Fucked Up, If You Think About It

Hello, girl, replete with blessings;
Our master accompanies you.

Holy, you are, out of all other girls,
and holy is the offspring in your uterus, a boy.

Blessed girl, progenitor of our deity,
speak to him for all of us wrong-doers,
this moment, and right around the time we’re going to die.

So be it.

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About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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