Someday You Will Die, And Until You

Life Is Short, Death Is Forever

I've Met God Across His Long Walnut Desk With His Diplomas Hanging On The Wall Behind Him, And God Asks Me, 'why?' Why Did I Cause So Much Pain? Didn't I Realize That Each Of Us Is A Sacred, Unique Snowflake Of Special Unique Specialness? Can't I See How We're All Manifestations Of Love? I Look At God Behind His Desk, Taking Notes On A Pad, But God's Got This All Wrong. We Are Not Special. We Are Not Crap Or Trash, Either. We Just Are. We Just Are, And What Happens Just Happens. And God Says, 'no, That's Not Right.' Yeah. Well. Whatever. You Can't Teach God Anything.

Recycling And Speed Limits Are Bullshit. They're Like Someone Who Quits Smoking On His Deathbed.

You Can Tell A More Over-the-top Incredible Story If You Use A Nonfiction Form.

I Am Not Loved. I Am Not A Beautiful Soul. I Am Not A Good-natured, Giving Person. I Am Not Anybody's Savior.