------------------------------------- The name's Peter. From New Jersey. 22 years old. Absurdly sarcastic. Read much more in my "about me" by clicking on the link below. =) Side note: Many people are wondering why there are no "non-anon" questions on my blog. It's because I answer them privately so my blog doesn't get overwhelmed with questions. Side side note: I don't do promos. Side side side note: I don't reblog unless the post is something I really feel needs to be seen.
While once again spending some quality time with Grandma over the weekend, we’d decided that we should watch a movie. After much deliberation (and by deliberation I mean me showing her movie titles and her saying: “I’m not watching that garbage; there’s too much s-e-x (yes she actually spelled it out)), we’d decided on “Texas Chainsaw Massacre,” because nothing says quality Grandma-Grandson time like watching a series of incomprehensibly gruesome homicides committed by a mildly retarded psychopath named Leatherface.
So about midway through the movie comes a scene packed with creepy music, dark lighting, and no dialogue; one of those scenes where you know something bad is about to happen. Then, out of nowhere, Leatherface pops out, revs up his big boy saw, and aims straight for the arm of an innocent bystander.
Just as the blade was about to introduce itself to the soon-to-be-single arm, I said, in a moment of disgust: “Jesus Christ, that is one sick bastard.” Right at that second, my Grandma paused the movie with surprising speed for someone who’s at least a few centuries old.
I turned to her with a disgruntled look and said: “What are you doing? You can’t just pause a movie in the middle of an amputation! That ruins the whole moment!”
She said, with her dentures quivering in disdain: “You said the Lord’s name in vain. Don’t you know that you can be sent to Hell for that?”
This is coming from the “devout catholic” who, just a few hours ago, called Obama an “ugly, big-eared son of a bitch,” yet she’s worried about me spending all of eternity battling Satan in the fiery depths of hell for saying “Jesus Christ.”
I quickly explained: “Grandma, you know I’m an atheist and I don’t concern myself with what will happen to me after death. The only thing my lifeless corpse will be battling are worms, tree roots, and a possible a prairie dog or two depending on where I choose to be buried.”
With her dentures now on the verge of ejection, she fired back: “*Gasp* I still refuse to believe that my boy is a ‘heretic’ (remember, she’s at least 3 or 400 years old so she still uses ancient terms). You know what? I hope I die real soon so I can make an appointment to speak with God to convince him to let you into Heaven when your time comes. I’m gonna need all the time I can get with him to get your ass off the hook.”
See that, folks? That’s real love. When a family member offers to croak ahead of schedule in order to spend quality time with God in hopes of saving you from spending eternity being Satan’s bitch, you just can’t help but get a warm, fuzzy feeling inside. <3