Watching the Republican primary debates has brought me closer to God. I don't mean this in an airy ethereal sense, but in a solidly practical one.

It's not that I've suddenly come to the blinding realisation that we're all God's children made of stardust and dreams. We're not. But I know now that God is a man. I know also that he has a quirky sense of humour and is a bit of a rake. Allow me to explain.

It all started the day I heard some reporters ask Michele Bachmann what had prompted her to run for President. They were anxious for her to come up a reasonable motivation and a coherent explanation of how she planned to address the problems of the nation — the poor fools.

Instead, they got a long rambling story of how God had asked her to do it.

I felt offended; not at the fact that she was offering up this simplistic Sunday school narrative — nothing in her past pronouncements had led me to expect anything else — but at the fact that God had never ever spoken to me.

His Ways

It's not like I've never tried to talk to him. I have been good for fairly lengthy periods of time; I've spoken the truth when it's suited me. And yet, I've never heard from him. Nary a booming word from the sky. I've lost count of the number of times I pleaded for divine intervention in postponing an ill-timed examination, or for some timely fire and brimstone. Has it ever happened? No. Plague of locusts? Not a chance in hell. Winning lottery? Hah! And yet, here he was going around dispensing free political advice like he was James Carville.

The next day, I heard Rick Perry say that God had told him to run. This was starting to get interesting. I saw that God was a sporting kind of guy who liked to see a good contest. He had to be a guy; no woman would be this indecisive. He seemed like a good brick though, who loved a contest — the kind of guy with whom you could kick back and have a beer while watching the game.

Given his loquacious nature, it did seem a bit mean-spirited that he didn't have a quiet word in Perry's ear when the poor man forgot what he was saying in that debate. When Perry most needed God's reassuring word, the Almighty had left the building. They do say he moves in mysterious ways, so one cannot hold that too much against him.

The Chosen Ones

When Herman Cain came out and said that God had told him to run as well, it all started to get a little too much. Cain's story was that God spoke to him through messages inscribed in his pizza dough.

Perhaps the pizza hadn't been cooked all the way through and the messages came out garbled. Perhaps God really told him “Please do not run for President” but there was a piece of pepperoni over the “not”.

Be that as it may, the next thing you know, God was going around telling all his mistresses — I mean Cain's not God's — to out the poor man in public. Cain stumbled and fumbled a bit, but once God has it in for you, the game is up.

I realised that God was not the benevolent guy he's made out to be by his publicists and the whole religion industry. He's rather a nasty guy, and if he whispers in your ear, you had better pay attention.

It's still not clear who is God's official favourite in the race. Rick Santorum has been trying to convince everyone that he is the favourite son, but when I tried to search for his name on Google, I got a rather nasty surprise. I can't imagine even God being able to do without Google, so Santorum's frothy problem can only be an indication that God does not think he has a chance. Newt Gingrich can't be the one, since every indication is that he actually thinks he is God, and everyone knows that if there's one thing God does not like, it's competition.

Which finally brings us to the man everyone loves to hate — Mitt Romney. Mitt has been trying to tell people that God told him to run too, but he's Mormon; so, of course, no one believes him.

(The author is a San Francisco-based techie.)