I finally have proof that there is no such thing as a guiding intelligence behind Life, The Universe, and...well, you saw the movie.
And the answer is most definitely not 42.
Attend me: For a supper snack while watching Star Trek:TNG on that gaming channel or whatever it is, I toasted a plain bagel and put a thinish slice of cheddar cheese in the middle, waited until the cheese was just soft, and ate it.
You ought to try it one day. It works better with egg bagels, but plain works pretty well too. Just toast it good, not so much that it's burnt or too crusty, and don't stop when it's just cool inside. You want it good and finger-scalding hot. Cut a slice of your preferred cheddar about a quarter inch thick, making sure that you have just enough cheese width to cover the whole bagel--no plain bread, please. Let the whole thing melt for a minute or two, then eat, preferably with a big glass of sweetea*.
Know how I found out this marvel of the snack food world? A woman I met online.
I'm not going to say "a friend," or something like that, because I don't count her as such. She was a chat companion way back when I was single and miserable, and I met her in a chat room. Her picture spoke of a lovely, curly-headed brunette, middle-aged, with a come-hither look in her big brown eyes and a pair of incredible long legs. I knew the first time I saw it that the picture was either twenty years old or was someone else. But we chatted pretty constiently in the same room with about fifteen other regulars, and we all had a lot of fun.
Well, things progressed, and this woman and I became close. We chatted often, we chatted intimately, and a relationship grew. Then one day she told me that she was coming down to my neck of the woods from Ohio, where she was residing, and she wanted to meet me. I was all for it, having found out that not only was she pretty and intelligent, she actually WAS the woman in the picture, and I was falling for her like a blind roofer.
The magical day arrived, she arrived, was exactly as the picture described her, and we spent a tempestuous week together. In bed mostly, but we did have normal upright times, too. She was witty, funny, and sexy. And she introduced me to a new taste by preparing toasted bagels and cheese for us for breakfast each morning. As a morning meal it was just right; a single bagle would fill me up, or a single serving made a delicious, easily-portable workday snack, plus it was cheap and easy. True love all around.
And like all good things, that week ended. I found out a few weeks after her tear-strewn and promise-filled separation from my life that she had not come down to see just me as she had suggested the entire time, but that she had made a sort of round trip around the south to see four other guys and to sleep with them, too. At least I was the first, which was and still is small comfort indeed. When she got home after her sexual tour of the Deep South she had a sudden vision of Gawd and was reborn or dipped in the lamb or whatever the hell it is those people do, she got back with her ex-husband, and I was told not to speak to her ever again because "it offended her husband."
Ah. Well, there you are.
So there I was, my dreams of post-divorce happiness crushed, my male attractiveness tossed aside like a soiled condom, and my year of honest, painstaking relationship building was suddenly revealed as a year of posturing and posing and opening my heart just so I could pick up a five dollar hooker. But through it all, through the months of malaise afterwards, through the bitterness and the resolution within myself, and a full decade later I still have my new-found love--cheddar cheese bagles.
"So now," you ask, "where is your magical proof that there is no god?"
"Right here," I shout, "Right here in my cheese-greasy hands!" No god in it's right mind would move, pun intended, heaven and earth to arrange for a woman living 14 hours away from me to show me her appetite for sexual excess, reveal to me what seemed like genuine love, make me marvelously happy for a week in every way then crush my entire existence with a practiced flirt of her soft curls just so she could introduce me to melted cheddar cheese bagels. No intellgence of any measure would go through such extreme lengths just so I could enjoy a cheesy morning refueling, when all it would have taken was a commercial or a food show to turn me on to the marvels that is the combination of bagels and Cheddar. No, you can't tell me that there is any sense there, no matter how much you show off your pair of long, smooth legs, and I didn't even have to show you my wee-wee to help you understand how good a cheddar cheese and hot bagel can be together.
And Debbie? Fuck you, you silly whore. You were too bony to be really enjoyable.
* Sweetea: n (pronounced "SWEE-tee") A Southernism for "a glass of sweet iced tea please ma'am," widely considered to be the single most important donation to world cuisine the South has ever made.