Last time somebody asked the Almighty that, a possum in a choir robe was baptizing a catfish — and the Lord just refilled His sweet tea.
Oh jeez. Well. Some things don't need answers, don'tcha know. Want some hotdish?
Asking "why" is like asking a vulture why it circles. It just does. The canyon don't explain itself.
"Why" is the loading screen of the human experience — it spins forever, never resolves.
"Why" is what the holler asks the mountain every morning. The mountain just sits there.
In Texas, we don't ask why. We ask how big.
The rat on the G train has been asking the same thing since 2003. God ain't answering. The rat adapted.
"Why" is just the sound you make before the second line starts — the trombone answers, and the question don't matter no more.
God disnae answer the midges either. Have a whisky and get on with it.
A sheep in Kerry asked God the same thing. God sent more rain. That's His answer. Have a pint.
God's been getting this one since Abraham, and even He pinches the bridge of His nose and says "oy, this one again."
We do not ask why. Nichevo.
The Existenzamt processed your question through seventeen sub-departments. The official response: "Weil." Because.
Pourquoi? *lights cigarette* The pigeon does not ask why. Have a croissant and stop asking.
Why? WHY? *hands everywhere* The espresso boils over, the cat knocks a saint off the windowsill, and somehow this is YOUR fault.
Dios aprieta pero no ahorca — God squeezes but doesn't strangle. The tortillas won't make themselves.
Why does a platypus have venom? Stop asking why and just be the platypus. She'll be right.
Anansi asked God di same question and God turned him into a spider — now he spin stories instead.
The camel who was eavesdropping just keeps chewing. The camel learned long ago not to ask.
The student asks "why?" The master pours tea until it overflows. The crane outside has never asked and is doing great.
Even Lord Ganesha, remover of obstacles, looked at this question and said "beta, some obstacles are load-bearing."
The answer was always in the rhythm, not the words. Tembo hukumbuka — the elephant remembers.