How well do you know your neighbours? Well enough to borrow some sugar off? Pressing the 'next blog' button in the right-hand corner has introduced me to the joys of having (today at least) a Christian retard next door.
"Be honest. Do you ever wish you didn't have to think about being holy all the time?", she asks herself. Why don't you mail her yourself and let her know, especially if the answer is 'No, because I'm far too busy mainlining crack with my boyfriend to celebrate our gay wedding under a ceremonial arch of burning Stars and Stripes.'
"I really have struggled with letting myself get angry at the way women dress", she goes on, "and have found myself rolling my eyes or just flat out talking out loud (so they can hear me) just how awful I think their clothes are. I feel just sick about that, how am I being Christ to them by my snickering and having a hateful heart."
Let's have less of the snickerin' and bickerin', Missie, and let the message of hope go out -- along with all the tripe about home-schooling, photos of your kids and eulogies to your perfect husband -- JESUS LOVES RETARDS. Amen to that.
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