Denial. It's Not Just For Breakfast Anymore. (A Public Service Announcement)
So there you are one morning enjoying breakfast with your loving, all-American family. Your son Jacob, a straight A student and champion rower who prays every night before bed and always (always) washes his hands, announces that he's decided to go to Princeton, from which you proudly hail, instead of Harvard as he'd previously suggested. Your daughter Sarah then further rewards you with news of her engagement to Todd Skrundelgrundingson, the well bred young chap who's father you sometimes golf with, heir to his family's diamond import business. Hoorah. As you stand to clear your plate the family dog, Reagan, rushes in with your slippers and newspaper. Oh what a glorious day this is turning out to be. Your beautiful wife suddenly whispers to you, as you place your dishes into the industrial Super-Power-Dish-Dirt-Killer-3001 located under your sink, that an angel appeared to her last night and that she will be giving birth to the second coming of Christ. A single tear rolls down your cheek and you quickly turn, excitedly informing your lovely children of the blessing your family is going to recieve. They lead from their seats, awestruck and cheerful. "Hooray!" declares Sarah and "Neato!" follows Jacob. You all hold hands and smile together. "Thank freedom for this wonderful life." you say unto them. "Thank freedom." they reply.
Just then the kitchen begins to darken and you peer through the window to see storm clouds, black as night, eclipsing the sun. Your doorbell rings and you walk to answer it. You're startled to find that it's a brown man, like the ones you've seen on TV but never in person because your office doesn't tend to allow those types to loafe about the premises. "Hel.." you begin to say, but he pushes you aside with load cries of "Allah!" and begins running through your home. "Now wait just one cotton-picking minute, mister." you boldly say to the man's back as he rummages through your belongings. "What's the meaning of this?". He turns to face you and says with an evil grin "Freedom. Where do you keep your freedom?". You begin to feel frightened. "Um, well sir, I'm afraid that is none of your concern and I would kindly ask that you leave my house." He then removes a large knife from his belt and lunges towards you, pulling your head back and putting the blade to your throat. Your wife screams "No, please!!! It's upstairs, under the bed." The man leaves you and runs up the stairs returning shortly with your freedom clutched in his palm. "Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!" says the darkerish skinned man who you are beginning to assume might not love Jesus as much as you. He then violently throws your freedom to the ground where it shatters against the tile kitchen floor. "No! Our freedom!" your family cries in unison. The man flees through the front door and you crawl, shivering to be comforted by your family. "Oh, (insert name here), whatever shall we do?" asks your wife. You glance at her, trying to hide the fear in your eyes, "I don't know" you say, "I just don't know." "Fiddle bumps." says Jacob.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Kevin's Religious Terminology Dictionary.
THE SECOND COMING:
When the Priest takes it out of your ass and unloads what's left in your hair.
Just then the kitchen begins to darken and you peer through the window to see storm clouds, black as night, eclipsing the sun. Your doorbell rings and you walk to answer it. You're startled to find that it's a brown man, like the ones you've seen on TV but never in person because your office doesn't tend to allow those types to loafe about the premises. "Hel.." you begin to say, but he pushes you aside with load cries of "Allah!" and begins running through your home. "Now wait just one cotton-picking minute, mister." you boldly say to the man's back as he rummages through your belongings. "What's the meaning of this?". He turns to face you and says with an evil grin "Freedom. Where do you keep your freedom?". You begin to feel frightened. "Um, well sir, I'm afraid that is none of your concern and I would kindly ask that you leave my house." He then removes a large knife from his belt and lunges towards you, pulling your head back and putting the blade to your throat. Your wife screams "No, please!!! It's upstairs, under the bed." The man leaves you and runs up the stairs returning shortly with your freedom clutched in his palm. "Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!" says the darkerish skinned man who you are beginning to assume might not love Jesus as much as you. He then violently throws your freedom to the ground where it shatters against the tile kitchen floor. "No! Our freedom!" your family cries in unison. The man flees through the front door and you crawl, shivering to be comforted by your family. "Oh, (insert name here), whatever shall we do?" asks your wife. You glance at her, trying to hide the fear in your eyes, "I don't know" you say, "I just don't know." "Fiddle bumps." says Jacob.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Kevin's Religious Terminology Dictionary.
THE SECOND COMING:
When the Priest takes it out of your ass and unloads what's left in your hair.
posted by Hooligan at 4:11 PM
1 Comments:
haha good story
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