Touched

God, in the form of a discarded box of plastic forks, spoke to me. The Almighty wasn't pleased. Apparently, much to his chagrin—and yes, God is capable of both chaing and grinning, mankind has failed to live up to his expectations. The following is an excerpt from that conversation. The entirety of our exchange is too much for humanity to grasp, it would ruin us all, so here is the cliff notes version.

Midgetry, Faggotry and Muscular Dystrophy are evil; Adultery, Symmetry and Mimicry are not so bad.

Sex before marriage is often awkard, uncomfortable and painful; sex during marriage is much worse.

Men are superior to woman in every way save for one: women have multiple orgasms--God called this an even trade.

Aliens are amongst us, they all are referred to as Canadians.

Menstruation is unnatural; your 9th grade health teacher is a fucking liar.

Love is dead, your parents killed it.

Sometimes it isn't the fight in the dog; it is the year, make and model of the car he is driving.

Penguins are the spawn of Satan; they should be cooked in their own innards and sold to the Slavic people as New Spam.

Sarah Michelle Gellar kissing Selma Blair is the single greatest moment in the history of creation--this is the only absolute, irrevocable truth besides the existence of God.

All peoples less than 4'10" are non-persons fit only to make chocolate and perform in the circus. Children under the age of 15 are exempt from one of these acts; you pick which one at birth.

Insanity is one step from divinity, thinking one is one step from divinity is insanity; see Bob for case in point.

Hamburger helper is good only when cooked with hamburger or pig feet, no exceptions.

These are the abridged words of God as spoken by a box of discarded plastic forks to me, heed them well.

Coming out of my shell

I am not a social person, I long for a world composed of a solitary figures living in self-imposed exile. My premise is much like Imperial Japan from a couple centuries ago, except I don't have samurais battling ninjas over my person, at least not yet.

It isn’t that I am anti-social, Bob is capable of being friendly, personable and, on rare occasion, the life of the party. But being nice to others is asking so much for so little benefit, and as I said before social niceties are a must; I might loathe everyone but it is my duty to be pleasant. So, in lieu of spending my time exchanging empty nothings, I opt to stay way from the teeming masses and watch cartoons. It isn’t a terribly exciting life: I don’t have sex with lots of woman, nor do I generally discuss the meaning of existence, discuss the relevance of Spinoza and it is been years since I debated the etymological evolution from soda to Coke to pop and back again.

Sometimes I regret being a recluse, not because of the people but their ideas and actions have always fascinated me. I enjoy watching people throw up, listening to empty headed twenty-somethings claim God is dead and religion is unnecessary and even witnessing the horror that is the human mating ritual. However these moments of social longing are easily satisfied by spending a few hours with my peers. I try to look through their eyes, understand what drives them and find some relation between their existence and my own; generally, after these brief excursions, I go home and throw up.

gth

Perverts don't like chubby boys with hyper-developed apocrine glands

Mom: Were you molested as a child?

Bob: What?

Mom: Someone suggested that may be what is wrong with you, so were you?

Bob: MOM!!! Didn't you once say--during my formative years, mind you--I was too ugly to get molested.

Mom: So you are saying its my fault? Fuck you.

Bob: Hmmm...I wonder what, or whom is the cause of my psychosis.


gth