I’d like to preface this post with a formal tip of the hat and heart-felt nod of approval and acceptance to all my Catholic buddies out there. All rants published are the views of Bebemuchaha and she alone.
So not to rile Mel Gibson and his yid-hating Pops up any further, but Jesus is more than just a Jewish Carpenter who decided to lead a bunch of people into salvation via “V Juice”, flocks of Sheep, and burlap getups. Mr. Christ is also a world-class scenery-chewer and life ruiner (yes, that’s a Regina George reference). What am I talking about, you wonder? Only the worst up-staging since the days of Bobby Booby! Bobby Baby!, Noises Off, and the infamous KIMMY (HHS theatrefolk, whammy).
That’s right, Linda and Larry decided to have their second child at the worst possible time of year: The week between Christmas and New Years. When hoes try and argue that their b-day is worse because it’s Arbor Day or the middle of the summer or Valentines Day, I say piss off or accuse them of huffing paint.
No attention-hungry middle child should have to suffer like this. And by suffer I mean it was mostly Linda having to listen to my crazy ass howl like a Baboon for 20 years about needing a special special day. I’m not proud of this. Linda deserves a medal for putting up with my shit and turning into the Phyllis Neffler of Westchester to overcompensate for me having to share the glory with Jingle Bells, Hannukah, and NYE.
This year on the 28th, I am going to keep it simple. Above is all I really want: Gingers, Tennis Whites, A Sexual & Violent One Piece, Dark & Stormys, Poolside Tunes, and a dark-haired southener named LUCKY JACKSON who likes to race and take you on Hellicopter rides.