There are some things for which God should rightly answer. I'm not talking about big existential questions like, "Why are we here?" Or, "Why, if motivated by love, do You sprinkle a healthy dose of murder and mayhem into the world?" I don't think those questions really have answers, or at least shouldn't. I mean, if you knew the answers to those types of questions, why keep plugging away?
I'm talking about more basic questions like, "What the fuck is with the Duck-Billed Platypus?" Or, "Mormons? Really?!" Petty? Insensitive? Probably, but knowing the answers is not really going to spoil me for whatever comes next, and I think some questioning in that vein could give God a chance to show off his sense of humor. What I'm really turning over and over in my mind at the present moment is the nature and purpose of Poison Ivy. Why is this particularly virulent little bitch of a vine so prevalent in my part of the world? Specifically, my backyard. And why does my dog so desire to eat the chipmunk that lives under the protection of said virulent little bitch? And why, after hunting this innocent chipmunk, does my dog see fit to rub lovingly, almost cat-like, against my legs, arms, or any other area of exposed flesh? A sensitive moment of love between man and his best friend loses all of its touching, age-old warmth when man wakes up the next day to seeping blisters of itching unholiness on the backs of his legs. The STD parallel is just beneath the surface here, but I'm having trouble articulating herba-bestiality...which is probably a good thing. Just know that I feel betrayed and also very, very, very itchy.
So God, what the fuck? Poison Ivy? I mean, really?! Please, in your infinite wisdom, have some higher calling for urushiol. Please let this oily, nefarious resin somehow be associated with a cure for cancer or AIDS. Please have something up your sleeve other than a burning, itching, seeping, unsightly rash.
Let us pray.