Allergies
I imagine God, sitting on a tiny rock, barren and useless. He’s flicked on the sun, and his pride and joy glows in the void as he tastes nebulae to make sure they are done. Tightens up asteroid belts. Drops a needle on spinning galaxies. Throws a pair of dice to determine fate or chance. Tosses bad ideas into a black hole. No net. Then, He closes his eyes and dreams up fields of flowers. The idea of pollen makes him sneeze. Wiping the primordial ooze from his majestic nose, He tosses it in the nearest crater. Leaving it to remember how it used to be a part of something special. All of which explains why I am allergic to religion.
