Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy (she belongs to Whedon, Mutant Enemy and Fox), nor do I own God (I won't try to guess who s/he belongs to because then I'dget caught up in a huge theological debate which I don't want to go into). If you feel particularly offended by this, no offence intended. I am myself a Catholic (by default, not choice) so it isn't like I'm poking fun at the big guy up there. Well, I am actually, but at least I'm allowed to.
Buffy looked at God. At least she hoped it was God. Because if it wasn't, Satan was having a real identity crisis.
"I'm dead, aren't I?"
"Yep." She answered.
"For real, this time?"
"Uh-huh."
"I'm not going to be resurrected after three months, then?"
"No, that was a one-off thing. When people die, they generally stay dead."
"Oh. So, aren't there supposed to be a choir of heavenly angels surrounding you with harps and stuff?"
"If you want there to be."
"Oh. So . . . you're . . . God. What's it like?"
"Neh."
"Oh. Do I get a cookie?"