As I philosophy major, one of the questions I’m often asked is, “Hah hah, good luck getting a job.” Well that’s not a question, asshole. A question would sound something like, “Is there a God? And if there is, explain Everybody Loves Raymond.” Well there’s not and I don’t know. But in the vein of serious philosophical inquiry, I set out to prove whether or not a god actually exists. How could I possibly do this, you might ask? At least that’s a question. I’ll tell you. I’m going to piss him off. What’s the worst that could happen, he’d eternally damn me to a plane of suffering and non-existence from whence no hope can escape? Wait, I guess it is.
The Plan: I will take His name in vain.
I Say: “God dammit! I have to watch 3 more minutes of Everybody Loves Raymond before The Simpsons starts at 7:30.”
The Response: I am forced to watch a profoundly unfunny closing scene in which Raymond’s parents bicker. Oh, I get it. His parents hate each other. Har har.
Conclusion: Perhaps God does exist. If so, He is infinitely vengeful.
The Plan: I will worship a false idol in lieu of worshipping Him.
I Say: “All hail Sriracha, the god of hot chili sauces!”
The Response: I am stoned and forget to actually cook the Croissant Pocket which I am now eating. Though, on a happier note, I do remember to apply the Sriracha hot sauce. Damn that’s good. Oh yeah. Mmmmm. Yeah. Mmmmm. Hot chili sauce.
Conclusion: I am afflicted with a particularly bad case of food poisoning. Curse you God for making hot chili sauce taste so good! Mmmmm. Yeah. Mmmmm.
The Plan: I will do something on the Sabbath.
I Say: “Hey you! That’s right, I’m talking to Mr. Old Man Who Lives Up In The Sky! I’m going to go out partying Sunday night, and you can’t do a thing about it!”
The Response: Absolutely nothing goes on in Berkeley on Sundays. I’m serious, the Holocaust Museum is more lively on a Sunday night. And it’s closed then, which I know because I got really liquored up once and tried to break in. Made sense at the time.
Conclusion: The Holocaust Museum is not filled with candy and gum. Don’t listen to anyone who tells you otherwise.
The Plan: I will covet my neighbor’s oxen.
I Say: Since I don’t know what “covet” means, and since I’m fairly sure that my neighbor doesn’t own any oxen, I break in to his apartment and steal his dictionary instead.
The Response: I drive around 580 East for a few hours looking for some oxen to covet.
Conclusion: I realize that I don’t know what the hell oxen are either, so I break into my other neighbor’s apartment and steal another dictionary. God is nonplussed.
The Plan: I will worship Satan.
I Say: “Oh Dark Lord, grant me immortal life in Your unholy service!”
The Response: “Foolish earth-mortal! I am busy negotiating Ray Romano’s new contract. BLARRRGGGGH!!”
Conclusion: There is no god.