Bad apples

How Adam ended up in Eve's dog house.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 April 07, 2023 | [Read Online]( Bad apples How Adam ended up in Eve's dog house. Cole Schafer April 07, 2023 [fb]( [tw]( [in]( [email](mailto:?subject=Post%20from%20Sticky%20Notes&body=Bad%20apples%3A%20How%20Adam%20ended%20up%20in%20Eve%27s%20dog%20house.%20%0A%0Ahttps%3A%2F%2Fwww.getthesticky.com%2Fp%2Fadam-and-eve) Do you ever think about how tense the conversation must have been between Adam and Eve after he ratted her out to God in the Garden of Eden? Adam: "Evie?" Eve: Adam: "Is something wrong?" Eve: Adam: "Sweetie?" Eve: Adam: "Please. Not the silent treatment." Eve: "Snitch." Adam: "Excuse me?" Eve: "I didn't stutter. You're a fucking snitch." Adam: "I didn't have a choice, honey." Eve: "Oh, don't give me that shit." Adam: "What?" Eve: "You have free will. You always have a choice." Adam: "What did you expect me to do? Lie to God?" Eve: "Uh, yeah, actually. I did." Adam: "But, he knows all!" Eve: "Well, I hope he knows how to suck your dick." Jokes aside, sometimes I wish that God stepped in more amid human affairs the way he did in the Garden of Eden after the whole snake debacle. I suppose this would go against free will––as Eve brought up in the above conversation––but, seriously, the world would be a hell of a lot better if God took a smoke break every now and again from all the creative work he's doing in his workshop upstairs, paid Earth a visit and laid down law. While he's down here, he could bend Vladimir Putin and Kim Jong-un over each knee, tear their britches down to their ankles and just really lay into them for fifteen minutes. You know God has some heavy, ham-fisted hands that could have knocked out Tyson in his prime. If he were to execute corporal punishment on Vladimir and Kim's pale white asses, they would be limping around for weeks like they took turns sitting on the trophy in Everything Everywhere All At Once and really think hard the next time they felt overwhelmed with the urge to run their grubby, sweaty little paws along the edges of their nuclear warheads. But, not unlike your one friend's parents who'd let you get blistered fucking drunk in their basement without saying a word, God doesn't really step in. No, humanity is forced to work through their shit entirely on their own. Because of this, we have some really good apples like Michelle Obama and some really bad ones like Andrew Tate. Which, by the way, the euphemism "All it takes is one bad apple to spoil the bunch" is rooted in fact. When an apple is rotten it produces "ethylene", which is a ripening agent of sorts that rubs off on all the other good, honest, God-fearing apples, causing them to spoil, act out, behave badly, skip class, hotbox their Toyota Supras with their underage girlfriends, steal, cheat and do crystal meth. I kind of feel like part of humanities job is to keep the bad apples from rubbing off on the good ones. But, where am I going with all of this? I don't know. Honestly, I can't believe you've read this far. Pressure is on now, I suppose. I'll try not to waste your time... So, I'm skeptical of anyone who claims God talks to them. Talking to God is one thing. I talk to God all the time. If you never talk to God, I just think you've never found yourself in a proverbial foxhole. There's a line I read once. I can't remember where. It was something along the lines of their being no atheists in foxholes. I believe that. I genuinely believe that. It actually inspired [the ending of this spoken word piece]( I wrote a good while back. If you've ever been on a plane and felt the cabin shake like a tin can getting fucked by a blue whale, you've certainly prayed to God. If you haven't prayed amid this kind of chaos, you either have balls of brass or, hell, maybe you are God. But, I'm getting off track again, aren't I? So, I'm skeptical of anyone who claims God talks to them. I can't tell you how many times I've phoned God. While I don't pray exactly the way the saints do in all those famous paintings––on their knees with their palms pressed together and their fingers as straight as steeples as they look up longingly towards the heavens––I do pray. And, in all of my prayers, he has never talked back to me. God doesn't talk. He listens. That's why he's the best of us. Nobody listens. But God listens. Or, at least, I'd like to think he listens. I remember a while back I felt like I kept getting kicked in my teeth. Fuck, I still feel like I'm getting kicked in my teeth. I'd work and work and work––digging like a shaved groundhog caught in a blizzard––but I couldn't hit a lick. One day, I had enough, I threw down my shovel. I tore off my clothes. I got in the shower and I lied down on the floor; and as the water from the shower rained down on me, I prayed... " God, I'm going to keep digging. I'm going to keep digging whether you do something or not. I'm going to keep digging because it's all I know how to do. While I've never been the smartest nor the sharpest nor the most talented, you've gifted me with the ability to work my ass off; to put my head down, move some dirt and put in a good day's work. But, I could use your help. It's dark down here and I can't see shit and I'm running out of dough to keep this shovel sharpened and the bulbs in my headlamp lit and my Red Wings soled. All that I ask is that you just knock somewhere on the other side of this mountain so that I know I'm digging in the right direction? Could you just lower a broom stick down out of your attic and just tap-tap-tap on the side of this mountain so I know I'm not digging my way to Hell. Because I'm lost down here, God and I could use your help. " I never heard the knock because, like I've said, God doesn't talk to me. But, the load felt lighter somehow and the shoveling got easier. By [Cole Schafer](. P.S. If you enjoyed this newsletter, you can support it by [subscribing]( or purchasing one of the following goodies from my store... [Meet Cute]( 👉🏾 To write pretty prose [Snow Cones]( 👉🏾 To write pretty advertising [Don Draper]( 👉🏾 To pretty emails [One Minute, Please?]( 👉🏾 To read pretty poetry Share Sticky Notes Assuming you think the words you just read are "good", you can spread the good word by clicking the big black button down below or highlighting that pretty red link. 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