Today's reason why there is no loving god: Sunburns.
OK, I don't know about the rest of you, but I am as pale as a piece of paper, and when the sun comes out, it's fuckin' shit. What, exactly, is the utility of getting a sunburn? To begin with, you can't even tell you're getting it. Then, your skin turns all red and it's excruciatingly painful. And to top it all off, your dead skin disconnects from your body and leaves trails of itself all over the place.
This, of course, isn't a big surprise to anybody, that sunburns suck. But keep in mind that not everyone has to deal with sunburns. Some people out there are just naturally endowed with some magic ability to get tan. To be able to work out in the sun unaware of the powerful UV radiation, avoiding this painful process of reddining and flaking off. Why has god smiled upon these people, yet not others? Why can't the sun just not effect our pigment at all? Why is this a necessary component of life? Why, god, why?
So, of course, in our attempt to defeat the powers that be, we invent sunscreen. Sunscreen is stupid and imperfect. To begin with, that shit reeks - ask any other ghost-child and they'll tell you the same thing. Then, you establish this arcane number hierarchy - folks like me put on the 40, 45, even higher SPF (whatever the fuck that stands for), and then all those tan bastards just whip out the 2. Oh, it's bright today, let's reach for the 4. Now, assuming that the sunscreen actually functions, you still have to spread this sloppy white goop evenly over your skin, being careful to not only "rub it all in", but to not get any in your mouth, your eyes, or any other orifice, lest you experience great pain. Similarly, should you miss a spot, you then get to suffer the iniquities of walking around with some strange red shape on your body. My most memorable ones have been hand-prints and ski goggles. I've been lucky, however. Who knows what other people have had imprinted on them...
So this sunscreen is ass, it's tempting not to use it. But then, you get the sunburn. And of course, with enough sunburns, you get skin cancer, which I certainly don't have to dissect. Therefore, there cannot be a loving god, otherwise I could lounge in the sun without the aid of toxic goop.
Today's reason why there is no loving god: Bad hair days.
Honestly, what kind of twisted deity from hell would exist for the purpose of making me look like the fucking Irish Shaft? This large, red hair explosion thing is no good, and God needs to reccanize that this shit ain't gon' fly.
Believe it or not (I sure as hell don't) I've given this a lot of thought, and realized that the fact that I have a large red afro which is largely beyond my control doesn't really negate the existence of a loving god. I mean, there are lots of people who like to point and laugh at me, who ask "Wow, did you get a haircut?" every time I take a shower. They enjoy this. Perhaps God loves them.
But that fucker doesn't love me. I don't want this 'fro and I've failed on multiple occassions to get haircuts. My hair-cutters always flake on me, and the one available hair-cutter gave me the worst haircut of my entire life. More recently, she shaved a large cross into the back of some poor boy's head to commemorate Easter. (And she's Jewish, the blasphemer!) I tried wearing a beret, which looks damn fine on me, but then whenever I take it off, which is bound to happen eventually, it releases some sort of hat hair alarm causing people from all corners of the universe to find some nefarious way to gawk at my head, which is even more absurd than before. Have you ever seen a red hair explosion post-beret?
Then, without a hat, all sorts of shit gets stuck in there, which is equally un-fun. Here in Berkeley, trees are always dropping little bits of themselves into my labyrinth of hair, to be released at the most inoportune moment possible. Into my mashed potatoes. Into my milk. And so on and so forth. Plus, there's just so much hair that's present that I have no idea what else might be lurking in there. There could be a vegetable garden growing out of my head, I wouldn't be able to tell.
OK, most of this is vast exaggeration, but why, oh why can't we just choose a sculpted shape for our hair and have it stay that way? If I were a loving God, you bet your bob that I'd let you preserve your do as long as you choose.
And I know somebody's thinking I should just shave it all off...but...but...I don't wanna. Therefore God does not love me.
Today's reason why there is no loving god: Tiredness.
But not just any tiredness, untimely tiredness. Honestly, as people, we should have the mental faculty to just physically allot when we sleep, and fuck this tired bullshit. OK, so maybe that's not the most feasible idea, eliminating tiredness altogether. But at the same time, why would a loving God impose these ridiculous sleep cycles on us? Get 8 hours of sleep per night? Hey, what about my life? Why can't I do sleep trading with other nights so that I don't get tired?
And honestly, what good has ever come from being tired, anyway? People fall asleep at the wheel and kill themselves and others. People might be tempted to operate heavy machinery. And some folks get mighty ornery without their full 8 hours, or however long it takes. I'm just bothered because I'm DJ'ing tonight from 3:30-6, subbing for somebody I don't know. It's going to be fine, I'll just be tired.
And since tiredness serves no purpose, there is no loving God.
Today's reason why there is no loving god: Shitty Fantasy.
Fantasy is an incredible genre, unrestrained by any and all limitations, left completely to its own devices. Yet, still, most fantasy writers that I've encountered like to talk about...wizards. Or maybe elves. Or dragons. Honestly, the best that you can imagine is a wizard? An old man with a long stick who casts spells? Wow, I can make it snow. Fuckin' rad, huh?
Then, on top of this immense lack of imagination, we have to fight the immense power of stupidity. Why, oh why, must we give such laughable names to our wizards? Half of them have more Q's than vowels, which is a recipe for disaster if you ask me. And the ones that are lacking in Q's usually involve some sort of adjective. Like 'dark' or 'black' or something.
Superheroes, while managing to admirably bend the same fantasy theme, are still mired in fucking stupid names. I can control the weather...call me...Storm. Or, even worse, the man-suffixes. Super-man. Spider-man. Bat-man. Why can't they just have names that don't so violently conflict with what I consider to be acceptable? Like...oh, I don't know...Wilson?
Wilson has the super power that he can breathe life into anything, which is rather fitting for one who works as a janitor at a middle school. Whenever somebody throws up, bam, it turns into a puke-possom and scampers away. Clogged toilet? Solved by the hungry plunger. It hasn't eaten in weeks, you know. Shit, these things don't even have to be scatalogical. He doesn't even have to save the world. He can just go to work every day, because, well, that's what happens. And what the hell would he do with his Hungry Plunger sidekick anyway?
By now, it's hard to come up with fantasy that doesn't rely on established cliche, or in my case, which doesn't make fun of established cliche. But people sure as shit can come up with better ideas than Windshield-wiper-man and Quixqqylqzi the wizard. I'm sorry, I just can't help myself! If you have any non-wizard, original, funny, yet touching fantasy recommendations that don't just make fun of the way things pleasantly are, please, let me know.
