Friend R: I just glanced at your last sentence, just as the window disappeared behind a dialogue box that popped up on my screen. And all I got from my glimpse was "nicer because pregnant" and I had a very brief moment of panic for you. Immaculate conception is nice and all, but even if God impregnates you with magic sperm, you're still pregnant.
Terrible Mother: I am on Depo-Provera. Something even God cannot overcome.
Friend R: Okay. I'm archiving this chat. God is so gonna knock you up now.
Terrible Mother: But I'm on Depo. Still on Depo. This is because, the night Jon and I broke up, I was sitting on my couch, crying, snot running down my face, hiccuping like a moron, when I remembered I was due the following week for the shot. "But I dunno, guys," I said to Friend One and Friend Two. "Should I still even get it?" "YES!" they said in unision. Proving, once and for all, that they must think I'm easy.
Friend R: Well, best to be prepared and all that. Besides, from what I hear, God's a deadbeat dad. Knocks chicks up, then pretty much kicks 'em out to fend for themselves. no child support, no visitation, no christmas card. As a father, God kinda sucks. I'd stay on the depo, just to be sure God doesn't decide to really fuck your life.
Terrible Mother: Hold up. Can you imagine me with a Child of God? A God Offspring? That would not be okay.
Friend R: Sure it would. I could be the fun uncle. The world would be so much better if I were the Messiah's uncle. None of this crucifixion bullshit. "You're the Son of God -- rain some hellfire on those bastards. Christ, stop being such a wuss."
Terrible Mother: What exactly does hellfire even look like? Napalm? Flaming hair jelly?
Friend R: Only flamy.
Terrible Mother: Well, I think it's flaming hair jelly. Flaming pomade, if you will.