Half-way through my pilgrimage to Mecca, I decided I’m actually going to be agnostic. 

Earlier today, my spiritual guide got stung by a desert scorpion. His last words were, “there is no life after death.” Bummer. Could you imagine those being your last words? Mine would be something cool, like “Yes, Mr. President, I do know all the moves to the Macarena.”

Separately, I’m starting to have doubts about God. Is there any point in donating to the poor? Can I no longer use praying as an excuse for taking action? Is my spiritual guide dead if he’s still gurgling? I don’t know. And I don’t care. I’m starving out here. I’d challenged myself to fast during the pilgrimage, and I think this lack of food may be making me hungry. But in the desert, it’s hard to know anything for sure. 

I need to get out of here alive. There’s only so much sand a man can eat before he starts to think, “Damn, I wish I weren’t eating sand right now.” Not to mention the heat’s making all the other people in my caravan delirious, so I have to drag the corpse of our spiritual guide all on my own, while they just stare at me blankly and eat from their fruit baskets.

At this point, the whole “not believing in God” thing is starting to make sense. I mean, I’ve never actually seen the guy. So why bother in believing at all? Now when my 10-year old son asks me to come to his next talent show, I don’t have to waste my time believing in him.

Anyway, I finally arrive in Mecca, and a light flashes before my eyes—shit. Without realizing it, I’d circled the Kaaba seven times, completing the pilgrimage. “Oh God,” I say as God appears before me. He calls my agnosticism foolish and slaps me. Whatever, I’m hungry.