Why I’m Glad I’m Not God

1.  I don’t know how to damn all the things and people folks ask me to.

2.  How can you keep track of all the people who sneeze that are in need of blessing?

3.  Don’t ask me why bad things happen to good people–they just do.

4.  I have enough trouble believing in myself without cocky doubters going around saying I don’t exist.

5.  Having groupies may have its appeal, but if they get in the faces of people who disagree with them, that’s not so cool.  Count me out.

6.  It might get old being thanked for so many things, whether I was responsible for them or not.

7.  I’d feel self-conscious about having philosophy professors and their students discussing my nature as if I were some kind of insect to be dissected for their entertainment, or a volunteer stripper whose clientele are too busy worshipping to truly get off on (though I would appreciate the cash donations).

8.  The idea of having a long white beard sounds itchy; I’d be concerned about fostering lice (excuse me–teeny angels).

9.  If I were omniscient, I’d have to spend a lot of time answering questions fielded by reporters in heaven.

10  If I were omnipotent, I’d have to devote a lot of energy to explaining why I let horrible things happen all the time, as if I didn’t care.  (Trying to convince people that I do would be a whole ‘nother ball of wax.)

11.  I have nothing against people believing in what they will, but people who make their living perpetuating organized religious doctrine tend to be either asexual, misogynistic, homophobic, pedophiliac (I didn’t realize it was a word either), or otherwise creepy.

12.  Although number 11 is probably out of line, as a person who’s married to a religious fanatic, I can attest to the insufferability of prolonged proximity to an evangelical nutcase.

13.  It would be very hard to keep a straight face when people asked me if humans were in fact made in My image.

14.  I’d have to go out of my way to point out that most of the Ten Commandments were typos (especially the one about worshipping graven images–I wouldst not give a shit–or agree with the claim that I was a jealous God; as the creator and eventual destroyer of the universe, I’d have better things to do than fret over whether a few of my puny creations on one measly planet acknowledged my existence; imagine a blue whale getting bent out of shape about some cocky minnow boasting to his friends about never having seen a blue whale; the latter could always say–without even having to say it–“Well, I’ve never seen a minnow either.”

15.  Too many of “God’s children” to keep track of.

16.  Inventory would be a headache:  who gets to come to heaven, who goes to hell, who has to do time in purgatory?  Jeeze Louise, give me a frickin’ break already, for Mickey Mouse’s sake.

17.  People are too jaded to have a sense of wonder anymore.  As someone who’d been around forever, I wouldn’t feel like performing miracles, and if my creations were too effete to appreciate all the painstaking special effects I’d manufactured in the course of conjuring the elements, the galaxies, cell division, the animals, evolution, etc., I couldn’t be bothered to kiss their ungrateful asses any further.

18.  Due to my absolute removal from all the species created by “Me,” I’d find it tiresome to have to see so many worshippers wasting their time denying the bounty of their lives in their pathetic attempts to impress me with their grotesquely self-righteous displays of austerity, instead of celebrating my benisons by taking full advantage of them and living life to the fullest, the stupid shmucks.

19.  It would be lonely (assuming God is single).  Of course, if I were Zeus, that would be a different matter, but then I’d have Hera and a guilty conscience to deal with.

20.  The worst thing would probably be having so many people killing and murdering one another, as well as dying for me, without stopping to consider why I would have taken the trouble to arrange the circumstances of their and their imagined adversaries’ creation just so they could shed the blood I’d so carefully channeled to flow in rhythmic cycles through their bodies as they grew to improve the world by setting a good example instead of acting like genocidal infants on crack.


Summing up, being mortal and knowing you’re going to die some day may be a buzz kill sometimes, especially for an eighteen year old boy on a Saturday night scoring with a hot girl he’s been salivating over for three years, but living forever would suck that much more, especially if you knew you were responsible for an experiment that, for all its charms is–let’s face it–a mixed bag, and doubly so for causing so much confusion and disagreement in so many of your believers about your true nature and all that jazz.

For those of us inclined not to believe everything we’ve been told or taught from an early age, it would seem that if there is a God in any way resembling the one in the myths or stories so many of us have been fed, He, She, or It would have shown up by now–

–unless certain tribes of American Indians are right, and there isn’t one God, but many gods, and they’re in everything, letting us know that the earth we depend on and the world we live in are as worthy of worship as the moon, the sun, the stars, and the infinite blackness of beautiful, endless, outer space that surrounds us like a magic blanket, like a womb in an eternally regenerative Mother Universe.



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