If God were to make a guitar, it would first appear in the music store as a soprano ukulele. All the other guitars would rush to the music store and coo over it saying things like, "Aw! Look at the cute little purfling!" (Later, on the way home, they would say things like, "Did you get a look at the tuning machines on that poor little thing? Look like they belong on a Fender Precision bass!") If the little uke came with a an end-pin, the older guitars would argue about whether to leave it be, or whack a guarter-inch off of it. (Of course, if it was destined to play Klezmer music, there'd be no argument. Whack!) Then, after the little uke went to its new home, it would make God-awful noises at 2:00 AM and its owner would have to play lullabies on it for an hour, trying to get it to shut up.

As the little uke matured, it would go through the various phases of ukehood, maturing into a tenor uke, and then a baritone uke, before finally becoming a 1963 00-18 Martin on its thirteenth birthday. Almost immediately thereafter, the surface of the little guitar would erupt into a mess of warty nodes which would persist for five or six years. Some guitars would make it through this stage with no lasting scars, while others would wind up looking like they'd been played by drunks using church keys for picks. At about the same time, the little 00 would announce that he wishes he'd been born a Fender Stratocaster. He will sulk and attempt to sound like he's being played by Pete Townshend any time you pick him up.

Eventually, the guitar will mature into a fully fledged D-28 and settle into a life of predictable, steady playability. Then, one day, the braces closest to the sound-hole will begin to swell unaccountably, causing the sound-hole close up and take on the appearance of a raspberry. The tuning machines will develop stripped gears and have to be replaced with artificial ones. Worst of all, the end-pin will become limp and flaccid and no amount of coaxing will make it go through a strap-hole.