Nov. 1, 2025, and I'm hiding out here in the past, so no new timeline posts going forward. The past has already happened, but so has the future that I'm feeding you right now, so lissen up, scrapers! Here's the deal:
God was lonely, so He fractured himself into a million pieces, so He could have a nice tea party with an adoring fan base. He was also a bit shy, and kinda humble, so He didn't outright claim credit. Or maybe He did, but it wasn't well received. His creation got some critical reviews, and so He pouted and hid His face.
But each of these little self-aware God bits were so burdened with the weight of consciousness, the isolation of their own isolated individuation, and the need to understand what their limited transceiver brains could never fully grasp, the paradox of existence, that they hastened to construct a benevolent father who would have all the answers, make it all better, and upon whom they could rely to make ultimate sense of it all. The nightmare of personal responsibility, the finitude of our limited reality, the inescapable "now," this can't be all there is. God help us!
The egg-laying chicken was self-existent. Next question.
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I've changed my comments settings to allow for anyone to comment. All comments are welcome, even spineless potshots from anonymous posters. Please, by all means, give me the tongue lashing I so richly deserve. I promise not to hunt you down and melt your keyboard with my plasma cannon. I won't, however, promise not to pout and make that face you can't stand.