God As A Vending Machine

I used to treat god as if he was a big candy machine.  A consumer of miracles and blessings would stroll up to god and peer through the glass at a dizzying array of treats and candy and donuts, make a selection - no money required - and dial up a snack, sweet or salty, as fancy would have it. There wasn't any fucking fruit or vegetables in there, either, just good stuff.  If you wanted twelve Twix bars all you had to do was keep pushing the combination of buttons that l.

I still treat god as a vending machine.  It's a good image and I don't want to waste it.  However, the new vending machine god has some candy and some vegetables and some bags of poop from an indeterminate source.  But when I make my selection - invariably candy, rarely feces - I notice that there's only one button to be pushed.  No codes lining up under the treats.  I push "Dispense" and I get what I get.  Mostly, I get good stuff.  I'm terrified of the poop but I don't get it very much, and it's OK when I do - into every life some bags of poop must be vended.  I often get fruit and vegetables, things that are good for me.

It's enough with the candy already.a