Religious Freak Out

Forgive me father for I have sinned. It has been a week since my last bitching session. All the niceties of my current sitution have temporarily suppressed my inner bitch and she is now teetering on the edge of her stilettos in a rabid, pre-m*nstrual black widow kind of way. It is in moments like this that I choose not to ignore her in the interest of personal safety.

England, a country where commercialism is next to godliness and ironically is a religion all on its own. Card shops are it’s temples, garish over priced confection it’s communion, High Streets it’s purgatory. Cross yourselves people, the most religious festival on the calendar is about to begin.

Have you heard the parable about the 20 something girl who bought a bag of the juiciest, crunchiest apples this little puddle of mud has ever seen and stuffed their cores with cyanide and razor blades before rubbing her hands and giggling with maniacal glee as she waited for the doorbell to ring. Guess what kids? It’s not really a parable. There are no hidden meanings. It is what it is. And you’re about to witness a Sunday school lesson you ain’t ever gonna forget if you don’t keep the F*CK away from my front door this Halloween. I shall be waiting with a stake to drive through your hearts, whether you’re dressed up as Dracula in drag or not.

Hello little girl, would you like a sweetie…?