BACK THE FUCK UP, BITCH! (In Jesus’ Name I Pray)

Finally someone is saying it. I don’t need a mask when I can casually throw on the armor of god at anytime. As someone who went to Seminary in order to become a pastor, I love this energy from my church’s baracka flocka (flock but cooler).

Thing we are doing demonic deeds like covering up our mouths when we are stopping in the ole Winn Dixie for a 2 for 1 deal of frozen broccoli florets? Absolutely not. These are the florets, folks. NO STEMS! Just the top. Incredible deal.

Anyway, the Virgin Dare-Me (To-Shop-Without-A-Mask) wasn’t putting up with the libtard bullshit. She’s wearing yoga pants because she ain’t leaving when an ASSISTANT MANAGER asks her to. She has only two authority figures in her life, the King James Bible and the Lord our God. Leave? Namaste until I get every blessed item I need... including toilet paper for my soft-ball sized asshole.

Blessed be the fruit.