Post by Dr Demented on May 10, 2006 16:53:00 GMT -5
**This was borrowed from T-Shirt Hell's newsletter:
www.tshirthell.com/miscpages/newsletter_050806.htm
BUY SOME SHIRTS, FUCKER...
Based on the title of this piece, I’m assuming that you know where I’m going with this. I’m going to start at the beginning anyway, just so you know where I was at emotionally. And so it’ll be easier to pad this article out.
It all started about four weeks ago at a rave I attended. I know what you’re thinking. What was a hot black chick doing at a party that is typically made up of nothing but white teenagers and glow-stick salesmen? Well let me just say this. A coke deal is a coke deal and money from fifteen-year-olds spends just like all the rest.
Anyway, when I arrived it appeared to be like any other rave. Shitty music, those striped hats from the Cat in the Hat, the laser sight from my crossbow fixed on the center of a tie-dyed shirt . . . you know, the usual. It wasn’t until I reached the crudely constructed bar at the back of the warehouse that I noticed something out of the ordinary. At the bar stood a Korean kid that couldn’t have been any older than fourteen, shaving his newly formed pubes and feeding them to an eighty-year-old Russian woman. And standing next to them is what I’m talking about.
Sitting on a stool that he had moved away from the crowd was God himself. And as if the whole "supreme being" thing wasn’t intimidating enough, he also looked like he was in no mood to talk. I decided to approach anyway. After all, when would I ever have this chance again? So I slowly walk toward him, rehearsing what I’m going to say in my head. After what seems like an eternity I finally reach him. And just as I’m about to open my mouth to speak he holds a finger to my mouth and simply says, "No words tonight. Just action."
As flattered as I was, I had no interest in sleeping with God. However, I gladly accepted the drink he gave me. Next thing I knew I woke up naked and bloody in a Motel 6. You guessed it. God slipped me a roofie. My wallet was gone and I had God only knows what done to me. Literally. As I struggled to come to grips with the fact that I had just been date-raped and robbed by God, I decided to get out of there and never mention it again.
Then, about a week later, I realized that I had missed my period. It didn’t take me long to put two and two together, considering that I had only been with women and miniature donkeys for the past three months. So there I was, pregnant and alone with God’s baby. What to do? The issue of abortion raises so many complex questions about morality and life in general. I ran these questions through my head ad nauseam for what seemed like forever.
Five minutes later I was at Planned Parenthood. Turns out all those questions mean nothing when you love getting abortions. I get artificially inseminated just so I can get abortions. It didn’t take date-rape for me to lean toward that side of the fence. Abortions are just so fucking fun. Creating life within your own body and then destroying it is so much easier than hunting down hoboes and transsexual hookers.
So, to make a long story short, I aborted what would have been God’s second child. Well, we’re all God’s children, but you know what I mean. Second child that would have been composed of his actual sperm. Truth is, this decision would have been a slam-dunk even if I didn’t love abortion. I mean, take a look at God’s first kid. You know the one. Not only was his life crap, but things haven’t exactly been peaches and cream for the rest of us since his death. Just think of all the war and strife he’s been the catalyst for throughout the ages. Not to mention our president. If Jesus had any hand in that he can fuck off. Just like the goopy mess in my toilet. And on a personal note, I know that he’s been responsible for me spitting on my mom and stabbing my dad’s prostate on several occasions.
In conclusion: would I do it again? I certainly hope to. But until the day when God knocks me up again, I guess I’ll just have to keep doing what I’ve been doing. Aborting my dog’s babies, switching birth control pills with fertility drugs at pharmacies and developing a drink for women that will cause them to produce poisoned breast milk. Until then, good night and may God bless you. Right in the pussy.
www.tshirthell.com/miscpages/newsletter_050806.htm
BUY SOME SHIRTS, FUCKER...
Based on the title of this piece, I’m assuming that you know where I’m going with this. I’m going to start at the beginning anyway, just so you know where I was at emotionally. And so it’ll be easier to pad this article out.
It all started about four weeks ago at a rave I attended. I know what you’re thinking. What was a hot black chick doing at a party that is typically made up of nothing but white teenagers and glow-stick salesmen? Well let me just say this. A coke deal is a coke deal and money from fifteen-year-olds spends just like all the rest.
Anyway, when I arrived it appeared to be like any other rave. Shitty music, those striped hats from the Cat in the Hat, the laser sight from my crossbow fixed on the center of a tie-dyed shirt . . . you know, the usual. It wasn’t until I reached the crudely constructed bar at the back of the warehouse that I noticed something out of the ordinary. At the bar stood a Korean kid that couldn’t have been any older than fourteen, shaving his newly formed pubes and feeding them to an eighty-year-old Russian woman. And standing next to them is what I’m talking about.
Sitting on a stool that he had moved away from the crowd was God himself. And as if the whole "supreme being" thing wasn’t intimidating enough, he also looked like he was in no mood to talk. I decided to approach anyway. After all, when would I ever have this chance again? So I slowly walk toward him, rehearsing what I’m going to say in my head. After what seems like an eternity I finally reach him. And just as I’m about to open my mouth to speak he holds a finger to my mouth and simply says, "No words tonight. Just action."
As flattered as I was, I had no interest in sleeping with God. However, I gladly accepted the drink he gave me. Next thing I knew I woke up naked and bloody in a Motel 6. You guessed it. God slipped me a roofie. My wallet was gone and I had God only knows what done to me. Literally. As I struggled to come to grips with the fact that I had just been date-raped and robbed by God, I decided to get out of there and never mention it again.
Then, about a week later, I realized that I had missed my period. It didn’t take me long to put two and two together, considering that I had only been with women and miniature donkeys for the past three months. So there I was, pregnant and alone with God’s baby. What to do? The issue of abortion raises so many complex questions about morality and life in general. I ran these questions through my head ad nauseam for what seemed like forever.
Five minutes later I was at Planned Parenthood. Turns out all those questions mean nothing when you love getting abortions. I get artificially inseminated just so I can get abortions. It didn’t take date-rape for me to lean toward that side of the fence. Abortions are just so fucking fun. Creating life within your own body and then destroying it is so much easier than hunting down hoboes and transsexual hookers.
So, to make a long story short, I aborted what would have been God’s second child. Well, we’re all God’s children, but you know what I mean. Second child that would have been composed of his actual sperm. Truth is, this decision would have been a slam-dunk even if I didn’t love abortion. I mean, take a look at God’s first kid. You know the one. Not only was his life crap, but things haven’t exactly been peaches and cream for the rest of us since his death. Just think of all the war and strife he’s been the catalyst for throughout the ages. Not to mention our president. If Jesus had any hand in that he can fuck off. Just like the goopy mess in my toilet. And on a personal note, I know that he’s been responsible for me spitting on my mom and stabbing my dad’s prostate on several occasions.
In conclusion: would I do it again? I certainly hope to. But until the day when God knocks me up again, I guess I’ll just have to keep doing what I’ve been doing. Aborting my dog’s babies, switching birth control pills with fertility drugs at pharmacies and developing a drink for women that will cause them to produce poisoned breast milk. Until then, good night and may God bless you. Right in the pussy.