A Prayer For Alabama


Shape-wise, not as sexy as Florida, but very practical.

Dear Lord,

I know it’s been a spell since we last spoke like this, aside from the more than rare damn it, sakes, for the love of, and fuck me a new eyehole. For using your name in such flippant vain, forgive me. Just so we’re clear, I’m pretty sure we are good now. After all, that’s your thing: forgive and forget. Or was that Shakespeare? I digress.

Please show mercy for the residents of Alabama in their dire time of need. You know this, they currently sit under a microscope, as the rest of the world is ready to pass judgment on them. I figure you can relate with all this. Am I right? What? What?

The decision they must make on December 12th, a couple of weeks before your kid’s birthday, is very convoluted and difficult. They are faced between two mortal sins: voting for a pedophile or a Democrat. It’s like choosing to die at the scaly feet of Godzilla or from boredom of Charles Manson’s messed up theories. The Alabamians know not what they do, so guide them towards the right choice.

Your new buddy, Donald Trump, who happens to be the current U.S. President, is not helping matters. All he’s doing is denying and shame eating. I don’t like to gossip, but he’s put on some gross weight lately.

As you well know, I am not some altruistic martyr, nor a holy roller. I am a mere man who properly and constantly fears Your wrath. I will not and cannot survive a civil war. A war between brother against brother does not weigh heavily in my favor. I’m pretty sure my brother can kick my ass. He works out. I don’t want to die this way. Help them, help me, help us. Thanks for hearing me out, big guy.

In the name of love,



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