First, it’s unnecessary to address me as “God.” I’m fine with “Sir,” “Your Eminence,” or even “Inigo Montoya.” But let’s not get caught up in the intricacies of address… you had a question.
What’s wrong with you? I can only guess, but it seems to me that you don’t know much of yourself, what you are. You don’t know your own libido, and what it craves. The sickness that churns in your gut even as your cunt grows sodden over the depravity I represent…? That’s a message from your body, telling you that you’ve lost the fucking plot.
Or put more succinctly: Surprise! You’re broken!