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The Miracle of Order

by God
(as told to Jason Roth)

Being God, I get a lot of questions about the order of the universe. Many of these questions come via prayer, but you'd be surprised how many morons have clogged up my e-mail account (god@savethehumans.com) with these idiotic pseudo-scientific hypotheses. Like: why parallel lines never intersect, why bowling balls are heavier than feathers, and why two plus two equals four. Same shit, different day.

But e-mail I can deal with. I just have everything marked "Dear God" automatically deleted before I even open it. Unfortunately, I don't get off so easy when it comes to prayer. As you've probably heard, "no prayer goes unanswered". Jesus, has that one been a thorn in my side. Let's set the record straight. Never in my infinite years did I ever say anything remotely similar to that. But because some stooge on Earth goes blabbing about me answering all these freaking prayers, now I have to listen to this crap. If I don't, then people start doubting my existence, everyone starts screaming "God is Dead", human morality goes on the decline, yada yada yada, and I'm up here twiddling my thumbs.

So thanks to some bastard, I need to answer everyone's prayers. You thought being a Hollywood script reader was tedious? Or reading manuscripts for a romance publisher? Well let me tell you, wait until you hear some of these prayers. Jesus H. Christ. Gimme this, gimme that. If these brain-dead sloths got up off their lazy asses once in a while, then maybe they wouldn't need my help so goddamn much.

Oh sure. Need to master than cello? Well, why practice? Let God do it. Well abra-ca-fucking-dabra. Poof, there's your "I Can Play the Cello" certificate, signed by Yours Truly. That'll be $45 please.

Can I make something clear?

If I started populating the planet with millions of cellists, don't you think that just maybe someone might catch on? The one simple thing I can rack people's brains with - having faith - would go straight down the proverbial toilet. So why don't we just make a deal, ok? No more "make me a cellist", "make me thinner", "make me smarter", "make me stronger", blah, blah, blah.

Gimme a break. You should hear yourselves. If it's not one thing, it's another. Your noses are too big, your asses are too fat. Well no fucking wonder. You're sitting on your big fat asses looking down your big huge noses praying to me all day.

Oh, and in case you haven't heard: I'm up here, assholes.

Hell is south. Heaven is north. Got it? The only thing more annoying than listening to some stupid-ass prayer about how some washed-up, middle-aged bastard is losing his wife, his job, and his hair, is seeing that bastard's balding head staring back at me while I'm trying to sift through his goddamn problems.

Look. You wouldn't do that on an interview, would you? The Acme freaking Manure Processing Company wouldn't hire you if you stuck your balding head at them all throughout an interview. What the hell makes you think that doing it in front of me is going to get me to give you back all the shit you lost? If anyone should fire your ass, it's me. Dammit, the next bald moron who prays with his bald head staring at me, is going straight to hell. I'm not even going to wait for the bastard to die and rot. He's going down, baby. Body, soul, and all. Stick your bald head at me when you're talking to me, and you're gonna burn.

Now who the hell was the guy who said that B.S. about me answering every prayer, anyway? If memory serves me right, it was some stupid Jew from the Bronx. Christ! Screw the Bronx. Those people are gonna pay, just wait. Wait and see if the Yankees make it to the World Series next year. Wait and see if they make it to the Series for a decade. That's right. Now will see who laughs last. No sideburns-wearing, electronics-selling, non-pork-eating mother effer is going to screw me with these nightly sob stories and live to tell about it. I might just have the Mets win ten years straight to piss off the whole freaking borough. Those bastards.

So anyway, what was I saying? Oh, that's right. Order. Why do we have it, what does it mean, etc., etc.

Well, I hate to sound sarcastic, but... (Hell knows, you "Ah, the miracle of order!" freaks wouldn't recognize sarcasm if it came up to you in the form of a burning bush and left the image of Jesus on your freaking ass.) But let's look at our options here. Now, let's say you're God. (Oh shit. Now I'm asking for it.) Let's say you're God, and, say, after you're done making everyone's clothes disappear and giving yourself a hair transplant and/or discount liposuction surgery, let's say you decide to consider the following:

Order or chaos? Hmm. Any guesses? I know, as much as I'd like to rip you idiots a new a-hole for being stupider than a basket of bread and fish, I only have myself to blame here. Just don't give me that "I created you in my image" bullshit. Again, a misquote.

Anyway, I know I'm God, but how in God's name do you create chaos? Would someone like to give me an example of a chaotic universe?

Which reminds me. Leibniz was one of the stupidest bastards I've ever had the privilege of seeing die. So we're living in the "best of all possible worlds"? You stupid, rationalizing fuck. What a scam artist. This world exists, and no other world exists, so it just so happens that no one can prove you wrong, can they? You say the world we live in is just one of all possible worlds, and then proceed to thank me for choosing the best one. Well, thanks for the thanks, but no thanks. How's the best of all possible worlds now while you're six feet under?

Let me ask it again. What the hell does a less-than-perfect world look like? What, are the planets made out of freaking cheese, and objects mysteriously turn into other objects when no one's looking, and - check this one out - when you put your hands over your eyes, everything does disappear. Like, for real.

There's no chaos, alright? So get it through your thick heads. What we have, is what we have. End of story. It just is.

And while we're on the subject, there's no "order" either. At least, not in the sense that most of you mean when you talk about "the natural order of the universe". The point is, stop trying to put a consciousness behind every single thing you idiots discover. You people have scientists who can calculate the dimensions of a freaking galaxy, but you still manage to forget you have brains. Amazing.

If you happen to make sense of the world, it doesn't mean the sense was there before you started messing with it. You're the ones who made the sense out of the world! You're the idiots who organize the crap, and find the similarities and differences between stuff. Why do you always have to go and give me the credit?

Again, thanks but no thanks. I already have the world's most contrived piece of pulp fiction trash written about me. I'm not looking to become another Elvis Presley for Christ's sake.

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