Learning Day: 10,000 Things to Praise God For

If you've always wanted to praise God but never knew for what, here's way, way, way less than 10,000 places to start!

10,000 Things to Praise God For was published in 1993 by a middle-aged woman named Jan Dargatz. Maybe. The cover made no mention of her, her author credit is buried deep in the fine print of the copyright information, and she used multiple pen names across dozens of books. Plus, "author" is a strong word when your writing process is living a very sheltered life and then failing to remember 10,000 things from it.

You knew this when you saw the word "10,000" in the title, but Jan is just typing shit. She writes like an insect is devouring her brain and this book is its toilet. 10,000 Things to Praise God For is an idiot struggling through the most frustrating weekend of her life after wrongly thinking, "I have an idea for a book."

I get this kind of slop has a meditative appeal. And someone with the internal life of a tortoise and no good hobbies might enjoy a nice list of things they can relate to. But this book is CHRISTIAN Christian. Like, Jan will sometimes stop in the middle of a list of snacks and vacation spots to dedicate eleven entries to the suffering of Christ, then get right back to… hmm, let's see… something, anything… oh! salt licks

Sometimes Jan's ideas weave together beautifully like fish cumming, nice trees, and cumming. But most times it's an unsettling bounce between pointless fluff and unspeakable darkness like a Twitter feed after a school shooting, or a war crime, or a sex scanda– it's like a Twitter feed at any time. And maybe, like you, Jan Dargatz imagined this book being a cute journey of life's little beauties. She was probably as shocked as anyone to find out her mind looks like this when you turn it inside out:

"Let's see, young plants… that technically counts as three. What else, what else. Rape, sure. Definitely keeping the rape, and God is kind a big stage designer when you think about it." And now, like Jan Dargatz thinks immediately after considering the darkest of sex crimes, let's do a fun one!

One of the things I appreciate most about 10,000 Things to Praise God For is Jan did absolutely no research. If she wants to thank God for the guy who invented nachos, He's going to have to look that up Himself. Speaking of nachos, Jan praises You for nachos, God. Which is a whole new entry! It doesn't count as the one about the scientist who discovered nachos, Grand Dame Dorito Pasteur-Supreme. It's not hard, Jan. Her name is fucking right there in the encyclopedia, Jan.

I'm not the biggest fan of religion, but this seems like the worst version of it, removed from all context and wisdom. These are noises a gang of cockatoos would make if they lived under the worst church. It's nonsense. I only included this page because it shows us there are exactly 12 other thoughts between the thought "they should make Christian love potions" and the thought "oh, shit, we need to make sure people use the Christian love potions responsibly."

This one is kind of nice. At their best, books like this can elevate the mundane into an appreciation of small miracles. A field of beans, when really contemplated, carries with it our shared human history. Our struggles and our triumphs… maybe I'm being too hard on Jan. She's a woman on this same journey of life with me, with all of us.

Or maybe she likes beans.

Sure, I guess you can dry the beans, Jan.

And yeah, they come in other colors.

And types! You're right, Jan! I think you've made it clear to…

God damn it. Sure, Jan. All the beans and bean things. Praise God for every aspect of bean. If Dennis Miller was here, he might say, "You know, I'm the furthest thing from gay, but this lady's content is more bean heavy than a Christian clown detective novel written by ChatGPT, babe."

Ha ha this is from page 48 of a 498 page book. She is only 9.6% into her list, and Jan is already being a sarcastic dick to God.

Birchbark seems like a suspiciously specific kind of canoe, almost as if Jan knows she might need to bring canoes up aga–

There we go. At the risk of spoiling the plot, ending, and denouement of 10,000 Things to Praise God For, when prolific Christian author "Jan Dargatz" searches her soul for inspiration, it usually says "canoe."

