Naming a patron saint

I would like to nominate my friend* Craig Olson as patron saint of this blog. In support of this, i present the following shaggy dog, which he once wrote in a discussion in response to a troll asking, among other things (with typos preserved)

Do gods eat and drink? Do gods sleep? Since gods are glorified men do they do the same activities as they did during their probation on earth. I realize they perfect. But as they are married do they carry on othernormal human activities like eating, drinking and sleeping?

It had been a long day, and God was tired. He stared out the window of the train, and watched the kingdomside draw by in the afternoon light. He sighed, impatient for the train to reach the station, tired of watching mansion after mansion pass before his view.

With a series of subtle slowing lurches, the train hissed and clanked into the station. God reached out the window, and opened the door from the outside. Stepping down to the platform, he reached back into the compartment to grab his briefcase. He crossed the platform and walked through the turnstile, whose plaintive squeak seemed to set his teeth on edge. No one, it seemed, ever bothered to oil the thing. It had made the same squeak every day for as long as God could remember.

Walking to his car, God unlocked, then opened the door and swung his briefcase over to the passenger seat. After resting his hands for a moment on the edge of the door, God sat, heavily, behind the wheel, then swung in and closed the door. The key slid easily into the ignition but, when turned, produced no results. No cranking, no lights, no clicking, no luck. Some days, it seemed, were just more difficult than others.

With a sigh, God climbed back out of the car and locked the door, leaving his briefcase on the front seat. “It’s not like I need it for anything this evening,” he thought. And without a glace back at the car, he set off on the walk home.

The house was set well back from the road at the far end of town—not a difficult walk, and quite pleasant as the light began to fade from the day. The house was dark as God strode up the drive. “I’m home,” he called as he walked through the door, but there was no reply. There was a note on the kitchen table—something about a Relief Society Board meeting, and a casserole in the Kelvinator. Hungry as he might have been, the long day and the long walk had lessened the desire for food, at least for a cold casserole.

Turning aside to the den, God sat down and leaned back in the recliner. He could see the sky through the window turn slowly to a clear cobalt glow. “At least it’s Saturday,” he sighed, and closed his eyes for a welcome rest.

* Both a real-life friend and a net.friend. I met him and his family when i was a teenager, then we fell out of touch, then we re-met on the net.