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I just had a terrible thought.

Some geniuses who make beautiful art are ugly people. Picasso, I hear, treated the women in his life abominably. Mozart was spectacularly vulgar and scatological, but his music was and is heavenly. Bill Cosby has told brilliantly observed stories of childhood and family life but seems to have raped dozens of women.

Like all of us, those creative masterminds were made in the image of the greatest creator of all: the creator of the universe. Here’s the terrible thought: What if He follows their pattern?

You die, enter the afterlife, and beg to see God. When you enter His Celestial Chamber, you see Him in a robe stained with last night’s beer and last week’s sweat, slouching in His Glorious Throne with one grossly tattooed leg slung over the Throne’s arm. He grabs you and shoves you up His Anus to give himself an enema, after which He excretes on you and tosses you away with an insult.

And then He creates a breathtaking new species of butterfly and delivers rain to drought-stricken farmers.

I don’t know about you, but I’d be pretty damn confused.

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