It has finally come to this. I never thought it would.
I mean, I've done some crazy stuff in my days, but there are some things even I'm still afraid of. But I must do this. There is no other way. This must end.
Sigh. Wish me luck.
Dear almight god guy. I come to you in search for help. Oh sure, you now ask yourself: "Why should I help that guy?" Yes, it's true I haven't always been the best of your flock...
I may have occasionally brought some of my own refreshments to church to get through the dull sermons. I can't grasp how people stand them sober.
Maybe a few times I have tried to throw rocks at your house's shiny windows. But it has been just to prove how great your craftmanship is!
I may have passed out in the eucharist wine storage a few times...
...And eaten all the food you had given to your ascetic servants, because I had a horrible hangover and couldn't find any kebab nearby...
After that I may have taken a few of your valuable dishes and sold them to get some more drinks...
I may have punched the priest...
And had fun with the choir girls...
And yes, I may have done all that within the 30 minutes I have been here now, but it's all in the past now. You are merciful and stuff, so you're supposed to forgive me and so on and so on...
So please, god dude, hear my prayer here in your house: grant me a head that isn't too small for all the helmets that, you in your might and stuff, have created to this world in order to shield the stupid, whiny pencil necks' skulls from my mace.
Pretty please?
No?
Well, you shuck!