God clicked his fingers, his surfboard rose from the ashes, and he leapt aboard. “Mighty fine passing the time with you, ma’am. If you run into trouble on my turf, send me a wing and a prayer, you hear?” Crouching in a kung fu position, God surfed away. Mrs. Comb watched the divinity dwindle. “Aye. Well. I won’t be holding me breath.”
