Toying with God and its worshippers.

When they tell me, “God will strike you,” and I reply, “Let him strike if he has the power,” I laugh so much at the look on their faces. Then they go on: “But saying this is a great sin.” Then I answer, “I executed God; he had no power to oppose me. Because it was I who created him; I was his God—not vice versa. If possible—if he is able to do so—let him burn me in hell now.” Then, the label of “heretic” comes. They probably attribute my still being alive to “God’s mercy.” But I go even further: after insulting God ceaselessly, I point to myself, implying that I am still alive despite it. Because God cannot unalive me. At this point, they can get really furious, and even that is funny. Insisting on my views about such dangerous subjects in the presence of zealots and narrow-minded people makes me secrete adrenaline as if I were on a high-speed train, and I love it. As long as they don’t stab me or hand me over to the police, in truth they can do nothing, absolutely nothing at all.