Somehow Facebook has me pegged as a good Christian Republican. The Big Algorithm is constantly giving me ads that invite me to give my credit card numbers to the Slushy Money Against Critical Race Theory Fund, and to buy “patriotic” clothing that has various combinations of eagles, machine guns and flags on it. I get offers to “introduce prisoners to Jesus,” despite the fact that I don’t know any prisoners or Jesus.
I get invited to participate in surveys where the questions might be a tad loaded. Surveys with questions like “Do you think Joe Biden is a good President, for a pedophile?”
But I just stopped scrolling and stared when I saw an ad that said, “Will you read a daily verse with God?”
Yes. Oh, hell yeah. And I mean a verse of anything. As long as the Alpha and the Omega was sitting on my couch with me, from Amazing Grace to “Back That Ass Up.” Taylor Swift to T.S. Elliot. Gangsta rap to country western. Well, not country western. Well, okay. Thy will be done. Garth Brooks here we come.
So, I went to page two, which was a bunch of survey questions about whether I had kids, a job I was happy with, whether I had a relationship, and how often I wanted to l hear from the Almighty. I started answering them eagerly, until I had a bonus revelation, which was Shouldn’t God already know this shit?
That’s when I lost hope that God would actually come and get cozy over a little literature with me. God would already know that I had a kid. He would also know if that child was a wildly successful object of pride to me or if he was already known to the local cops as “Narcan Boy.” He would also know if I was in a relationship, or relationships, or if I belonged to a worldwide pansexual tribe that worshipped Miley Cyrus. He would know if I enjoyed my work or if I was planning to open fire at everyone on the loading dock come Monday.
Unlike God, algorithms know nothing until you start telling them. So, I quit filling out the survey. If God wants to find me, He can find me on His own. I’m usually at my local brewhouse on the weekends.
I’m the guy with eagles on his cargo pants.