If You Weren't Dead, I'd Kill You...
Dear Jesus,
Fuck you. No, really. Fuck you, you inconsiderate bastard. I have to study for finals. I have to work. I don't have time to go shopping. I don't have time to bake cookies. I don't have time to sleep, let alone time to spread bonhomie and good cheer amongst my neighbors. I have to spend more money than I've made in the past four months on people I don't even like. So if you're thinking of sending me to Hell for not dropping my loose change into a Salvation Army bucket, come up with a new plan. I swear I'll shove that bucket right up your Holy ass.
Hey, you know how people are compelled to hack down an innocent tree and defile it with tinsel and shit, in honor of your birthday? Yeah, it was really cool of you to be born in the middle of the fucking winter, so we have to traipse through miles of fields in sub-zero temperatures in search of the perfect tree. And don't give me any of that, "It wasn't my decision when I was born" crap. If you could heal lepers and booze up the water, you sure as Hell could have picked a better day.
And, speaking of the "perfect tree," we found ours. Seventeen feet tall. We (and by "we" I mean "my spastic family") found it in the very back of the secondary field. You know, the field that you can't drive out to... I had to haul that fucking symbol of your birth for half a mile. And you know what the best part is? It gave me POISON IVY. I itch, you bastard. My hands are puffy, I have blisters between my fingers, and the right side of my face looks like a bas-relief map. Merry Fucking Christmas.
I hate you. I hate everything about you, you hypocritical whore-monger. And about those whores of yours... Give it up. I mean, please... Mary Magdalene? Everyone knows you're gay. Seriously. That robe? Palm fronds? The whole "laying on of hands" bit? And those "apostles" of yours? You're not fooling anyone. Except for the people in America's Bible Belt. But those Southern Baptists are more "evolving ape" than "homo sapiens" anyway. You suck. In more than one way.
I'm going to kick the next person that tells me to "cheer up" because "it's Christmas!" You started this whole thing, and any bodily harm I cause to innocent bystanders will be on your head. That's your "thing" anyway, isn't it? Crusades, Inquisitions... Yeah, you're a bucket of laughs, Jesus. Crucifixion was too good for you, you asshole. Did I mention that I fucking ITCH? I hope Lucifer kicks your prissy little ass in the next celestial battle.
Bah, and I say it darkly, Bah Humbug.
Fuck You,
Emily
P.S.: "Divine Birth" like Hell. Your mother was a slut.
Fuck you. No, really. Fuck you, you inconsiderate bastard. I have to study for finals. I have to work. I don't have time to go shopping. I don't have time to bake cookies. I don't have time to sleep, let alone time to spread bonhomie and good cheer amongst my neighbors. I have to spend more money than I've made in the past four months on people I don't even like. So if you're thinking of sending me to Hell for not dropping my loose change into a Salvation Army bucket, come up with a new plan. I swear I'll shove that bucket right up your Holy ass.
Hey, you know how people are compelled to hack down an innocent tree and defile it with tinsel and shit, in honor of your birthday? Yeah, it was really cool of you to be born in the middle of the fucking winter, so we have to traipse through miles of fields in sub-zero temperatures in search of the perfect tree. And don't give me any of that, "It wasn't my decision when I was born" crap. If you could heal lepers and booze up the water, you sure as Hell could have picked a better day.
And, speaking of the "perfect tree," we found ours. Seventeen feet tall. We (and by "we" I mean "my spastic family") found it in the very back of the secondary field. You know, the field that you can't drive out to... I had to haul that fucking symbol of your birth for half a mile. And you know what the best part is? It gave me POISON IVY. I itch, you bastard. My hands are puffy, I have blisters between my fingers, and the right side of my face looks like a bas-relief map. Merry Fucking Christmas.
I hate you. I hate everything about you, you hypocritical whore-monger. And about those whores of yours... Give it up. I mean, please... Mary Magdalene? Everyone knows you're gay. Seriously. That robe? Palm fronds? The whole "laying on of hands" bit? And those "apostles" of yours? You're not fooling anyone. Except for the people in America's Bible Belt. But those Southern Baptists are more "evolving ape" than "homo sapiens" anyway. You suck. In more than one way.
I'm going to kick the next person that tells me to "cheer up" because "it's Christmas!" You started this whole thing, and any bodily harm I cause to innocent bystanders will be on your head. That's your "thing" anyway, isn't it? Crusades, Inquisitions... Yeah, you're a bucket of laughs, Jesus. Crucifixion was too good for you, you asshole. Did I mention that I fucking ITCH? I hope Lucifer kicks your prissy little ass in the next celestial battle.
Bah, and I say it darkly, Bah Humbug.
Fuck You,
Emily
P.S.: "Divine Birth" like Hell. Your mother was a slut.