‘God is dead,’ said Nietzsche.
‘You mean that in our pursuit of a rational understanding of the universe we have inadvertently done away with the basis of all moral authority, paving the way to our own civilisation’s nihilistic downfall?’ said Jerry.
‘I mean he’s literally dead. I need you to help me to dispose of the body.’
‘Oh,’ said Jerry. ‘Alright then.’
God lay on the floor of Nietzsche’s living room in a position not typically assumed by the living.
‘He looks just like my Dad,’ said Jerry.
‘I think that says more about you than him,’ said Nietzsche.
Jerry took a closer look. ‘What happened?’
‘It was an accident,’ said Nietzsche
‘It looks like you accidentally bashed his head in with a copy of Origin of Species.’
‘We all make mistakes.’
‘Well, yes, but most mistakes don’t take several hours. And then it appears you stabbed him with a razor. Repeatedly.’
‘That’s Occam’s razor.’
‘After which you tried to saw his legs off with a Faith No More record?’
‘I’ll admit that one didn’t quite work, but you can see what I was going for.’
‘What you were accidentally going for.’
Jerry shrugged. ‘So how do you want to do this?’
The last bubble burst, and God was gone forever, lost beneath the dark water, anchored by a dinosaur skull for dramatic effect.
Nietzsche stood silently a moment, considering what they’d done. ‘I hope when I tell people about this they don’t think I’m being figurative the way you did.’