I asked, in the gentlest way possible, if he could prove it.
“Indeed I can,” he said, “what would you have me do?”
“Well, if you are God you know everything about everything so let’s start with something easy, how about you tell me what I’m going to do next.”
God looked at me sideways from beneath his bushy eyebrows, “How am I supposed to know, I gave you free will.”
“Fair enough,” I said, prepared to cut God a little slack, “so what can I get you to do that’ll prove you exist?”
“There is one thing which as far as I know is the only thing that can prove I exist.”
“Oh yes, and what is that pray?”
“You could get me to tell you that I don’t exist.” He got to his feet, rather unsteadily I thought and stepped up to the kerb.
“Oh, that’s deep,” I said, “God telling me that there is no God.” I spoke to his back as he peered up the road and down again, presumably checking to see if a car was coming. “So,” I continued, “you’re telling me that the only way for you to prove you exist is to declare that you don’t?”
“Well yes,” he said stepping from the pavement. “Me, God, who stands before you now clearly existing, telling you that I do not in fact exist proves that I actually do. Simple really.” His last words were drowned by a squeal of brakes and a sickening thud.
The old feller was killed by a white van that came out of nowhere. At the time of the accident, the driver was speaking angrily to the Child Support Agency on his mobile phone.