Time and time again, events prove my friendship with God.

Last night, my mom says to me, “I can’t pick you up tomorrow. Dad and I are going to Brooklyn.”


Naturally, remorse ensued and the despair I felt was almost unbearable. Ride the bus?! What the fuck is this shit? And what now?


Me and God (God and I? Meh, fuck linguistic formalities) are just cool like that. He’s got my back.

recall many a cold winter night when I would sit swamped with a various
project for a class that I would never use in my professional career,
and think, “I’ll never finish this. It’s hopeless. It’s 3 in the
morning, my brain functions no longer. I could not understand this
material if you were to sever my member. Fuck this shit!” And then the
next morning I would groggily awake, look outside, and see a FUCKTON of
snow. Fucking snow day bitch. And just one more day to finish whatever
fuckdamned project I was assigned. See? God’s my homie.

Oh and:

Maddox, that lazy fuck. Couldn’t even be bothered to color his pictures.


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