math-2
Original: math-2 on Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal
Transcript
Panel 1:
Human (white speech bubble): "DEAR GOD, WHY DID YOU WEAVE THE COSMOS AS A TAPESTRY OF MATHEMATICS?"
God (yellow caption): "WHAT A SHIT-FOR-BRAINS QUESTION."
God (yellow caption): "MAYBE THE ATOMIC NUMBER OF HELIUM COULD BE 'A LITTLE.' MAYBE THE SIZE OF THE UNIVERSE CAN BE 'LOTS, MAN.'"
Panel 2:
God (yellow caption): "WHAT'D YOU WANT ME TO DO? LIKE YOU DROP A BALL AND THE RATE IT GOES DOWN IS WHATEVER THE UNIVERSE FEELS LIKE TODAY?"
Panel 3:
God (yellow caption): "THE SHAPE OF PLANETS' ORBITS CAN BE DETERMINED BY, WHAT, PIXIE FLATULENCE?"
Panel 4 (the man's face, no text).
Panel 5:
Human (white speech bubble): "OKAY, I GOT IT. CHILL OUT, GOD."
Panel 6:
God (yellow caption): "DEAR HUMAN, WHY DO YOU WEAVE YOUR QUESTION OUT OF WORDS AND NOT FAIRY GAS? YOU ARE JUST SOOO MYSTERIOUS."
Votey:
Caption: "(SOMEHOW THIS TURNED INTO THE WEEK OF HATING ON HUMANS)"
Human (white speech bubble): "DEAR GOD, WHY DID YOU WEAVE THE COSMOS AS A TAPESTRY OF MATHEMATICS?"
God (yellow caption): "WHAT A SHIT-FOR-BRAINS QUESTION."
God (yellow caption): "MAYBE THE ATOMIC NUMBER OF HELIUM COULD BE 'A LITTLE.' MAYBE THE SIZE OF THE UNIVERSE CAN BE 'LOTS, MAN.'"
Panel 2:
God (yellow caption): "WHAT'D YOU WANT ME TO DO? LIKE YOU DROP A BALL AND THE RATE IT GOES DOWN IS WHATEVER THE UNIVERSE FEELS LIKE TODAY?"
Panel 3:
God (yellow caption): "THE SHAPE OF PLANETS' ORBITS CAN BE DETERMINED BY, WHAT, PIXIE FLATULENCE?"
Panel 4 (the man's face, no text).
Panel 5:
Human (white speech bubble): "OKAY, I GOT IT. CHILL OUT, GOD."
Panel 6:
God (yellow caption): "DEAR HUMAN, WHY DO YOU WEAVE YOUR QUESTION OUT OF WORDS AND NOT FAIRY GAS? YOU ARE JUST SOOO MYSTERIOUS."
Votey:
Caption: "(SOMEHOW THIS TURNED INTO THE WEEK OF HATING ON HUMANS)"
Alt text
A six-panel comic. A man asks an unseen God a reverent question, and God responds with sarcastic exasperation. Panel 1: the man's white speech bubble reads "DEAR GOD, WHY DID YOU WEAVE THE COSMOS AS A TAPESTRY OF MATHEMATICS?" God replies in yellow caption boxes: "WHAT A SHIT-FOR-BRAINS QUESTION. MAYBE THE ATOMIC NUMBER OF HELIUM COULD BE 'A LITTLE.' MAYBE THE SIZE OF THE UNIVERSE CAN BE 'LOTS, MAN.'" Panels 2 and 3 continue God's rant: "WHAT'D YOU WANT ME TO DO? LIKE YOU DROP A BALL AND THE RATE IT GOES DOWN IS WHATEVER THE UNIVERSE FEELS LIKE TODAY? THE SHAPE OF PLANETS' ORBITS CAN BE DETERMINED BY, WHAT, PIXIE FLATULENCE?" The man stares deadpan. In panel 5 he says, "OKAY, I GOT IT. CHILL OUT, GOD." God gets the last word in panel 6: "DEAR HUMAN, WHY DO YOU WEAVE YOUR QUESTION OUT OF WORDS AND NOT FAIRY GAS? YOU ARE JUST SOOO MYSTERIOUS." The joke: math being the foundation of physics is so obviously practical that asking why is, to God, as silly as asking why humans speak in words. The votey (a small final panel) is plain text reading "(SOMEHOW THIS TURNED INTO THE WEEK OF HATING ON HUMANS)."
Transcribed by Claude Opus 4.8.