"And we ask ourselves, if there is a God, how can this happen? Better to ask, if there is a God, must it be sane?"
— LaCroix, Forever Knight, "Curiouser and Curiouser"
Maybe he was a god - but there was nothing that said a god had to be sane.
— Mark Russell mentally contemplating King Ghidorah, Godzilla: King of the Monsters — The Official Movie Novelization
Make sense? Oh, what fun is there in making sense?
— Discord, My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic, "The Return of Harmony: Part 1"
The Weaver, the great spider, came among us.
In the Cymek we call it furiach-yajh-hett: the dancing mad god. I never thought to see one. It came out of a funnel in the world to stand between us and the lawgivers. Their pistols were silent. Words died in throats like flies in a web. The dancing mad god moved through the room with a savage and alien step. It gathered us to it - we renegades, we criminals. We refugees. Constructs that tell tales; earthbound garuda; reporters who make the news; criminal scientists and scientific criminals. The dancing mad god collected us all like errant worshippers, chiding us for going astray.
Its knife-hands flashed. The human's ears fell in flesh-rain to the dust. I was spared. My feather-hidden ears hold no delight for this mad power. Through the ululations and the despairing wails of pain the furiach-yajh-hett ran in circles of delight.
In the Cymek we call it furiach-yajh-hett: the dancing mad god. I never thought to see one. It came out of a funnel in the world to stand between us and the lawgivers. Their pistols were silent. Words died in throats like flies in a web. The dancing mad god moved through the room with a savage and alien step. It gathered us to it - we renegades, we criminals. We refugees. Constructs that tell tales; earthbound garuda; reporters who make the news; criminal scientists and scientific criminals. The dancing mad god collected us all like errant worshippers, chiding us for going astray.
Its knife-hands flashed. The human's ears fell in flesh-rain to the dust. I was spared. My feather-hidden ears hold no delight for this mad power. Through the ululations and the despairing wails of pain the furiach-yajh-hett ran in circles of delight.
—Yagharek, Perdido Street Station
The Last Dragonborn: You're a madman.
Sheogorath: Jolly good guess! But only half right. I'm a mad god. The Mad God, actually. It's a family title. Gets passed down from me to myself every few thousand years. Now you. You can call me Ann Marie. But only if you're partial to being flayed alive and having an angry immortal skip rope with your entrails. If not... Then call me Sheogorath, Daedric Prince of Madness. Charmed.
Commander: They outnumber us three to one. They are hardened veterans. On top of that, God is on their side.
[The Commander glances at the enemy's side, where the giant visage of God hovers over their camp]
Commander: But I've been reading their holy book, and I think God may be a psycho. "Thou shalt not winnow with a fork, wear not mixed fabrics, thou shalt not open the wrong end of a banana." No mention of which end that is.
God: [Suddenly sees something that offends Him in the enemy camp] BLAAASPHEMEEEE! [Calls down a hail of fire on His own worshippers]
Commander: Really, the only surprising thing is that it didn't happen sooner.
—Oglaf, Assorted Fruits Of Wrath
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