Transcendental Argument (TAG) for God’s Existence

[edthecynic]

feminazi

Mindless DittoTard!

 

[edthecynic]

1. If God did not exist, knowledge would be impossible.

Actually it is the exact opposite, which you would know if you ever actually read the bible!
KNOWLEDGE was the FORBIDDEN FRUIT!!!!!!

I have cravenly suffered the sentimental drivel of the career politician—
The pandering fop, the trailer-trash clone,
The glib picaro who would do anything at all to be somebody,
Except be somebody who would do anything useful.
I have felt his pudgy fingers foraging in my pockets—
The easy smile, the evasive speech, the beguiling eyes

that woo the timid sheep . . .​

The stuff and the skinny of Orwellian nightmares.

You can't rebut my post so you post jabberwocky.

 

[Ringtone]

1. If God did not exist, knowledge would be impossible.​

"It's true because I said it."

My carcass—scourged by jagged teeth—was spewed out

onto a distant Eastern shore.​

 

[Ringtone]

A better argument would be:

1. If God The Easter Bunny did not exist, knowledge would be impossible.

2. Knowledge is possible.

3. The Easter Bunny exists.

And the world’s amusements, its diversions, abound!
Sought by pale hands, chased by wooden feet:
Candy-coated rainbows that calm and feed the head
Or illicit, well-used harpies that slip into your bed . . .
Charms that lift you or drop you into a cold sweat.

^^^^^ Reducing the religious extremist to babbling.

And the nanny state, the meddler, bewitches so easily!
Conceived by venal men, contrived by ruthless means . . .
That ancient human misery loosed again on you and me,
Watching, prying . . . or it smothers,
The self-anointed class, the deified regime.

^^^^^ Marshall Applewhite wannabe.

Oh, let’s do lunch and explore the boundless profundities

of our pregnant self-esteem,​

As we boldly proclaim our tolerance for everything that’s grown,
Lest something sacred, something precious rise above the common drone.
Let us smirk, let us squawk, let us blather till we mock
Every triumph, every blunder that has ever inspired wonder,
Every wisdom, every dream that has ever caused a scream,

till all music and all poetry are dead.​

 

[Hollie]

A better argument would be:

1. If God The Easter Bunny did not exist, knowledge would be impossible.

2. Knowledge is possible.

3. The Easter Bunny exists.

And the world’s amusements, its diversions, abound!
Sought by pale hands, chased by wooden feet:
Candy-coated rainbows that calm and feed the head
Or illicit, well-used harpies that slip into your bed . . .
Charms that lift you or drop you into a cold sweat.

^^^^^ Reducing the religious extremist to babbling.

And the nanny state, the meddler, bewitches so easily!
Conceived by venal men, contrived by ruthless means . . .
That ancient human misery loosed again on you and me,
Watching, prying . . . or it smothers,
The self-anointed class, the deified regime.

^^^^^ Marshall Applewhite wannabe.

Oh, let’s do lunch and explore the boundless profundities

of our pregnant self-esteem,​

As we boldly proclaim our tolerance for everything that’s grown,
Lest something sacred, something precious rise above the common drone.
Let us smirk, let us squawk, let us blather till we mock
Every triumph, every blunder that has ever inspired wonder,
Every wisdom, every dream that has ever caused a scream,

till all music and all poetry are dead.​

It’s creepy that you spend so much time writing poetry to me.

 

[Ringtone]

It’s creepy that you spend so much time writing poetry to me.

And I have listlessly shuffled through the tedious echoes​

of endless, wayward discussions—​

Strung out from the feet of my feet to the feet at your doorstep,​

past the bathroom and down the hall.​

I have flirted with fancies and consorted with the shadows on the wall​

(Attired in a three-piece suit and matching tie!)​

And I have littered my life with wasted days beneath the dismal pall.​

 

[Hollie]

It’s creepy that you spend so much time writing poetry to me.

And I have listlessly shuffled through the tedious echoes​

of endless, wayward discussions—​

Strung out from the feet of my feet to the feet at your doorstep,​

past the bathroom and down the hall.​

I have flirted with fancies and consorted with the shadows on the wall​

(Attired in a three-piece suit and matching tie!)​

And I have littered my life with wasted days beneath the dismal pall.​

“And I have littered my life with wasted days beneath the dismal pall.”

Well honestly, you have only yourself to blame for your failures and inadequacies.

Referencing your creepy poetry writing, did you confuse this site with your online dating site?

 

[Ringtone]

“And I have littered my life with wasted days beneath the dismal pall.”

Well honestly, you have only yourself to blame for your failures and inadequacies.

Referencing your creepy poetry writing, did you confuse this site with your online dating site?

