When my dog gets to heaven, I hope God has a beard. I hope he’s an old white guy with a beard because my dog historically did not like the facially haired. They would get into a thing, and then Patches would go to hell where we could hang out in damnation forever, because I’m a terrible person who wants his dog to bite God for making shitty rules about lifespans, so obviously I’m going to hell. But really if you have your dog in hell then how bad could it be?
See how I just zinged God and his stupid rules?
Now give my fucking dog back, You cunt.
Sorry God, I didn’t mean that.
It’s just that I’m really hurting now and
LOOK OVER THERE.
RUN PATCHES! COME BACK TO ME!
NO, DONT WORRY ABOUT GOD
HES OLD AND FORGIVING. YOU GOT THIS.
Yeah, I know you’re forgiving too, Patches.
You’re the best.
I love you.
I love you so much.
A Narcissist Writes Letters, To Himself 