Afterlife tribunal.
When the mists clear, he's stunned to find himself facing the smooth brown faces of three woman dressed in flowing robes.

You've been a bad boy, Georgie.

"But... I was doing the will of God. It's all in Revelations."

Come now, surely you know better than that. And by the way, it's singular "Revelation"--though in your case, there may be a need for more than one.

"Where's the man in charge? I wanna talk to God."

I think he's serious.

"Of course I'm serious. Get the Big Guy on the horn."

This is it, Mr. Bush. There's no higher power to appeal to.

"Riiiiiigggghhhhhtttt."

It's okay, sweetie, we know it's a stretch for you.

"But, wait, it's clear: God the father..."

Poor thing, he still doesn't get it.

"Then you can't be God, which would mean I'm in hell?" He starts to sweat. "That's impossible."

An argument can be made for you ending up there, but hell is just a fabrication of the weak. Even still, willful stupidity is not a sin.

"There must be some mistake..."

He's obviously not ready for this. Who okayed him going back as a mammal in the first place?

"Mammal?"

It was a trial.

"This is all wrong."

Haven't we already established that skipping them ahead rarely, if ever, succeeds? Especially at this stage. Put him back the way he was.

"Wait--"

Thus, G.W., who was never meant to make it into chordate phylum this age, returns to his cockroach state from which his soul can evolve and mature at its natural pace.