I had coffee the other day with my friend Chumly (not really; I'm making up a story) and between sips on his grande, half-caff extra-hot latte with two (not one) packets of Equal, he explained to me there is no God because if there was, he would have designed the human eye to be like the more-efficient octopus eye.
I thought maybe God figured we could be dangerous enough with the eyesight he gave us, but instead, I stared vacantly out the window and then said, "Hmmm ... Did you know that Picasso never existed?"
"What are you talking about?" Chumly asked.
"Have you ever looked at the portraits they say were painted by him? The nose is pasted on sideways, the mouth and eyes are in the wrong places and are the wrong size and the colors are garish and not human?"
"We were talking about God, not Picasso! But I will digress long enough to urge you not to be an idiot. There are books about Picasso; there are people alive today who knew Picasso; there are photographs of Picasso. Of course Picasso existed!"
"But what about the portraits? They're all wrong!"
"Look, just because you don't understand or like Picasso's style doesn't mean he didn't exist."
"I rest my case."
"What?" Chumly said. (Chumly never was very quick on the uptake.)
"Just because you don't understand or like God's style doesn't mean He doesn't exist."