As you probably are aware: Yes, God talks to me.

Sometimes, He tells me grave prophecies. Sometimes He decides what to order at Wendy’s. And sometimes, well sometimes He just tells me that I’m an A+ guy. But, Gordon, my 49-year-old disobedient son, He’s telling me right now that you’re cheating your irreligious ass off at our game of monopoly.

I should have known when you wouldn’t look me in the eyes after I returned from the bathroom. But thanks to ol God, I know that you have cheated.

Really, did you think I wouldn’t notice those six hotels on Boardwalk? Oh, and I know about that extra “Get out of jail free” card in your pocket, the one you brought from your home. Wait, what’s that God? Gordon made that “Collect all the other player’s money” card on his own printer? Hmmm, and that other card I drew from the Chance pile, the one that said, “Your piece suffered a stroke and forfeits eight turns to recuperate”? That one too? What about the “You were caught reading a Garfield book. You are condemned to Hell for three turns or until you repent?” Oh wait, I made that one. That one’s fine, God.

Gordon, you must think I am as dumb as that Homo-Top Hat you’ve been using to circle the board. That’s fine. We’ll see who fixes the tire on your “Radical Racer” mountain bike next time. We’ll see buster.