Canadian Atheist is on its way to a complete recovery. Corwin missed posting so much he started talking to an imaginary friend:
[Grey, opalescent mist, suffused with a light reminiscent of breaking dawn. High, ethereal voices can be heard in the distance. A robed and bearded figure coalesces.]
God: Welcome, my child.
Canadian Atheist: What’s happening? Where is this place? And – who are you?
G: Fear not, little blog.
CA: I was working just fine, and then… and then… the Viagra advertising… the error messages…
G: Bitter was thy cup of suffering indeed.
CA: Hold on, I think know what’s going on here. I’m… I’m dead. The hackers killed me. This is heaven. And you’re God! I never believed – I’m so sorry – there just wasn’t enough evidence –
G: Thou art not yet called to my bosom.
CA [glancing cautiously at God’s chest]: I suppose that’s something.
G: Thy work in Cyberspace is not yet done. Repent, little blog, and sin no more! Thou hast scorned and denied me, and nurtured vipers that sting the very ankles of Devotion.
CA: I didn’t think devotion even had ankles. I won’t deny you any more, though, I promise. After all, I’m an empiricist, and here we both are. Thanks for, um, straightening me out on the question of your existence.
G: Rejoice in the majesty of the Lord thy God! Cease thy slanders against the holy faith, and let thine every post ring unto heaven with praise of mine glory! Guide men unto the straight and narrow path that is strewn with thorns-
CA: To be clear, just men? Or women, too?
G: Women too, but not the damned Philistines, who stand accursed in my sight. Blessed are the cheesemakers, and neither a borrower nor a lender be –
CA: I’ll never remember all this. Could I, ah, borrow a pen and notepad? Terribly old-fashioned, I know, but at least it can’t be hacked.
G [paying no attention]: Thou wilt be a prophet unto the nations and a scourge unto the infidel. Bountiful shall be thy traffic, and voluble thy comment threads. The benighted multitudes of Canada shall follow thee into repentance and godliness and there shall be much rejoicing, especially in certain Tory circles.
CA: You mean my content might – might go viral?
G: And there shall be much rejoicing!
[The light begins to fade, and the ethereal voices grow less distinctly audible.]
CA: What’s happening?
G [faintly]: It is time for thee to return to the profane world below. Sing my praises, keepeth my sabbath, and remember thou the secret of true and eternal happiness, which is simply… [fades into incomprehensible mumbling]
CA: Speak up, God, please! I want to post this for my readers. And could I get a quick photo, or maybe even a short video clip of you addressing the whole Euthyphro issue in two minutes or less? And what about Pascal’s Wager? The ontological argument? Hell, even the anthropic principle? If you could briefly explain why you do allow evil and suffering to be so prevalent in the world, and why the writings you’ve inspired over the millennia are so incoherent and self-contradictory, I’m sure my traffic would go through the bloody –
[The scene changes abruptly. We see the plain white plaster of a ceiling, partly occluded by the looming figure of a doctor in full surgical regalia.]
Doctor: Thank God, I thought we’d lost you.
CA [hazily]: I was thanking God just a minute ago, actually. For, I guess, showing me that he was really there. And for not calling me to his bosom, which didn’t look like an especially appealing place to hang out. I’m supposed to publish posts about him from now on, but he didn’t give me much content. It was my fault, really – I didn’t think to ask for a statement about Euthyphro until it was too late.
D: Sounds like you’ve had one hell of a near-death experience, courtesy of the hackers and Viagra merchants.
CA: Near-death experience? They sometimes involve hallucinations, don’t they.
D: Yes, but if you actually saw God, I think you might want to –
CA: I get it now. All I saw was a projection of my own muddled and incomplete knowledge of Judaeo-Christian mythology, mixed up with a little dash of Hamlet and Monty Python! None of it meant a damn thing. I don’t have to sing anyone’s praises, bless the cheesemakers, or detest the Philistines! You’d better let me out of here, doctor, because I feel fine and I’ve got a job to do. Now, what have Jesus & Mo been up to while I was, so to speak, water-skiing on the River Styx?