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This isn't gonna work
Dear God,
I want my rib back.
So, feel free to get that to me whenever you can, because you wasted it. What were you thinking? Fifteen minutes after creation, I had not even healed yet from my ribectomy, and that bitch was eating the forbidden fruit. Why did you give me someone who doesn’t listen? If she isn’t going to listen to her Creator, why the hell would she listen to some idiot wearing a fig leaf over his nuts?
That’s another thing. What is with admonishing me for being bashful? I am wearing five square inches of roughage on my crotch. That’s it. This isn’t even enough foliage to cover a knee cap, let alone my package. I don’t really even want to discuss Eve pointing and laughing. I mean, come on, she has nothing to really compare it to, unless there is something you aren’t telling me.
This makes more sense
I hope you understand, I am grateful for the company. I mean, this Garden is pretty and all, but there is nothing to do here. It was really cool that you told me I could fornicate all I want and make babies. But did you give any thought as to how Eve and I were supposed to take care of these kids? You do understand that fruit and vegetables are rather fibrous and well, lets just say I, personally, have not had a solid bowel movement for weeks. I can only imagine every couple of hours, our kids are sleeping in a pool of their own shit. Do you know how absorbent Catalpa leaves are? Not very, and the only bath is our drinking water. They don’t stop crying either. The fruit goes in, the fruit goes out- not to mention that Eve is always complaining that she never has enough ‘me’ time. This is bullshit.
Since Eve ate the fruit, she has to suffer the pains of child birth. As I am sure you know, sooner or later there will be some sort of pain killer for this, which I am sure you already know. What a harsh penalty. The serpent gets to crawl around on their belly for all eternity. Oh no, not that, God. Please don’t put the snake closer to their food or anything. Meanwhile, behind Door Number Three, we have Adam, and since he listened to his “life partner,” he gets to work 50-hour work weeks to help repay his debt for taking God’s advice and trusting His “gift.” A lifetime of manual labor. That’s sweet, God. Thanks.
Put it back!
So if it is all the same, I would just rather you give me back my rib. We will try something else. Maybe you can make a hot chick out of a mushroom. Every new start-up operation has bugs to work out. At least the Earth is flat.
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