Having my way with Ulysses

The mystical finesse involved was a bit out of his sublunary depth.

Ready the bone wax. Metzenbaum scissors. Get that cat out of here. Ready to close.
1:25 am

Jesus: [With a smile of unbelief] Dad, not to sound too pompous but your soul implantation technique is unsurpassed and will probably make your name live beyond eternity.

God: Probably?

Jesus: Too wishy washy. Forget the probably. Are you ready to close?

God: Not until after the breath of life, this is no simple soul. Well it is, but you know what I mean.

Jesus: I shouldn’t think simple is the proper word.

God: No? Give me a little sweat on my upper lip. Ok remove sweat. No no, the soul is simple, it has no contrary, and corruption is found only where there is contrariety. And since it is the recipient of my life giving breath, well.

Jesus: Goes without saying.

God: Exactly.

Jesus: Still, no one can give what he hasn’t got. I believe you are supernatural!

God: None of that, now, everything aspires to being after its own manner. Come to think of it, we might want to revise that into holy writ. Sounds good, no? Get some monks on that. Here, help me stuff the soul into there.

Jesus: Like that?

God: No, put your back into it. Good.

Jesus: Maybe we should say a few words to the soul before we close?

God: Good idea. In Dillman’s Grove my love did die and now in ground shall ever lie. None could ere replace her visage, until your face brought thoughts of kissage. Right. Good? Ready to close. 10 blade scalpel. Sponge stick. Scat! Damn cats around here. Cranial screw top. Check for stripping. Now all we can do is wait.