Are You Listening, Dog? It’s Me, God
Are You Listening, Dog? It’s Me, God
And I’m in a heapa trouble
Hi, Dog,
It’s me, God.
Again.
I know, I know. I’ve been coming to you with complaints–I mean prayers–an awful lot lately. And they’ve been awful prayers.
’Cause you see, Dog, the world’s in an awful mess right now. And a lot of people say it’s all my fault.
My fault? Can you believe it? Sheeet!
They obviously didn’t read my man BOFace’s tract. Because if they had, they woulda been reminded about free will which he explains so well.
For anyone out there unfamiliar with the concept, and there must be tons of you cause of all the flack I get, free will refers to — give me a second. I need to Google here.
Google, you ask? Aren’t I omniscient?
I used to be.
But it was such a burden. I could not keep all those useless trivial facts in my head. That’s why I created Google in the first place. Or at least gave Larry and Sergey the idea. I rue the day.
Not because it doesn’t save me a lot of headaches. It certainly does. But because they don’t cut me in on the profits. Point of clarification — profits with an f. Not prophets with a ph which they do cut me in on.
For some reason, when I Googled free will, I got a passage from the Encyclopedia Britannica.
Remember when encyclopedias, including Britannica, were huge sets of heavy books taking up a whole shelf on your bookcase?
When you wrote a report for school, you had to be able to lift one of those volumes and look up your topic. So you had to know your alphabet. When I went to school, you had to be able to chisel that alphabet in stone. Nowadays, you can look up free will without needing to know that f comes before w. Tragic.
But since Britannica rules the waves, they must know something about free will.
By the way, don’t confuse free will with free willy.
Not that kind of free willy, silly.
The movie about an Orca in captivity, freed by a boy, with a spectacular theme song by the late, great Michael Jackson. One of my favorite sons. So sad when we lost him. Or rather, when you lost him. Cause he’s here with me and Elvis now, and we make beautiful music together including free willy.
But, ahem, I digress. Where were we?
Oh, yeah, Free Will and Encyclopedia Britannica
First, they say this: “free will, in philosophy and science, the supposed power or capacity of humans to make decisions or perform actions independently of any prior event or state of the universe.”
Check out how they start the sentence with a lowercase letter. And even worse, Dog, it’s not a complete sentence. This from the Encyclopedia Britannica no less. Clearly, their knowledge is not as encyclopedic as they would have us believe.
But the real clincher is the word supposed. Look Brits, either I gave humankind free will or I didn’t. Either Eve and Adam were free to eat that goddamn apple or they weren’t. Nothing supposed about it.
Secondly, they go on to say, “In theology, the existence of free will must be reconciled with God’s omniscience and benevolence and with divine grace, which allegedly is necessary for any meritorious act.”
At least this time, Dog, it’s a complete sentence starting with a capital I. Phew. But then it goes downhill from there. Let me ask You, since when has free will ever had to be reconciled with my omniscience or my benevolence? Au contraire. People’s free will seems to go full-tilt boogie against my omniscience and especially, my benevolence.
Who reconciled Hiroshima, Nagasaki, or any number of holocausts with either my omniscience or my benevolence? No one even asked me if I had an opinion one way or the other. Which is what free will means.
This is why I have such a headache and guilt complex now, Dog. And why I’m coming to you in prayer and contrition.
Did I do the right thing?
Huh, did I? Did I? Huh, huh?
Oh, Dog. There you sit scratching fleas and licking your balls. Like You always do when I come to you with my most intimate, desperate prayers.
Dog, have mercy on me.
If that’s not enough, this free will I’ve created may mean the complete destruction of Planet Earth. Not that some people don’t deserve it. But when GAIA goes, she takes everyone with her. Even the little bitty babies in my hands. I’ve got the whole world in my hands, Dog, and thanks to free will, I can’t do a damn thing to save it.
Except pray. And I’m not so sure about that.
So if you’re listening, Dog, please — hear my prayer, oh Dog. Just this once.
Look. I’m putting a bone in your collection basket. A great big juicy steak T-bone with plenty of meat and fat still on it. Just like You like.
It breaks my heart that the beef industry is wiping out the rainforest. People have determined that red meat is more important than breathing. Judging by how enthusiastically you’re jawing that bone, You concur.
Just my luck. Maybe I’m barking up the wrong tree, Dog.
Maybe You don’t exist. Maybe You’re just a fig tree of my imagination.
Sorry to bother You with my trivial concerns.
I’m off to try my luck with Cat.
