“Do you believe in God, Poetry Boy?” he asked me suddenly. I was taken aback. “I . . . I don’t know, sir,” I said. “You don’t know.” “No, sir.” “You can’t decide whether the universe was fashioned in the Mind of Eternal Wisdom or whether it was farted randomly out of the Asshole of Nothingness. You’re not willing to take a position on that question. Do I understand you correctly?” “More or less, sir, yes.” “More or less. That is more or less your piss-poor absurdly ridiculous response to the most important philosophical question of any man’s life. That is what you’re telling me,” said the
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