Today's reason why there is no God: Justin Sabet-Peyman.
Maybe you don't know Justin. If not, that's fine, he's still proof positive that there is no God. To begin with, look at this, just to verify his preponderous presence at Stanford. I'll summarize for you: "Hi, my name is Justin, and I'm President of the Universe, Social Manager of the Milky Way, and I play volleyball." Now, if people want to be President of everything, that's fantastic, but when people look at this and are actually impressed, that's where I draw the line. That Justin exists doesn't deny the existence of God, it's that people actually like him and buy into his bullshit.
My irksome attitude towards this soulless beast goes back to high school, and my excruciating experiences with him in high school English class. Justin would have the ability to not only talk, but to say the most obvious things, and pontificate on them at length, adding clause after clause for the sole purpose of impressing whoever might be listening, similar to what I'm doing right now. His ideas were unoriginal, he acts like a thesaurus of large yet unimpressive words, and he puts the fucking Energizer Bunny to shame, yet people somehow appreciate this? God, how could you do this to me?
It got worse when we applied for colleges, and Justin got in everywhere he applied to, with a beautiful red carpet laid out in front of him. "You're full of bland thoughts and verbose constructions, and have good SAT scores? We're listening. Oh, you play volleyball? Step right this way young man, let me buy you a drink." The standards people use to judge others need to be adjusted immediately, and everything Justin has that I don't should be stricken from the record, the things we share can be weighted fairly, and the fantastic qualities unique to me should be recognized for their sheer greatness. Sports? Not impressive whatsoever, should be eliminated entirely from all standards. The existence of leadership skills should be instantly acknowledged as the utter bullshit that it is. Honestly, whatever translates taking notes for a club into an ability to lead my fellow man? You are all sheep you fucking morons, get it through your heads and do something original for Pillsbury's sake! Now, where was I? Oh, yes, that jerk, Justin Sabet-Peyman. The ability to both smile and frown and make understandable yet endearing mistakes should be rated much more highly than a fixed expression and aura of perfection.
Now, I know what you're thinking, it's that I'm jealous of him because he got into Harvard and I didn't get into anywhere that didn't have its location in the school's name. Well, that's simply not true. From my vantage point, Justin is inhuman, completely devoid of a soul, a machine built to do nothing other than impress admissions comittees and voters alike. Well this voter has something to say - the first Islamic president of the United States sure as shitfire won't be you, especially since when I'm done with that office my vote alone will get 60 votes of the electoral college. And if you think you're ever going to take South Carolina, you'd better pull some Michael Jackson skin disease, and fast.
The fact that anyone could possibly in their right mind prefer volleyball over intelligent intellectual commentary like this flawless essay of mine negates, without a shadow of a doubt, the existence of God.