Brown, and brown, wow, so many of these browns have names. Jan Dargatz has a vibrant mind, inspiring readers to see the world from bold new perspectives. For instance:

A lot of authors would have simply said, "toddlers playing in a sprinkler" and let the reader decide if the toddlers were nude. I already knew from all the beans and canoes this book had no editor, but this lack of oversight carries a darkness with it. And I don't mean it's weird to praise God for the naked toddlers you're picturing. It is, one thousand percent, but I mean it implies Jan didn't even have a friend she could show this to… just a single person in her life who could have said, "I love all the browns and canoes, but maybe put some underpants on the kids?" Let me give you another example of Jan's black soul.

"Swinging from ropes without nooses?" Why include the "without nooses" unless you're a madwoman? You don't need to clarify, "Oh, no, when I say swinging from ropes, I don't mean you're hanging by your neck, dead. No, no, it's a regular nooseless rope. Maybe you're in the jungle or something? A jungle with naked children, to be clear. Now… what else… oh! You'll like this: nooseless candy bars!"

My point is, there is something terrible inside of Jan and it's getting harder for her to hide from it.

I shake hands with Cheryl from Arkansas City and Steve Harvey shouts, "Name something! In your home! You can't fix!" My mind races. Eggs? Thermostat? There's no time for anything other than instinct, so I buzz in. I confidently shout to the studio audience, "A woman who keeps forgiving the Holocaust!" It's number one on the board.

I don't even give Steve Harvey time to ask his next question. "We're going to play, Steve."

Like every single thing in this disgusting book, Jan Dargatz took the Holocaust and squeezed every entry she could from it. From all through history, she forgave every atrocity she could remember with her kind heart and limited education. And I don't think it's an accident. I'll absolutely never fucking check if this is true or not, but if you try to list 10,000 anythings from among all ideas and objects and you have to pad it out by forgiving genocide several times, you did that on purpose.

Yeah, why not? You did great with electrical tape, God!

"No, Lord in Heaven, you don't even fucking know. Whatever I've told you about how much I appreciate the many types of browns and ethnic cleansings, DOUBLE IT when it comes to electrical tape."

The goddamn balls on this lady to tell God He can't be hoodwinked by humans after trying to convince Him "electrical tape" and "electrical tape" counted as two separate entries.

Speaking of electrical tape and electrical tape, you might have noticed from the entries surrounding them that Jan has a lot of strange names for Jesus. She calls Him things like "Jesus Christ, Horn of the House of Israel" or "Jesus Christ, our scapegoat." She makes him sound like a nerd, like God's only begotten son logged in from Heaven to grind endgame content and farm titles. And since there are only so many species of bean, she includes at least one on every page. Here are some of my favorites:

Jesus Christ, the Scepter of Israel? Even as sacrilegious as I am and this article is, I'm still shocked to see myself type "This is how you introduce yourself to someone named Moses Penis in a Bible porn parody."

I think some of these names would have a lot of majesty by themselves, but they suffer when they're sandwiched between Jan's other loose thoughts. I guess I don't know what vibe Jan's going for when she says things like, "Hi, let me list things I like. One, Jesus Christ the King of All the Earth, of course, and two, when your sleepin' panties have sound elastic. Praise him for all of these things apparently equally."

"You'll want your wedding night to be special, and now it can be with Moses Penis Desensitizing Penis Gel. That's right, you know me as Jesus Christ, the Soon-Coming Bridegroom, but thanks to new blue raspberry Moses Penis Desensitizing Penis Gel, they don't call Me that anymore."

I honestly don't know if this is a typo, a Bible reference, or just what happens to a human brain when it wants to think "canoe" and you refuse it 9999 times. He is Risen, our savor, our yum yum soup.

Jesus Christ, the Image of the Invisible God is the Taiwanese DVD release name for Jesus.

Jesus Christ, the Guy I Describe Like a Friend's Wife Who Was Too Dull to Remember.

"They'll know what I mean by this. Also footprints on the moon," said Jan Dargatz while canoes and canoes pressed against the thin barricades of her mental discipline.

Oh no, I think I found another troubling pattern.

