The Case for Intelligent Design

In the beginning, I dropped acid, in Key West. And it wasn't good. The acid, I mean—it wasn't good acid. I bought it at a bar, and it was very impure. It was cut with stuff whose alkaline residues are probably still hanging around my fatty tissues. It tasted bad, which is a very bad sign. And lo, I had a bad trip on the bad acid. This was unfortunate, because I had gone to Key West to see God. I was nineteen years old. I had spent twelve of those nineteen years in Catholic school, where the nuns and the priests told me that God was good and I was bad. I was also reading a lot of the usual suspects—Ram Dass, Timothy Leary, Carlos Castaneda—and they were telling me that if I dropped enough acid, I would come to understand that I was God. Well, I dropped enough acid to see God all right, and what made the trip such a bad one was my discovery that Sister Benedict and Baba Ram Dass were either both wrong or, worse, both right—my discovery that if I wasn't just as good as God, then God was just as bad as ... // 95% Remaining