There are countless arguments for and against the existence of God. One I think about a lot is poop. Yeah, poop. And pee. Really, God? If you’re so all-powerful and all loving, why would you make it so that every single one of us has to poop and pee—every damn day, sometimes many times a day. Sometimes there’s a release, but when it’s coming on, it’s never exactly comfortable. Sometimes it hurts like hell. And, you know, it can be smelly and embarrassing and not very dignified. And it doesn’t really make me feel better to know everybody else does it too.
Speaking of hell, there’s another damn good argument against your existence. You’re supposed to be so loving to all of us, yet, if we don’t believe in you—and believe me, we’ve tried; we really wanted to believe but it just didn’t make sense to us—and for that you condemn us to eternal torture. Now really, God. Is that an act of love?
But first we have to die. I get that. I mean, the world is overcrowded anyway. But couldn’t you make it so we all go peacefully in our sleep? Why is it that death for so many of us is preceded by days, months, even years of horrible pain and slow mental and physical deterioration? Couldn’t you have come up with a little better way to do it?
My loved ones say they’ll pray for me. You know, because of my disbelief. That’s nice. I’m glad they care enough. But I wonder exactly what it is they pray for. I guess it’s that I won’t go to hell. Well, why don’t you let them in on the secret that you’re a loving father to all of us, and a loving father would never send his children to hell. Maybe they pray for me to see the light. Well, I’ve seen it, and it divulges the speciousness of their religious arguments.
I could go on and on, but you get the idea. Thanks for listening.