Intolerance

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Intolerance

Ah, yes, intolerance, there’s so much of it in this world designed (so we get told) to sustain life according to the workings of predator and prey. I find it easy to conceive how Earth was designed by a god-character with a ten-thousand year digestive cycle, whose appetite craves human blood, and who is getting really pissed off about us.

Why? Well, first, it designed us to enjoy sex. I mean, really enjoy sex. It got a kick out of the notion of two animals rubbing sensitive parts together and feeling good while at it, oblivious to its plans for us. It used a finalized design, where one skin rubs inside the other to improve accuracy, to upgrade humans to use the system for procreation. No longer dependent on asexual beings shooting sperm balls at each other, the new system made all kinds of animals no longer reluctant, but to actually want to procreate. The world would soon be filled with all kinds of animals…

…if it weren’t for those nasty tasty humans!

Something unexpected went wrong in that entire population not long after the new upgrade had been installed. It seems the men folks wanted as many women as they could lure into their caves, but the women rebelled against rubbing skin with a man who had polluted himself with a bunch of other women. On their own hand, the men didn’t want their women polluting themselves on other men’s skins. What to do?

“Why won’t you freely procreate?” she demanded of the humans while she rubbed her hungry belly.

The humans watched her hands and quickly learned to imitate her motions. Rubbing their bellies felt good. “Like this?” one asked. Another one belched.

“Like this, what?” the god demanded, looking them all over for any sign of intelligence.

“You said ‘pokeriate’,” the impetuous one reminded her. A farting sound came from the far side of the group.

The god waited while a circle cleared around the offending human and then grew. The grinning perpetrator soon stood alone and proud. “The word was ‘procreate’,” she corrected.

“What’s it mean?”

The god huffed a load of air into her lungs and let it whoosh out. “It means to reproduce and be fruitful.”

“But, why,” begged the impetuous one, who sought to explain, “We are happy with the numbers we have now, and wish to find ways to prevent their increase. Besides, our new method of coitus gets us all sloppy and gooey and makes us feel unclean. We fear that we will contaminate our entire community.”

The god scowled her fiercest scowl at him, then laughed when he hid behind a fat, juicy-looking woman. Her stomach growled to anticipate a meal of that. Then, the god spoke: “You are not here to make yourselves happy. You are here to make me happy. So, go. Fuck! I will make it rain, and fill many ponds with ever-flowing water. Wash yourselves in the many streams and lakes that will form, be pure, and multiply.”

Well, to shorten a much longer story, the rains felt cold and made humans shiver even when they were not wet, so they covered themselves with animal hides until they learned to weave fibers into cloth from which they could make garments. Anticipating a time when she could engorge herself on juicy human flesh, the god stopped visiting to save energy. In her absence, humans once again grew selfish and unwilling to share mates. They invented marriage, then built a church wherein decrees were writ to enforce fidelity. A philosopher from a faraway land once started a rumor that the god had starved to death, but very few people believed him. They feel content to also doubt stories about the hungry god’s lust for bloody flesh, and quit offering sacrifices many years ago.

Still, on many days with a clear, blue sky, a gurgling roll of thunder can be heard echoing in the distance. Does it serve to warn us that a hungry god still lives?

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