What a Nice Guy by Phil Torcivia

Friday, April 15, 2011

Shaking a Fist at the Shy


      No offense, Creator, but sometimes I think you suck. You’ve gotten me a little pissed off here and I’m not about to apologize because as the Creator you must have also created my anger.
      You’re a damn bully. There. I said it.
      What is your problem? Why must you continue to torture and torment good people who have so much love to offer? Then you reward greedy, self-centered bastards, who have no regard for life— in fact, no regard for anything but their own hedonistic lifestyles. That’s bullshit. They didn’t work for what they have and they don’t deserve what they get. Oh, I see. You’re teaching lessons to us do-withouts: If we try hard and never give up, we can become the next Mark Zuckerberg. Make that horseshit.
      I’m tired of your inflicting wonderful people with horrible diseases. No, she doesn’t deserve it. Yes, you’re teaching her a lesson all right. You’re teaching her that you’re a sadistic prick. On top of the debilitating disease you created within her a belief that you are kind. This doesn’t reconcile so her only recourse is to believe that she has done something wrong, has some lesson to learn or teach by example, or her services are needed on your immortal plain. Really? That doesn’t sound kind to me. It sounds cruel.
      Well, you can allege that this isn’t your doing. Claim there’s an evil twin of yours who does these things and targets kind people. Who created that evil twin, then? Why don’t you take responsibility, you coward?
      “There must be pain to appreciate pleasure.”
      I don’t buy it. You fucked up, Creator. Don’t give me that line of bullshit about how all of these negative experiences will teach me to be a better person. They teach me to resent you and the unfair rules you’ve set up, which reward actions that make tears flow. Do we really need rapists, molesters, and people who take advantage of the weak to teach us what evil is? Why can’t unthinkable injustices remain un-thought?
      Stop it. Stop tearing apart neighbors, friends, families, and lovers. Stop the horrible suffering you’ve created by giving us desires that the resources you created can’t fulfill. What possible lesson is there for anyone to learn from a suffering infant or animal? None. It doesn’t have to be this way. It was created this way. If things are out of whack, then fix them. You’re the Creator—you orchestrate this stage show—clean it the fuck up.
      Or, do you find some sick delight at mankind’s expense? Are we all cast members of a huge reality show on the universe’s big screen? Are you staring at us with glassy eyes and popcorn-buttered fingers waiting to see who is going to be fucking or fucked-over next? You’re sick. Change the channel, dude. Count me out of that cast. Keep your rose. Throw me off the island. Push the reset button. If this nonsense is entertaining, you’re sicker than the sickest among us.
      Wake up and cut the shit, Creator. If you need to toss cancer, starvation, and death around, why don’t you try some yourself? Lose a few loved ones. See how you like it. We’re all down here just trying to survive and smile occasionally. Thanks for the sunsets, but either clean up the mess you created or go fuck yourself.

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