Sunday, March 28, 2010


Oh mah gawds! It's PALM FUNDAY. Every year, lapsed Catholics like myself celebrate Palm Funday in order to commemorate the thirty-something Jesus riding into Jerusalem on a donkey, while people laid palms down in his path.

How do we do this? We buy donkeys, of course, and ride them into people's gardens while wearing capes and throwing bread. It's fantastic.

Palm Funday doesn't bother talking about how Palm Sunday demands that everybody read about thirty-three year old Jesus' trial and execution because, well, WHAT A DOWNER. Palm Funday focuses on the life of Jeebus back when shit was still cool, and the Romans and Pharisees still let him do his thing. More loaves? Jeebus baked 'em. More fish? Jeebus caught 'em. More wine? Sure, hand the original Dr. J all those water jugs. Bam. SHIRAZ FOR ALL.

Palm Funday should be a gatorade flavor and we should all drink it until our kidneys fail. Palm Funday should be about drinking Bloody Marys without the guilt. The Palm Funday gatorade flavor should just be Bloody Marys. So screw the whole gatorade thing, it just doesn't make sense. COME WITH ME AND I SHALL MAKE YOU FISHERS OF HEN. Ba-gaw?

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