Lent is bullshit and God wants me to be a whore.

"Since you died with Christ to the basic principles of this world, why, as though you still belonged to it, do you submit to its rules: "Do not handle! Do not taste! Do not touch!"? These are all destined to perish with use, because they are based on human commands and teachings. Such regulations indeed have an appearance of wisdom, with their self-imposed worship, their false humility and their harsh treatment of the body, but they lack any value in restraining sensual indulgence."
(Colossians 2:20-23)

The Hollow Men

Assault!

Get defensive, because I play to the offensive.

I rage like you breathe.  I'm angry, always.  I don't like your values.  I don't like your hypocrisy and I don't like your crap.

I don't think you'll like me.

I lost God, I'm a dirty slut, I'm obscene and I'm irreverent.

Hear that tapping noise?  Fingers across the country hit caps lock: someone is wrong on the internet!  Out come the exclamation points, often in multiples.

It's good for you, it'll give your heart a little exercise.  And it will put you on my plane.

I don't like that you'll talk about "fundamental human rights" for fetuses while allowing thousands to starve.  You cannot justify buying a new shirt when a little sacrifice on your part could mean saving a life.  It's morally indefensible, but you do it anyway.  We all do.  It's an immoral world.  It's time to accept that.

And once you recognise this, you have three choices: you're sad all the time, angry all the time, or always apathetic.  I obviously went for the second.

I'm too belligerent for civility.  I like making you angry. 

So get offended! Promote your opinion in all caps! Look at me, I'm stimulating discussion.

It's a good thing.  People need a little more hostility in their lives.

When you're yelling at me, you're finally not being so self absorbed. Look at you, thinking about someone else.  Your head's out of your ass, maybe you'll start to see.

I don't want to sit in a circle with you and sing Kumbaya.  To paraphrase Marilyn Manson, it's too hard to hold hands when my hands are fists.