d Pardon My Juice: Sing a Christmas Song Bitches!

Saturday, August 13

Sing a Christmas Song Bitches!

Last night I was awoken from a deep sleep by the loving sound a caroling. Caroling in FUCKING August! Twelve men and women standing outside my house, singing and beaming with the love of their lord. IN FUCKING AUGUST! So I rose out of my bed, went to the bathroom (cause I totally had to go) and then let the blinds up. 

For those of you that don’t know it, I live in a castle. A Real castle; the kind that King Arthur lived in. The kind with a Mote, huge walls, and most importantly, Hot Oil! I had used this deterrent on the likes of nasty trick or treaters, unwanted pop-in's, and ho-bo’s. 

Right before I began what was going to be a wonderfully therapeutic drenching, I looked down upon these gentile singers, and saw not fear, but love. They weren’t singing in August to upset me, but to remind me to be thankful all year round. That maybe if we all could just sing one song together as One World, we could end all our problems. Hunger, War, Rash's; any and all problems we the human race could join together in peace (this doesn't not apply to cyborgs, mermen, or cute sad eyed puppies).

But then the rope slipped and the singers were covered in burning hot oil. The smell was actually worse than the screams. I did say I was sorry though. But you know how it goes. You can’t take back something like that, as much as you wish you could. When I awoke this morning there was a candle light vidual going on for the fallen carolers. "Jokes on you jerks," I said. "The suns coming up, and I this castle still has a legion of archers ready at my comand. FIRE!".

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