Dear Alan,
God here. Listen old son, I hope you don’t mind me butting in like this but I’ve been looking in on your efforts to proselytise for me and, while I appreciate the effort, I can’t help but feel that some friendly advice from above wouldn’t come amiss. See, your problem here is that the arguments you’re trying to convert people are rubbish, and worse still those people know that they’re rubbish. Yeah I know they might fly with the very young or the very gullible, but you’re really going to have to up your game here if you want people with critical faculties to take me seriously. Capiche? Good.
Now then, I’m sorry to have to break this to you but it’s come to my attention too that there are some folks who could be persuadable – you know, people who if they were given some good enough reasons would come to believe in my existence. Thing is though, when they see people like you attempt to proselytise with all the reasoning ability of a breeze block well, I’m sorry to say that some of them tar all my little sunbeams with the same brush of utter wrongness and you’re actually putting them off ever believing in my divine wonderfulness.
I know right, disaster! There’s you thinking you’re doing my work, and actually all you’re really doing is giving old uncle Nick a leg up in popularity stakes!
So listen, do me a favour willya? Just shape up or ship out. Find something to persuade these folks that any averagely educated twelve-year-old wouldn’t see through in a heartbeat, or maybe try something else to do like leprechaun spotting or something.
Now you’ll have to excuse me I’m afraid – I’ve got a couple of tsunamis to fire up and loads of babies to give malaria to so I’ll take my leave for now.
All best, your pal God.