Miracles no longer included. Batteries not sold separately.
There once was a mighty god. In the beginning, he parted seas, rained fire, and turned water into wine—because hydration is boring. He could summon floods with his rage and miracles with his moods. He was the kind of entity you’d think twice before ghosting on a prayer.
But lately?
Now he’s mostly known for helping people find parking spots and making pigeons stare soulfully through windows. His once-legendary omnipotence has been rebranded as “vague encouragement” and “air freshener vibes.”
You pray for purpose. He says:
“Destroy your entire life so I can rebuild it better.”
And when you dare ask why He couldn’t just build it better to begin with, He goes mysteriously silent—like a toxic ex with divine branding.
He guides you with paradoxes:
“Help yourself, and I will help you helping yourself. Probably.”
You ask for signs. He gives you a tweet from a guy named Chad about resilience.
You ask for miracles. He gives you a mild coincidence and a bill.
And when you point out the gap between promises and reality?
He says:
“You don’t have faith.”
Translation: You noticed. That’s your sin.
