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August 01, 2011
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Church is shitty


I recently discovered that church is boring. So boring in fact, that I, being one of the most patient people I know, could not sit through it without providing entertainment for all the disgruntled churchgoers to enjoy. I mean really, are you that scared of hell? Even God knows that times have changed and that Sunday mornings are now reserved for nursing hangovers. Old people; get with the fucking program! You don’t have to put yourself through that bullshit any longer. You’ll get your place in heaven just as long as you’re not Mormon or some other wacky shit.

Anyway, the only reason I attended this pussyfest (not as appealing as I intended that to sound) was because of my manipulative, blackmailing whore of a mother. She barged into my lair, locking the door saying, “We need to talk.” Claiming that she’s “reached her wits end” and wondering “how she produced such a demon”, I responded “fuck your wit’s end and your wide-set vagina. I bet you didn’t even realize I fell out of your pussy when I was born.” And you know what the bitch does? She starts fucking crying. Irritated, I tell her to grow a pair and shut the fuck up, but to no avail. Realizing how irksome her bullshit is, she mercilessly continued. I attempted to be the bigger man and ignore her until she left, but the bitch would not cut her shit. After a few more minutes I finally reach my boiling point and scream, “What do I have to do to end this bullshit!?” Tears stop, the bitch candidly stares into my eyes, making me feel uncharacteristically nervous, and bluntly states, “If you do not go to church with me this Sunday, this will become your daily alarm, reminding you that dawn is about to break,” she pauses, and with a devilish chuckle says, “I wouldn’t want you to miss the sun rise.” Man I hate that bitch.

Even though I’m the most virtuous person I know, she claims this church crap will teach me values. And, still drunk from the night before, accompany her to the shitshow (or what will soon become one). At around the midpoint of the sermon, I had had enough. The constant singing and praying exacerbated my already excruciating headache and the intermittent sitting and standing made it hard to keep my chunky sewage from spewing all over the spokeswomen for AARP and Medicaid, respectively. Not that their decrepit, skeletal figures would feel it anyway. And so partly out of boredom and partly out of necessity, I decided to hit the lil’ boys room. But on my way over, I spied a large goblet with some sweet-smelling wine. In dire need of a screwdriver to turn my hangover back into a drunk, I chugged. Upon completion, however, I could feel the liquid shooting right back up into my esophagus. So I darted to the bathroom and hurled my face into the toilet to take care of business. Unfortunately, I was so fucked up that my failed bowel control made it so that I had to take care of business on both ends. So I quickly pulled down my under-roos and placed the goblet at an appropriate angle. Once the fiasco was over, and both containers were filled with my liquid sewage, I decided it was time to return. To be continued….

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