God -- A Master Creator and a Terrible Engineer

When I was twelve, I gathered a firm stack of pearly-white printer paper, a mangled box of half-eaten crayons, not by the dog, but my apparently under-fed younger brother, James, and the artistic confidence of Vincent Van Gogh. I doodled in eager anticipation as I witnessed the gentle erosion of half-munched crayons transmute into a perfect replica of the penguin I found on Google images, like an indiscernible shadow, an imposter of the original bird. I became frozen in awe by the flawlessness of my stunning masterpiece, perplexed at how small cylindrical tubes of hard, colored paste can create something so beautiful, when suddenly, my mother sauntered by, and in the tone a mother typically uses when lying to her children, enthusiastically exclaimed: "that's a beautiful dog" -- as she peered at the yellow and purple streaks penetrating the outline of the misshapen penguin that resembled a baked potato with clawed feet. In that moment, I realized that I'm a terrible fuckin' artist. Similarly, despite God's extraordinary ability to create matter and snap life into existence, he has the engineering aptitude of the twelve-year-old version of myself, who believed a purple penguin made perfect sense.

Weather was constructed with the same temperament as my 15-year-old niece: Earthquakes that transform Earth from a serene rock drifting through outer space into the vibrating sock drawer of a single, 32-year-old woman; Tsunamis that administer mandatory swimming lessons to unsuspecting islanders by converting streets and basements into unwarranted swimming pools; Tornadoes that aggressively disorganize the planet with strong gusts of wind and involuntarily bury unanchored pedestrians in nature-produced Chuck E Cheese foam pits, filled not with the standard foam blocks, but with house shudders and steel beams; Volcanoes, whose explosive power is rivaled only by the systematic eruption directly following a successful Taco Tuesday; and sundry natural disasters that mass-murder unaware civilians in creative ways. None of these calamities serve a productive purpose, and are presumably ill-intended practical jokes, like giant, lethal whoopie cushions that kill anyone who is not prepared, typically with excessive vibration, burning or drowning - depending on one's heat tolerance when exposed to molten lava - or simply burying civilians in piles of rubbish.

The water cycle is a nonsensical and inconvenient process of transferring water around the planet. But instead of exclusively storing water in ponds, lakes, oceans, and swimming pools, occasionally, and without warning, a city-sized blob of aquatic irritation spontaneously purges from the sky, like an army of small, unrelenting water droplets waging war against the planetary surface -- and unremittingly soaking my previously-dry outfit as I tread into work. This farcical process mirrors the creativity and logic of a doltish 5-year-old child playing with a leggo set, but if God insists on manufacturing temporary ponds that recurrently fall out of the sky, a more humanitarian design is to evenly-disperse global rainfall, but he absent-mindedly forgot to program water into many regions of the planet, triggering severe droughts, dehydration, and death.

The food cycle is an inately barbaric system, riddled with systematic murder and torture. The bottom of the food chain is comprised of plants and greeneries -- stationary food sources that decorate the planet with their beautiful colors and pleasant frangrances. These immobile, unconscious garden decorations have a remarkable ability to convert dirt and sunlight into nutrition, and serve as the primary food source for slow grazers, that perpetually munch on strands of grass with more dedication than an American anchored in front of a box of donuts. Those grazers subsequently serve as giant, uncooked dinner plates for other, not-so-tranquil, carnivores that inherited bodily modifications empowering them to relentlessly hunt fleeing animals, rip through their thick skin with genetically sharpened teeth or claws, and voraciously slurp-up elongated strings of angel hair spaghetti that used to function as small intestines, rendering defenseless animals to squawk in agony from being devoured alive. Though all animals could have evolved to consume grass and shrubberies, systematically peppering torture into an ecosystem provides extra challenges and entertainment.

The principal motive for developing an inhabitable rock is to establish a breeding ground for God's greatest creation, humans: The first globally-recognized invasive species that successfully infested every ecosystem on the planet. Their poorly-constructed prefrontal cortex deceives them into believing that they are the ethical benchmark. But when a lion eats a human because he hungrily stumbled upon a slow, hairless monkey, everyone is universally appalled by the lion's actions and instantly sentence the cat to death for abiding by built-in survival instincts. Then, without remorse, they hold thousands of cows hostage in small, restricted cells, like a bovine Guantanamo Bay, before methodically executing and gutting confused animals when a particular number prints on the scale, sociopathically discarding undesired organs in the nearest trash bin, and packaging chopped-up chunks of flesh in small containers to be displayed at Walmart and Price Chopper. Stoic shoppers, then, casually select the most appetizing slaughtered cattle, cook the dead animal on the grill, sandwich the patty between two slightly-grilled buns, and feed it to their childen for a day-at-the-pool -- proving that humans are like every other carnivore, but more organized and sociopathic. In addition to universal egocentricsm of an entire species, humans are peppered with an assortment of diagnosable disorders: depression, bipolar, schizophrenia, narcissistic tendencies -- making each individual a unique cupcake of fucked up personality traits. Though humans are God's prized creation, they are the most mentally-unstable species, and the only one to commit systematic genocide against various farm animals, aligning them more closely to an uncontrollable infestation, akin to bed bugs or locusts.

God's attempt to create a planet would have been successful if he did not fabricate various methods of mass-murder under the guise of natural disasters, wash the external surface by recurrently dropping floating freshwater rivers in the form of free-falling water pellets, and implement violent torture as a means of survival. Maybe God is a terrible engineer, or maybe, he just has a particularly dark sense of humor and enjoys a good show.