If I started populating the planet with millions of cellists, don't you think that just maybe someone might catch on? The one simple thing I can rack people's brains with - having faith - would go straight down the proverbial toilet. So why don't we just make a deal, ok? No more "make me a cellist", "make me thinner", "make me smarter", "make me stronger", blah, blah, blah.
Gimme a break. You should hear yourselves. If it's not one thing, it's another. Your noses are too big, your asses are too fat. Well no fucking wonder. You're sitting on your big fat asses looking down your big huge noses praying to me all day.
Oh, and in case you haven't heard: I'm up here, assholes.
Hell is south. Heaven is north. Got it? The only thing more annoying than listening to some stupid-ass prayer about how some washed-up, middle-aged bastard is losing his wife, his job, and his hair, is seeing that bastard's balding head staring back at me while I'm trying to sift through his goddamn problems.
Look. You wouldn't do that on an interview, would you? The Acme freaking Manure Processing Company wouldn't hire you if you stuck your balding head at them all throughout an interview. What the hell makes you think that doing it in front of me is going to get me to give you back all the shit you lost? If anyone should fire your ass, it's me. Dammit, the next bald moron who prays with his bald head staring at me, is going straight to hell. I'm not even going to wait for the bastard to die and rot. He's going down, baby. Body, soul, and all. Stick your bald head at me when you're talking to me, and you're gonna burn.
Now who the hell was the guy who said that B.S. about me answering every prayer, anyway? If memory serves me right, it was some stupid Jew from the Bronx. Christ! Screw the Bronx. Those people are gonna pay, just wait. Wait and see if the Yankees make it to the World Series next year. Wait and see if they make it to the Series for a decade. That's right. Now will see who laughs last. No sideburns-wearing, electronics-selling, non-pork-eating mother effer is going to screw me with these nightly sob stories and live to tell about it. I might just have the Mets win ten years straight to piss off the whole freaking borough. Those bastards.
