IT'S TIME FOR another conversation between Your Favorite Columnist and God.
YFC: Hello? Anyone home? This big hall is so empty.
God: I am here, sonny.
YFC: I can't see anything, just a voice that sounds like Morgan Freeman. Or is it George Burns?
God: Heh-heh. I have my invisible cloak on. It is more fun than a Lower Merion school computer camera. Wait a sec. OK, turn around, sonny.
YFC: There you are! Why are you in that?
God: Baggy white T-shirt, Timberlands and droopy pants? I want to get jiggy wit' it.
YFC: You were in a white robe the last time we talked.
God: It itches.
YFC: Got it, dude.
God: Do not call the deity "dude," sonny. As for the robe, different people see me in different ways. Like Michael Vick. Um, Did you bring me something from Termini's?
YFC: Oh! I forgot the cannolis. Sorry.
God: No problem. I can get anything I want with a snap of my fingers. Do not even have to snap, really. I just think something and - poof! - it is done. I learned a lesson to be careful when I accidentally created the Flood. See, I had to pee and . . .
YFC: Whoa! You're back in the robe. How did you do that?
God: It is like I am David Copperfield, right? You want me to vanish a 747?
YFC: Are you a magician or a miracle worker?
God: You are from Philly? You think Ruben Amaro, nice kid, got Cliff Lee without my help?
YFC: OMG! Can I print that?
God: Knock yourself out.
YFC: I always wanted to know, once I get into heaven, am I stuck for eternity wearing the suit I was buried in?
God: What makes you think you are going to heaven?
YFC: What? Am I . . .
God: Badda bing. Relax, sonny. I did not say you are not going to heaven, but I will not say what happens when you move off the grid.
YFC: Move off the grid? What kind of jive talk is that?
God: People do not fancy the "dead" word, but I am trying to be hip, is all, like P-Dollar Store Diddy. Is that his handle this week? What an all-star goofball!
YFC: If I'm not going through the Pearly Gates, there are a few scores I'd like to settle.
God: That kind of thinking will block your entry, but you put your finger on why society needs to fear the Almighty, yours truly.
YFC: I was just kidding about settling scores.
God: Yeah, and I am Charles Barkley. I leave the call about who gets into heaven to my HR guy, St. Peter. Nice fella. If you want to help your case, bring Tastykakes. He's a sucker for butterscotch krimpets.
YFC: Wouldn't that be a bribe?
God: A person has to eat.
YFC: You were talking about how the fear of God helps keep people on the right path. Not everyone believes that.
YFC: The American Humanist Association is running ads again telling people to be good for the sake of being good.
God: Interesting. Where do they think the concept of good comes from? Tinker Bell? Ray Nitschke? By "good" I mean morally good, not good like Termini pastries.
YFC: You're kind of stuck on Termini.
God: Have you tried the sfogliatelle? It is to die for. Oops. Did not mean to say "die."
YFC: You were talking about the concept of good. What about the nature of evil?
God: You mean the New York Yankees?
YFC: The Yankees? George Steinbrenner died in July. Did he, is he in heaven?
God: Not allowed to say.
YFC: No? Who's the boss of you? You make all the rules.
God: Right. And my rule is, I am not talking about Steinbrenner. Is that clear, sonny?
YFC: OK, don't snap out. Say - do I smell sulfur?
God: It is a Steinbrenner hint.
YFC: Got it. Anything else on your mind?
YFC: My God!
YFC: Another thing. What about the whole City Hall Christmas Village flap?
God: Philly changed "Holiday Village" back to "Christmas Village" and a week later got Cliff Lee. You think that was a coincidence, sonny? I do not hold a grudge, but St. Peter - that's a different matter. He is a hardass.
YFC: How about a final thought for the holiday season - and not Termini, OK?
God: Simple, sonny. Treat others as you wish to be treated. And - sorry - try Termini's sfogliatelle. You won't be sorry. Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year.
E-mail email@example.com or call 215-854-5977. For recent columns: