by Joe Buonfiglio
When did I start to look like Uncle Fester from The Addams Family?
It was this troubling thought as I glanced pre-coffee into the mirror this morning that sent me spiraling down the metaphoric rabbit hole until I arrived at this ultimate conclusion: God — if He/She/It exists — may be omnipotent, but cannot be omniscient.
I know. As soon as those of you who are of the religious-devout ilk pick yourself up off the floor, put a nice, cool wet-washcloth compress on your forehead and get the “blasphemous ringtone of the damned” out of your mind’s ear, let me make my case with evidence that goes beyond my disappointment in the loathsome physical features that seem to accompany my inevitable slide down the mortal coil … or at least seem as if authentic before my morning cup o’ joe kicks in.
Here is my proof — six simple observations — that there may be “Design,” but there is an utter lack of “Intelligence” behind it.
PRAISE FROM SPORTS HEROES AND HOLLYWOOD TYPES: So you’ve won the big game; maybe even the Super Bowl. Perhaps you’ve just added an Oscar or an Emmy to your long list of entertainment accolades. What do you do on national television in front of millions of viewers who cling to your every word?
Why, thank God, of course.
So the Big Guy in the Sky lets the Hutu majority engage in the genocidal butchering of the Tutsi en masse in Rwanda, seems to be too busy to stop the Ebola virus as it claimed thousands of lives in Liberia, Sierra Leone and Guinea, and allows a devastating meltdown at the Fukushima Daiichi nuclear power complex in Japan without so much as lifting His celestial finger to abate the sweeping misery, yet he took the time to make sure you had enough speed to score the winning touchdown or the acting chops to deliver the year’s best performance. Do I have that right?
He’ll help a pimple-ridden teenager pass his driving test, but will allow madmen to fly planes into the World Trade Center towers?
Tell me again about Intelligent Design. Am I missing something here?
Is there a problem prioritizing in the Hotel Afterlife? Is that it? Does God have ADHD?
“What are those crazy humans doing now? They’re gonna blow the whole damn planet up by tomorrow if I don’t— Ooooooh. Pretty comet trail.”
INTERGALACTIC NARCISSISM: Our personal worlds don’t just center around us. The planetary world doesn’t just center around the collective “we.” No, most of us puffed-up humans believe this expanding universe in all its wonder and glory was created by The Alpha- and Omega-Man for the sole purpose of balancing out all the cosmic forces banging about out there in the astronomical absurdity of existence simply to sustain this insignificant blue planet for us in some benevolent, but probably misguided attempt to fulfill the promise of generational preservation of presence for we water-drinking air-breathing clan of the apes that got ahead of ourselves, evolutionarily speaking.
In other words, The Supreme Creator willed the universe — the ENTIRE fucking universe — into existence just for us. All of that Big Bang billions of galaxies planets stars black holes dark matter singularity comets solar flares orbits balancing act was done to make a house for us to live in.
The Big Brain Behind It All, in essence, builds the cosmic equivalent of Las Vegas to support the cosmic equivalent of one minibar-fridge to keep in it the cosmic equivalent of one “nips”-size bottle of peach schnapps so that it doesn’t get too warm.
You may call this Intelligent Design; but if I did this as a final project, I don’t think I’d get a passing grade for even “Intro to Engineering” at MIT. “Overkill” is an understatement. It’s like using a dump truck as a bowl in which to make a banana split for a toddler. The kid is going to love it until she drowns in a melting mountain of lactose goo.
PERIOIDS: No, I don’t mean punctuation or eras of historical significance. I’m talking menstruation here. What Celestial Brain Trust could possibly have thought this one up?
Even after all those “Be fruitful and multiply” instructions, the female of the species didn’t get pregnant again? I know! Let’s have her discharge blood and other fun things from the lining of her uterus at intervals of about one lunar month from— Oh, I don’t know. Let’s say from puberty until menopause kicks in decades later. And for some of them, we’ll throw in Premenstrual Syndrome for good measure just to keep it fun. Sound good?
A preschooler that eats his own crayons and still pisses the bed could come up with a more intelligent design than that one.
DEATH: So your idea of The Almighty Smarty-Pants comes up with a system of population control whereby not only are his beloved children hyper-cognizant of their eventual nonexistence from a very young age, they are painfully aware that most us don’t simply “not wake up” one chilly November morning, but will probably suffer at the hands of and eventually succumb to some unforgiving disease, debilitating circumstance or horribly violent incident. Yet, through all the ramifications of this mentally traumatic nightmare, we’re supposed to remain civil within polite society and be grateful to the One for providing what He must simply view as the definitive character-building exercise.
What a great idea! I wonder why Stephen Covey didn’t think of it. (Go ahead. Google him. I’ll wait.)
Intelligent? Be honest; even the most spiritually zealot amongst us wonders why we aren’t all running around naked, completely insane, engaging in all manner of experimental masturbatory technique-enhancement involving predatory reptiles and inanimate sundry products from the bowels of a tacky-tourist shop in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee.
And speaking of that…
SEX: In the grand scheme of things, this is probably the big piece of the big puzzle for most of us when it comes to Intelligent Design since, as I’m sure a good number of you will agree, it occupies such a large amount of our cognitive activity on a nearly daily basis.
Whether you believe in the Theory of Evolution or the more biblical explanation for humankind’s appearance on the scene, there is no doubt that sexual tension is such a big driver for most of us, it must be part of the big picture of human existence.
Let’s use heterosexual men as our guidepost for understanding the sexual-blueprint factor imprinted upon — no — engraved into our DNA.
Now, if we straight guys catch the slightest glimpse, even shrouded in clothing, of the female body part whose sole purpose is to create, store and deliver nutrition to the babies of our species, we cannot function on the most rudimentary of levels for want of sticking our protruding, non-spherical genital into a woman’s copulatory “pocket of delight.”
This is supposed to be Intelligent Design in action here, mind you.
Additionally, men are determined to utilize their wanking-apparatus “Master of Ceremonies” by impaling it into the ladies’ orifice designed only for the removal of the most-foul end-product of the digestive system out of the body. The Heavenly Horticulturist made this completely absurd bucket-list desire vastly seductive and absolute in its devastating ability to overwhelm our better judgment, yet He seemed sincerely surprised that the Garden of Eden fell into utter chaos.
Remember, Big Man, this is YOUR Intelligent Design. Adam’s male descendants’ longing to stick it into anything from rotten watermelons to sleeping sheep is on your head, my friend. DNA is Your bailiwick, no?
And while this is probably a downright outrageous generalization, You created woman to appreciate romance, passion-stimulating ambience and the beauty of the courtship process, while infusing man with an appreciation of “There’s a hole! I’m gonna stick my dick in it!”
Intelligent Design? Yeah, if God is Batman’s arch–nemesis The Joker.
And speaking of anal…
POOP: Need I say more? Sustaining life is dependent upon consuming plants and fellow creatures sharing the Earth, saturating it all with high-fructose corn syrup, trailing their demise down our gullet with the liquid remnants of distilled potatoes and the like; and then bingo-bango, shitting the byproduct organic refuse out a hole in our ass.
A hole … … … in our ass.
Let’s reexamine that little tidbit of Intelligent Design, shall we?
The big plan — the very best a Supreme “Thy Will Be Done” Creator can come up with to sustain life — involves feces, defecation, assquake, the bad brownies, butsin’ a grumpie, a dookie howitzer, a loaf pinch, porcelain bus ride to the Browns’ win at the Super Bowl poo. This — as renowned physicist Stephen Hawking titled his book in relation to how the universe works and NOT human waste — is The Grand Design?
No matter what you think about the credibility of any of my other evidence or assertions, this — THIS — is the fucking deal-breaker for any uncertainty. Our reliance upon the ordure machinery affirms my position beyond a shadow of doubt.
With Mister All-Seeing All-Knowing running The Big Show, the Snake in the Garden must have felt as if it was all-too easy.
How ’bout them apples?
We’re all nothing but walking, talking poop factories who reach out to grope each other unto our deathbed, begging for it as if a perverse senior citizen in a Fellini film until we drop and are transported to whatever divine comedy laced with otherworldly indignities God has waiting in store for us on the next station platform of relative existence … or, we simply fade to black.
However, what the fuck do I know? If hipsters can turn cheap-ass Pabst Blue Ribbon beer into the ultra-cool PBR by the sheer force of their collective will, maybe all this raging bullshit we call life can be part of some Grand Plan of Intelligent Design.
Whether it’s knocking boots, making a deposit at Banco Baño, or the need for a Higher Power to be a part of our lives, there’s always some hole out there that needs fillin’.
© 2015 Joseph P. Buonfiglio All Rights Reserved.