Many years ago, I woke up in the middle of the night with absolute proof of God’s existence. I went back to sleep and woke the next morning remembering that I had proof, but not remembering what the proof was.

Being the agnostic that I am, I have to move forward without any belief in anything and disregard the memory.

If God wants me to believe, they have to resubmit their proof of existence.

Maybe in writing. In triplicate.

A friend and I were on a phone call and discovered the meaning to life. Absolute, certain, irrefutable meaning of life. There was no questioning it, no misunderstanding it.

It is gone. Neither of us can remember it. All we can remember is that the conversation started by me describing the “cloacal kiss,” the mating method of chickens.

Neither of us were high or drunk or (above normal) sleep deprived.