Dear God in Heaven and Yale University.
This former atheist (technically agnostic!) bows down to the Majesty of God. Nay, I prostrate myself before His Almighty and Cruel Mockery, His Infinite Jest and Maligning of Humans, and beg His Tender Mercy:
Thou hast punkst and fuckst with me in such a way as to make Job hurl lunch. Relieve me from the awful rowing toward Your Presence. The starch-shirted graybeards in the Humanities program at my state college are relentlessly blown about limbo and boiling in pitch, now wondering if my riposte to Bishop Berkeley, extrapolating to the idea of perfection, was correct. They now have their answer: I began with Mel Brooks, and imagined God, Himself, The Indisputable Master of Stand-Up. Not only does God play dice with the universe, he is in reality Joseph Heller.
If you are going to hire David Brooks to pontificate on humility and modesty, then you must blow up another village in Afghanistan, which makes more sense, because then at least you have the goal of world domination.