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This is an interesting Fictitional Conversation Between God and Gene Simmons.  I believe it was from the Metal Sludge Site:

The following conversation is completely fictiocious. There are no tapes or transcripts. Let's just call it good ol' fashioned satire designed for the purpose of futhur developing my literary voice. Amen.

God: Gene. This is the Lord.


Gene: Excuse me?


God: The Lord. The Almighty. The God of Abraham. Certainly the self-proclaimed God of Thunder knows another Supreme Being when he hears one.


Gene: Who is this really? No one gets through to me without an appointment.


God: Gene, it's me. I am compelled to finally contact you, especially after seeing you courtside on Fox Sports last night during the Laker/Clipper broadcast. Why on Earth are you still wearing that George Washington rug?


Gene: Hold on, fella. You're telling me that you're God, and that you watch the Lakers?


God: I have a very close relationship with Coach Phil Jackson. We talk all the time. You think Kobe and Shaq just dropped out of the sky? Come to think of it, Gene, you've enjoyed quite a bit of success, haven't you?


Gene: If I answer you, am I'm admitting to a belief in your existence? I don't like situations where I'm not in total control. If you start messing with me, I can make you disappear. Like Peter Criss.


God: Your ego has no power in this space, Gene. Neither does your money, fame, hubris, track record with women -- I'm coming back to this topic later -- or any other terrestrial flashpoint of understanding. We're in my realm now. The cosmic. The ethereal. Can you dig that, Dr. Love?


Gene: Okay, for the sake of argument, let's just say you are God. Why are you bothering me? It was those twins in Salt Lake City after the Olympic Games closing ceremonies, wasn't it? I knew they weren't real Mormons.


God: Gene, listen to, and listen carefully. I've been watching you very closely for some time. Who do you think gave you the idea to do a cartoon version of Beatles? Who arranged for you to meet Paul Stanley? Who convinced Bob Ezrin that your songs really didn't suck? Who was whispering in Neil Bogart's ear, saying, 'Give these crazy kids a chance. They're got something new and wonderful here.' Who was that, Gene?


Gene: I didn't need any help from anyone or anything. I had the vision and the intestinal fortitude to make the dream a reality. I was going to be a multi millionaire, fuck a million women, and make millions of fans forget their boring lives for two hours a night while we created the greatest live rock show on Heaven or Earth.


God: The operative word here is 'million.'


Gene: Million, billion...what's the difference. I'm rich beyond my wildest imagination.


God: Yes, I'm well aware of that. I'd like to ask you a few questions. Is that okay?


Gene: God is asking my permission? This is getting good.


God: Why are you starting a magazine called, Gene Simmons' Tongue?


Gene: Because I can. And it won't cost me a dime of my own money.


God: Yes, I know that. But you're promoted this publication as a cross between three of the most expensively produced, professionally staffed and branded titles on the stands: Vanity Fair, Maxim and Rolling Stone.


Gene: So what's your point?


God: How do you expect to achieve this goal with a $30k a year editor in chief, who has to work out of his apartment because you won't foot the bill for him to have an office? And the ten cents a word you're paying for freelance compositions, yeah, there's some Vanity Fair bucks for ya.


Gene: Look, I'm Gene Simmons. I don't need to invest huge sums of money on a risky proposition in a horrible magazine market. I'll get people to work for me at next to nothing for the sheer experience of being involved with Gene Simmons. Artists, musicians, politicians, adult film stars, the Hollywood elite, they'll all come running to my editorial front door. They already are, and I'm not even sure the first issue will ever see the light of day. If my accountant says I'm going to have to drop one dollar of my own money, I'll pull the plug faster than you can say, Cold Gin.


God: Do you ever listen to yourself, Gene? Your rap?


Gene: I love to hear myself, talking, singing, moaning while jamming some groupie's head up against a hotel headboard, dropping witty observations on the Middle East as a guest on Politically Incorrect. I've gotten Bill Maher laid many times.


God: It's a good thing I'm spirit rather than body or I'd be losing my lunch right now.


Gene: You're just jealous. Admit it. The transcendental plane is not happening. You can't appreciate the smell of a brand new hundred dollar bill, or the look on a child's face who've you just sold a brand new KISS watch to, for $10 above retail. I've made kids happy from Toledo to Timbucktu. I'm the inspiration for countless heavy metal bands who gained faith and courage every morning when they peered up from their bed and saw my image on their bedroom wall, spitting blood and fire. Where would rock n' roll be without KISS?


God: I am not judging your accomplishments, Gene. On the contrary, you're a miracle. Your life has proven that dreams can in fact come true. When you were a poor child growing up in Israel, only your faith in yourself kept you going?


Gene: My mother worked hard to support us. She was my hero. I took her life ethic and made it my own. I knew I would win.


God: Bravo, Gene. Really. This is what I admire most about you. This and your amazing ability to stay completely focused on yourself and your agenda. But it is that agenda has brought me here today, into the folds of your psyche, between those bass shot ears. I'm afraid it's time to Wake Up now, Gene. You didn't happen to see the World Trade Center fall to the ground on September 11th, did you?


Gene: Of course I did. It was horrible. And we're doing the right thing now. Bombing those cave dwelling terrorist cocksuckers back into the Stone Age. I have no respect for a culture who can't even feed their own children. Losers. Allah, shmallah! How about erecting a two story building for a change?


God: The East is not your cup of tea I gather?


Gene: I would rather be locked in a roomful of ugly women than spend five minutes in a country that doesn't appreciate financial prosperity. If I had a few extra million, I'd donate it to Israel so they could manufacture the perfect nuke to smoke those Arabs to powder.


God: But you do have a few extra million.


Gene: Not really. I have to keep my cofers topped just in case I can't find a hotel in Las Vegas who'll cough up the cash for the KISS casino. And besides, why is it my mission to finance war? That's what the US government does better than anyone. I love this country. One nation under...


God: Yes?


Gene: Never mind