Shall I say, after a snort or two, that I have wrestled

with demons in squalid hotel rooms? . . .​

The paint that peels from walls,
The lone, naked light bulb hanging from the ceiling.

 

[Hollie]

“And I have littered my life with wasted days beneath the dismal pall.”

Well honestly, you have only yourself to blame for your failures and inadequacies.

Referencing your creepy poetry writing, did you confuse this site with your online dating site?

Shall I say, after a snort or two, that I have wrestled

with demons in squalid hotel rooms? . . .​

The paint that peels from walls,
The lone, naked light bulb hanging from the ceiling.

Your babbling is really pointless.

 

[Ringtone]

“And I have littered my life with wasted days beneath the dismal pall.”

Well honestly, you have only yourself to blame for your failures and inadequacies.

Referencing your creepy poetry writing, did you confuse this site with your online dating site?

Shall I say, after a snort or two, that I have wrestled

with demons in squalid hotel rooms? . . .​

The paint that peels from walls,
The lone, naked light bulb hanging from the ceiling.

Your babbling is really pointless.

When Evening spreads His toothless grin across the face of Day,
When Dusk grovels at His feet as She scorns Her fallen Star—
Shall I wallow in the moonlight,
Bring the lesser stars to tears
With another tale of love’s discarded toys?

 

[Hollie]

“And I have littered my life with wasted days beneath the dismal pall.”

Well honestly, you have only yourself to blame for your failures and inadequacies.

Referencing your creepy poetry writing, did you confuse this site with your online dating site?

Shall I say, after a snort or two, that I have wrestled

with demons in squalid hotel rooms? . . .​

The paint that peels from walls,
The lone, naked light bulb hanging from the ceiling.

Your babbling is really pointless.

When Evening spreads His toothless grin across the face of Day,
When Dusk grovels at His feet as She scorns Her fallen Star—
Shall I wallow in the moonlight,
Bring the lesser stars to tears
With another tale of love’s discarded toys?

Does William Lane Craig take offense at your writing poetry to me and not him?

 

[Ringtone]

Does William Lane Craig take offense at your writing poetry to me and not him?

Shall I dream the dreams of angels?
Roust the harpies from my bed?
In the morning, with my coffee,
I can smooth my rumpled head.

 

[JoeMoma]

My favorite poet, Earnest T. Bass:

 

[Hollie]

Does William Lane Craig take offense at your writing poetry to me and not him?

Shall I dream the dreams of angels?
Roust the harpies from my bed?
In the morning, with my coffee,
I can smooth my rumpled head.

Such foolishness. If William Lane Craig isn't impressed with your advances, don't come crying here looking for attention.

 

[Ringtone]

Such foolishness. If William Lane Craig isn't impressed with your advances, don't come crying here looking for attention.

Shall I press the monumental question?
Smartly reinforce the crease?
I shall cast my lot with heaven . . .
The moldy mysterious on my fleece!
Should I butter my toast?
Insist on rye or wheat?
Let us dance a torrid tango
And display our nimble feet!

 

[Hollie]

Such foolishness. If William Lane Craig isn't impressed with your advances, don't come crying here looking for attention.

Shall I press the monumental question?
Smartly reinforce the crease?
I shall cast my lot with heaven . . .
The moldy mysterious on my fleece!
Should I butter my toast?
Insist on rye or wheat?
Let us dance a torrid tango
And display our nimble feet!

Moldy fleece seems appropriate in describing your creepy thread spamming.

 

[Ringtone]

Moldy fleece seems appropriate in describing your creepy thread spamming.

Actually, the above should read The moldy mysteries on my fleece. Typo. Thanks for bringing that to my attention.

 

[Hollie]

Moldy fleece seems appropriate in describing your creepy thread spamming.

Actually, the above should read The moldy mysteries on my fleece. Typo. Thanks for bringing that to my attention.

You're welcome. At some point I would hope you could accept some responsibility for the spam you dump into threads and be silent instead of making an abject fool of yourself.

 

[Ringtone]

I really don't understand the first point at all.

I'm not against the idea of God and have no reason to believe he doesn't exist but number 1 is just stupid.

So explain to us how knowledge would be possible if God didn't exist.

 

[Hollie]

I really don't understand the first point at all.

I'm not against the idea of God and have no reason to believe he doesn't exist but number 1 is just stupid.

So explain to us how knowledge would be possible if God didn't exist.

We could proceed on the knowledge that your gods, or anyone else’s gods don’t exist and then confirm that humans have accumulated knowledge by discovering that explanations for how the world around us operates is completely natural, without supernatural intervention.

What else can I help you with?