That time I damned myself to hell before noon.

I asked my mother what I could bring to Christmas dinner, maybe a dessert or wine, and she said, “No worries, we’re all set for food, and we have enough to drink — there’s water and soda and juice.”

Oh. Oh, honey. Is it GIN and juice? Is there grape drank? (That’s what those Sunny D commercials meant by “purple stuff,” let’s be honest.)

See, I can’t get through Christmas with that big fake smile on my face without mixing pills and alcohol, Karen Walker style. Besides, if you read The Bible, you’ll learn Jesus turned water into wine because He WANTED us to be half in the bag on His birthday.

Jesus was a partier. Fact. He didn’t go all in with hats and streamers and all that, because that’s just excess, but He could knock back goblets of His own blood like nobody’s business.

In which I finally get the hang of Thursday…

I feel like I probably had a better Thursday night than a lot of people.

Many thanks to Yvette St. James for talking our group through what goes where when couples play with toys. I’m hoping it comes (heh) in handy in the very near future.

(The ice cream is just ice cream, because there is an ice cream shop a few doors down from the sex shop. Because Jesus loves me. And ice cream. And vibrators… I haven’t read The Bible but that’s all in there, no?)
 

   

Introducing the new 2016 Chevy Hypocrite…

I don’t get into politics here, or anywhere, really, because political discourse makes me anxious, even when I agree. But I saw this earlier on a truck in front of me at a red light, and I need to swear about it, and it’s not actually about POLITICS, per se — it’s about misrepresented patriotism, and I think my bewildered inquiries are funny. So…disclaimed enough?

Right then.  

In case the photo is too blurry, it reads: “In Loving Memory of USA, July 4, 1776 – Nov. 4, 2008. R.I.P.”

I have questions.

So, if your candidate of choice gets elected next year, does America get resurrected? Are we a zombie? Are we Jesus? OMFG, are we Zombie Jesus?

Once Obama is out, do we start all over with calendars, like a BC/AD changeover? BO/AO?

Why and how did the country die, EXACTLY? Pull over, let’s chat. I really want to hear you to articulate it.

And if we ARE dead, how are YOU still here? Reverse rapture? Shouldn’t you be in a Kimmy-Schmidt-style bunker somewhere, eating freeze-dried jerky and waiting out this supposed apocalypse? 

If you really think the election of some dude you don’t agree with is reason to MOURN AMERICA, then you clearly don’t think as much of your country as you’re purporting to. There’s not one of these fuckers who could get elected that would compel me to put that dumbass shit on my car.

See also: go fuck yourself, and the depreciated resale value of your stupid car. Which, by the way, was a fucking CHEVY, which, according to your theory, as an American-made car, would’ve died in ’08 as well (ahem, especially without an auto bailout…) so maybe go get a Hyundai if you’re gonna weep for America, shitdick. (Or, hell, at least a Ford.)

On #WhyIWrite

I just learned it’s National Day on Writing, so writers are writing about #WhyIWrite.

So.

1. It keeps me from masturbating constantly in an asylum somewhere. (Also, I’ve never looked into it, but the really good asylums are probably expensive.)
2. I am a filthy attention whore and every “like” is like being tenderly and lovingly fingered by Jesus.
3. I have almost no other skills.
4. You weirdos seem to enjoy it.
5. I don’t know how NOT to write.

Cruzing for cash

It’s… it’s beautiful…

BTW, I checked my quiver of fucks and couldn’t find a single one to give about the presidential race right now, so for ME, this has nothing to do with Ted Cruz personally, so get off my ass — that’s where I have my Jesus sex. This is about comedy, like “in honor of that time Ted Cruz made his family leave Build a Bear because it wasn’t Christian enough.” I have no idea why, but I laughed so hard my puddified ab muscles hurt, so maybe you will, too. 

Plus, I obviously support Planned Parenthood. I donated and they’re sending me a sticker. I like stickers.

 

Home isn’t fun for me, because Jesus.

Right.

So I’m just gonna go ahead and ship copies of this book to everyone I know. (Myself included, because I’ve never even read it — I’m just pissy and spiteful.)

I wonder how many copies I’d have to buy along with a copy of The Bible for Amazon to say, “People who bought Fun Home often also purchased The Bible.” Probably more than I’m willing to buy. But that would be funny.

Freshmen skipping Fun Home for moral reasons
 

Mental health day, or possibly getting muffins for Jesus

One of the reasons I don’t consider myself an atheist is that I get the kind of menstrual cramps that make me see Jesus.

And when I see Jesus, I stay home. Because you never know, He might need me to do things. Maybe I’m an emissary. That’d be sweet — “I’m Jesus, get me a muffin!” Who knows? Mysterious ways and all. I should be prepared.

Right now it seems He just wants me to drink coffee in bed. I always knew Jesus was cool.

#MentalHealthDay

In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Bisquick

Oh, go fuck yourself, Pinterest. I just double-checked The Bible, and yeah — ain’t nothin’ in there about sinful pancakes.  

(OK, we all know my heathen ass doesn’t have a Bible around for quIck reference. But I’m pretty sure about this one. Gluttony, sure, but it’s not pancake-specific. How dare you sully the good name of pancakes? This is a pancake hate crime. That is NOT what Jesus would do.)

Also, now I want pancakes. FOR THE LORD.