I mean really, even Jewish girls don’t date Him, He’s got foreskin. Let’s look at His record if you are tempted (careful that could get you into Purgedville):
Forget dinner at Lobster King … just forget it, it ain’t happening. Think more along the lines of Haggis barbecued on a bush (crossing your legs is advised).
If it works out you will end up with fratricidal twins.
You get suckered into building a boat for Him, not Gibbs, and even he’s no Tony DiNozzo.
You take a 40 year scenic tour of compacted sand.
Look the fucking wrong waiter way and poof: rock salt.
Forget bowling and a movie, no, you drive into the next town and kill every man, woman and child like it’s some piss on you mini-putt course.
Sex on the first date? Avoid that shit … your kid is going to get nailed to a cross.
A date-day at Aquatic Park … only if being barfed up by a whale is your thing.
Forget the CoH, He’s got the CoG, spams Himself constantly and you will die from a surfeit of the dullest people who have ever knocked on your door, and some of them moonlight as Dirt Devil vacuum cleaner salespeople ... same home-schooling graduates.
He’s a great talker. Maybe in the King James Version but then who isn’t? No, He’s just another Earl full of promises that will never be kept.
If you do, some advice: find out were momma parked His trailer ... otherwise get ready to sing.
Now there is this off chance that it’s all bullpucky shit and God is really a She, a version of the lasses to be found in the Vine-ocrypha … a Mary Magdalena type. If so, kiss the ground She walks on and kiss everything She sits on, you are eating at Oyster Queen tonight, Her Pearl of Wisdom is pure as the full moon, guaranteed.