I'm trying to stay away from comedy killers after all sex crimes, nude kids, and atrocities, but there are a lot of entries about blood transfusions in this book. I also counted seventeen about AIDS. An author this untalented can't help but reveal themselves when scratching every last thought from their mind, and it's clear Jan is terrified of contracting HIV from a blood transfusion. In 1993, this is how right wing media made listeners who didn't fuck afraid of STDs, and it really, really worked on Jan. What I'm saying is, sometimes I get so caught up in trying to solve a mystery I forget I'm supposed to be writing jokes. Let's do a funny one!

The fucking Bible named an altar Ed!? Ha ha ha what!? I can't wait to tell a child about this.

There's something so pure about an elderly woman thanking God in advance for making robots nice. "Thank you for blessing us with androids who won't take my face and trick my friends, you sweet-smelling savor, I mean, come on, you'd never let them do that, right, Amen."

I make fun of Jan for her lack of intellectual agility, but try picturing a woman breastfeeding a baby while it's playing in a cobra nest. I can't do it. If I was writing this book, it would look like this:

the day when the nursing child will play by

the cobra's hole in safety

this super weird boner

technically different beans than the

beans from earlier

I'm kind of scared to do anything

to indulge this cobra breastfeeding boner

"Which one of you ladies is missing a husband," says the man dressed from the thong-up as a police officer. Your mourning mother raises one eyebrow. Tonight this hunk will prove to be no soon-coming bridegroom.

It's incredible that Jan Dargatz truly believes cartoons have magic powers and she brings it up 50% less often than electrical tape.

If, in your foolish haste, you put your sacred underpants on over your anointed robes and Scepter of Israel® medallion, Jesus Christ cannot protect you from Slimer!™ and the Real Ghostbusters™, Saturdays on ABC.

This quadruple-sized entry, "anagrams unscrambled" has got to mean we're supposed to unscramble the next one: "rehabilitators." What's the hidden message, Jan Darg– oh no. Rehabilitators is an anagram for AA Hitler Bistro, and they offered me a free order of spring rolls for solving the puzzle first.

Jan was already sick of Borat impressions 13 years before the movie came out.

"Fight, warriors! For bibs in the astral plane!" screams a cosmic ringmaster in my imagination before an image of Jan Dargatz appears. "No, bibs is its own entry. We should praise God for those who fight spiritual battles to win, and then also, by itself: bibs. I squeezed in 40 extra kinds of beans by not including line breaks," she explains, the dumb, disappointing fucking idiot.

Oh, hell yes. I love this one.

Like I've mentioned, the writing of a tidbit list is an accidentally revealing exercise. Jan Dargatz ran out of wisdom in the low two-digits, and everything since then is her demonstrating she only knows about fourteen details of less than 700 things. And five of those things seem to be a revenge plot gone wrong. Pieced together from confessions blurted out between types of flowers and weird names for Jesus, I found a shocking revelation, starting here with Jan getting blindsided in a hit-and-run.

Like any good femme fatale, Jan tries to distract me with dirty talk. "Procreative abilities and wet spells" she says, hoping I won't put these pieces together. She hasn't left the hospital and she's already hunting this man.

"What was that about making a positive ID, Jan?" asks God.

"N-nothing! I was wanting to say thanks for… belly flops! I mean when t-there aren't belly flops! Praise be He who frees us from belly flops, His Invisible Aroma of Jerusalem."

God blushes. He bought it!

You know what feels good, God? Finding out which motherfucker hit you with his car right after finding a sharp knife in your knives.

"Hold on a second, did you just do two about razor blades?" asks Jesus Christ, the Altogether Lovely. But Jan isn't listening. She's already making a shopping list. A shopping list… for vengeance.

The only reason you'd thank Jesus for chain saws is if you're a logger or someone listing things completely at random. But Jan Dargatz is writing a book for God Himself; there's no way she'd put such little thought into that. Which means these chain saws are for something else.

