God: You again.
Me: [shamefaced nod]
God: Okay. What's up?
Me: Well, now there's this odd swelling on my left ankle, and the foot hurts. I'm thinking it might be the bone edema again. Also this. [indicates stomach] Hurts. It might be from the pain med for the shingles.
God: Ah yes. Now I remember you. That was what, last month?
Me: [nods vigorously] That's right. And I'm not over that.
God: [nods sympathetically.] I got you the pain med.
Me: And don't think I'm not grateful.
God: How can I help you, then? There's no warranty, you know.
Me: I know, I know. I mean, it does seem you ought to get over one thing before...
God: Does it?
Me: I mean who designed this anyway?
God: Don't ask.
Me: [sigh] Anyway, I was thinking, maybe I'm ready to talk about a trade-in. Trading up. I mean, I must have some Reward points. Maybe something with heated leather seats.
God: [slowly shakes head]
Me: It doesn't work that way, does it? . . . Okay. What can I choose? Country, maybe?
Me: Gender? Built-in longevity? Intelligence?
God: No. Sorry. Your soul - if you have one, I don't know, you're a Unitarian and a Buddhist, aren't you, I'd have to check your records. Your soul, if you have one, lands wherever it does. Luck of the draw. One poor guy last week, he wasn't paying attention and he ended up an embryo in a pig.
Me: Sounds boring.
God: You have no idea.
Me: What if I don't have a soul?
God: Ah, yes. Then zap you're gone. Your parts, we can call them pixels, go all over the place. You come up as a buttercup, a drop of water. You might like it.
Me: Well, I guess I need to think about this.
God: Take your time. I'm not going anywhere. Any more questions, you know who to call.