I am the CEO of a fedora factory, and one day a m'lady approached with her fundie husband, who obviously had enslaved her into being his un-friendzoned partner obviously through some barbaric religious ritual.
The m'lady asked me if she could look at our new butter-blue peacock gutter-dented fedora and trilby combination prototype, which features a side-dented crown, the front of the brim snapped down for maximum tipping efficiency.
Her jealous boyfriend, whom was quite clearly a fundie, as I can sense a fundie from up to a mile away with superhuman evolved wolf-like sense of smell after being bit by a radioactive wolf which gave me incredible powers.
This lumbering ape thought that my extreme sexual appeal to his m'lady whom was obviously moist for me, was unjust, though I simply satisfied her burning loins with a gentle tip of the brim of my jet black bulletproof fedora, stitched with ultra-strong Kevlar that can stop a camper's sniper rifle bullet in its tracks. As a wealthy CEO of a Fortune 500 company, there are some pitiful oaf who wish me dead for capital gain.
I calmly told him that there is no god, and that his slave desired me. He then removed his phony pleather golf glove from his pocket from his horribly unstylish non-cargo shorts (all fundies play golf, a game of barbarians, and never wear Crocs, cargo shorts, or even fedoras) and slapped me across the face, challenging me to a duel.
Never one to back down from a sword fight when a m'lady is in danger, I drew my golden diamond tipped sword that was gifted to me by a tibetan ninja monk (it was a gift as he was so impressed by my skill he took to his knees and and prayed to me as a god) and prepared for a duel. As I was tipping my armored fedora, the fundie attempted to land a sucker slash, but I deftly dodged his clumsy and easily predictable move and prepared for my death-blow riposte. Suddenly, the m'lady begged for me to spare his life, and since I am a moral person, as an arrangement to spare his pathetic life, I had him bring his two children before me, both of whom are merely seven years old and already infected with fundus, and explained to them that there is no god, and that everyone they love, as well as themselves, would someday perish when they grow older, and their bodies will rot in the dirt and they will be all alone.
I saved their young minds, and the poor excuse for a parent renounced his faith, and knelt before me as his god. He follows me religiously to this day, doing all of my chores, including washing my plump 700 pound body, full of bulging muscle with a wet rag on a stick, as I am so muscular and pumped that I cannot reach certain orifices, but my loyal servant gladly cleans them for me. His former m'lady makes sex with me daily, which causes me to work up quite a sweat. He is so grateful to me for saving his puny existence, he even offered me his sister as an extra sexual gift, though I was forced to turn the offer down, because that bitch is fucking fat as shit.