A jihad against Myself

Myself

And to those of you who feel the need to post updates of your kid’s potty training every 21 fucking minutes, FUCK YOU. I could care less if Jr took a shit on your bed, your god damn living room floor, or in your future x-girlfriend’s ovaries. Maybe if you kept your animals on a leash you would know where they make their messes. Fuck all you faggots, yeah you, the stupid mother fucker reading this. FUCK YOU. No really I just need to take a nap, or a few more drinks, I really do love you all like I carried you in my womb during a 1983 Mardi-Gra (could have been a deceased kangaroo pouch, judge is still out on that one), all the while sustaining brain damage because of a Duran Duran concert that left me questioning my sexual appeal towards wolves?! Either way I just want you to know I’m here for you, whether that’s because you crashed your car while texting your girlfriend Jennifer, after she told you she didn’t love you anymore and she felt now was the time to make a clean break. Or possibly you’re having trouble suppressing those memories of father joseph and the unmentionable things he did to you innocence. I’m here to listen; yeah I might not hold your words to any stick code of confidence, but your old lady sure as fuck isn’t going to keep quiet about you giving her herpes either. Am I wrong? You’re god damn right I’m not in the wrong.
Declared by Jesus on Friday, February 25, 2011