"Shhh, baby, shhh."
Jesus tapdancing Christ. Never check your pending Facebook friend requests at 3 am while in the dark. Unless you like peeing your pants a teeny bit. Clearly, I have pissed God off with my writing exercise and now Satan wants me for his team. Small hooded agents of evil with piercing blue eyes are recruiting me to be their friend.
This decision would be made much easier if I had Harvey Dent's two-faced coin. Or if I were Helen Keller and didn't get the heebie-jeebies every time I saw Angelo's photo. A.G. initials = "Angel of God" right?
Wait.
It's coming to me.
A.G. = Anne Geddes. The universe knows I do nothing but poke fun of her children-as-vegetables-flowers-naked-on-pumpkins cracked-out photographs. Sure, my mother loved her work back in 1997, but I think Anne Geddes is starting to lose it. I know where I've seen our little demon Angelo. I can see it clearly now.
I'm going to Hell.
(But the writers of The Onion are going to throw me a Homecoming Dance when I get there.)
