you know… at this point you don’t really know much about us… you don’t know much about anything. all you really know is that your mothers uterus is rather dark.
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It’s a puzzling thing about religion that its words, which generally urge us to bolster our better natures and remedy our faults, so rarely match its actions. It seems to me that while an individual’s faith can be a profound personal journey that might even make them a better person, a society’s faith is akin to mass psychosis. History suggests that the killers were always the truest believers, and that notions of tolerance, peace and enlightenment come from those who question the orthodoxy.
to liven things up a bit i decided to write a letter to my unborn kid at least once a week, and hopfully take a picture of melissa… you know… to document this unholy birth of the devil’s child.
but think about it… how much can you really say to an unborn kid?