Um.
Why do I always get the crazy fuckers? I mean, I'm good at sorting some slightly delusional people out, but seriously now, I'm not a fuckin' miracle worker here! Dude, Cassidy, Allison, Rey and She Who Shall Not Be Named - come on, Jesus couldn't cure that kind of messed up! Don't expect me to and, for god's sake, don't get all pissed off at me about it when you out-and-out say that you're fucked up like X and Y and then I can see the same thing and say it back to you!
Maybe this would work better in letter format....
Yo Crazy Dudes,
Jesus could not cure your level of batshit. He would take one look at you and have to say, 'My child, I cannot cure you. You are afflicted with the Stupid, and it has begun to consume your soul.' Then He would call it a day and go out to drink His sorrows and knowledge of His own inadequacy away. And it'd be bad, because He never has a designated driver.
The only way you could be cured is if you traveled to the tundra and lived there in a yurt until the local wolves grew used to your presence and you learned to speak their tongue. You would have to gain their trust, feeding them and caring for their pups, until it came time for the alpha to test you to see if you were worthy. The two of you would battle, naked and without weaponry other than your bodies, and only if you forced the alpha to submit would you be allowed the knowledge of the whereabouts of the sacred plant. After obtaining this, you would have to travel to the farthest reaches of the jungles to pick but one of the sacred plant's blossoms during the peak of the solar eclipse, which you would dry underneath the moon until you were able to powder it. Afterwards you would need to travel into the heat of the desert, miles away from civilization, and fast for a fortnight, sustaining yourself only on water and the blood of whatever lizards you managed to catch. At the end of the fortnight, you would make a prayer to the sun and the moon and meditate until sundown, at which point you would dance the miraculous healing dance and sprinkle the powder of the sacred plant over your head and with your middle finger dab exactly one cubic centimeter of the powder upon your tongue. Then, with your right arm, you would draw circles into the sand, with which you would have to play Twister until you lost to yourself. After much trial, you would then resume your travels in the exact eastern direction until the next full moon, when you shoot yourself in the head, purifying yourself of the Stupid that had so plagued you and the world.
Or you could get a trained therapist.
On second thought, go with the former option. No, really. Appealing to the occult is the only way.
No Love,
Phobos Sign
Maybe this would work better in letter format....
Yo Crazy Dudes,
Jesus could not cure your level of batshit. He would take one look at you and have to say, 'My child, I cannot cure you. You are afflicted with the Stupid, and it has begun to consume your soul.' Then He would call it a day and go out to drink His sorrows and knowledge of His own inadequacy away. And it'd be bad, because He never has a designated driver.
The only way you could be cured is if you traveled to the tundra and lived there in a yurt until the local wolves grew used to your presence and you learned to speak their tongue. You would have to gain their trust, feeding them and caring for their pups, until it came time for the alpha to test you to see if you were worthy. The two of you would battle, naked and without weaponry other than your bodies, and only if you forced the alpha to submit would you be allowed the knowledge of the whereabouts of the sacred plant. After obtaining this, you would have to travel to the farthest reaches of the jungles to pick but one of the sacred plant's blossoms during the peak of the solar eclipse, which you would dry underneath the moon until you were able to powder it. Afterwards you would need to travel into the heat of the desert, miles away from civilization, and fast for a fortnight, sustaining yourself only on water and the blood of whatever lizards you managed to catch. At the end of the fortnight, you would make a prayer to the sun and the moon and meditate until sundown, at which point you would dance the miraculous healing dance and sprinkle the powder of the sacred plant over your head and with your middle finger dab exactly one cubic centimeter of the powder upon your tongue. Then, with your right arm, you would draw circles into the sand, with which you would have to play Twister until you lost to yourself. After much trial, you would then resume your travels in the exact eastern direction until the next full moon, when you shoot yourself in the head, purifying yourself of the Stupid that had so plagued you and the world.
Or you could get a trained therapist.
On second thought, go with the former option. No, really. Appealing to the occult is the only way.
No Love,
Phobos Sign