It's only been, what, a few millenia now that I've been dwelling within you people, acting through you, interceding for you. Sometimes I don't know why I bother. The last century in particular proves My point: War crimes this, genocide that--listen, I don't care what Sister Mary Michael told you, I can't be everywhere at once. Even a numinous presence needs a break now and then. And do you have any idea how much comp time I've got racked up?

And let's face it, when I'm around you hardly notice Me. Most of you wouldn't know Me if I miraculously got you with child. Honestly, do you think it's just a coincidence that the rates of religious conviction and obesity have both skyrocketed lately? Because the odds are, that ain't Me filling you, Charlie, it's a double bacon cheeseburger plus a pudding cup.

Well, for those of you who think a Paraclete is something that sits on your finger and whistles, just be advised that even the consubstantial need a little time to themselves. I'm difficult to comprehend; an enigma, a mystery. St. Augustine himself said about Me, "In no other subject is the danger of erring so great, or the progress so difficult, or the fruit of a careful study so appreciable." So shut the hell up, OK?