We already know Jan is an electrical tape lady when it comes to praising God, so this duct tape is also for something else.

Drop cloths, God. It doesn't matter what color so long as they keep spatter off the floor.

Listen: they need to be waterproof, Jesus. And big enough to hold a full grown man and up to two potential witnesses. You're not allowed to tell people my prayers, right?

I'll need an ax in case I have to do it quiet, Amen.

Praise Jesus Christ, Sweet-Scented Bridegroom of Poky Fences.

Hey, hold on. I know I've read this before.

Jan makes her move. Her plan is working.

Oh no, he's turned the tables on her. Get out of there, Jan!

Keep moving!

This way!

You're safe for now, Jan. I don't know for how long, though. There's no cool way to say this, but I think he's the one hunting you now.

What is this place, Jan? Who the hell did you go after?

Careful, Jan, anything here could be a trap.

Jan! Are you not listening!?

YOU ARE CAUGHT IN A SNARE. THE DUNGEON EXITS TO THE NORTH AND EAST.

"I DO NOT SEE ANY 'SHACKLES' HERE. THE DUNGEON EXITS TO THE NORTH AND EAST."

"I'M SORRY. I DO NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU MEAN BY 'BINDING ROPES UNTIED'. FOOTSTEPS ARE APPROACHING."

"I DO NOT SEE ANY 'BEANS' HERE."

"I DO NOT SEE ANY 'CASTOR BEANS' HERE."

"I DO NOT SEE ANY 'DRIED BEANS' HERE. FOOTSTEPS ARE APPROACHING."

"YOU SUCCESSFULLY UNBIND YOUR FEET BUT IT TOOK YOU (31) TOO MANY ATTEMPTS. WICKED KIDNAPPER HANDS SEIZE YOU."

"YOUR KIDNAPPER DEMANDS ONE ELECTRICAL TAPE AND ONE ELECTRICAL TAPE TO LET YOU GO."

"CONGRATULATIONS, YOU HAVE SUCCESSFULLY ESCAPED THE DUNGEONS OF 10,000 THINGS TO PRAISE GOD FOR. AMEN, JAN_DARGATZ."

Oh no, Jan unlocked a bonus level.

Shit, what? Where did this guy take her?

Oh, fuck.

Jesus, Jan.

Holy shit.

Oh my god.

Enough, God! Jan's enemies have had enough!

So I guess this book is how a woman of God deals with the guilt of nuking a man in a cave for hitting her with his car.

Oh, never mind, I guess.

"Accidentally." Nobody is going to buy this story, Jan. You left too much of a trail.

"Forensics say these body parts got exploded over 72 hours ago," says homicide detective Ace Motorcycle. "The killer has a head start on us." From the shadows, Jan Dargatz makes a mental note to praise God for that.

"You have a sack of human sauce and no fingerprints. You can't connect me to shit," says Christian author Jan Dargatz. "Oversized ponchos," she thinks.

"She doesn't feel like our guy," says homicide detective Ace Motorcycle. "But I'm still waiting to hear from Janet about her alibi."

"She has ticket stubs to the Bean Festival and I got three witnesses placing her there. Her alibi checks out, boss," says plucky police clerk Janet Snoozealarms. She opens a miniature box of raisins and adds, "I missed brunch this morning… found another nest of bushy-tailed gray mountain squirrels in my hand bells."

Something doesn't seem right, but homicide detective Ace Motorcycle can't quite put his brightly painted canoe on it.

Jan Dargatz smirks.

As she leaves the station, her limp vanishing more and more with each step, Jan pulls out a trumpet and looks to the sky. She says, "Thanks for gettin' me out of that one, Jesus. I guess there's only one last thing to praise you for…

… HA HA HA! YOU WERE A FOOL TO TRUST ME, SOON-COMING BRIDEGROOM OF HEAVEN!!!"

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Edgar Matias, who by pure coincidence is the 666th Thing to Praise God For.