It's New Year's Eve! That's means everyone of you will be doing shit you regret tonight. Regardless of what you do you regret it on New Years Eve, it's the NYE dream!
So here is a little poem to remind you that everyone makes mistake and it's all good:
'I'm as serious as a fucking rash on your dick!' Yelled a guy called God, who's temperament was normally so level and calming that he was like a god to some people in these parts.
'You can't be serious' Noah had just questioned.
But it turned out he was.
In God's defense though, even he hadn't fully thought this through.
You see fourteen years earlier he'd sent his first child to earth.
A daughter.
And now there were twelve sick men in robes following her around saying they worshipped her.
And like any father would, he wanted them dead, fast. And he wanted zero evidence of this left behind.
And to make sure if it he'd come up with a plan to just to kill everyone and in the meantime distract them with some kook on the hill loading animals into a boat.
He swore he'd never make this mistake again.
Next time he'd send a son!
Of course he didn't bargain for his son's own teenage years.
When again weirdo dudes, in filthy robes followed him around and tried to wash his feet.
Fucking sickos.
By now he'd calmed a bit though.
First he spread some silly rumor that homosexuality was wrong, and had a bunch of these men stoned to death.
But then that seemed like a lot of effort.
'Ahh fuck it' he finally said 'I'll just tell em' not to write about anything that happens till he's thirty or so'
And nothing bad ever happened again.
Ahh God, so wise, no wonder he's like a god to some people.
