“Jesus, fuck, once we kill him, can I keep stabbing him?”

“We were watching this procession. It was fucking terrible and the crucifix was about 20 feet high coming around the corner. And my wee grandson says, 'who's that?' I say, 'that's Jesus'. He says, 'BABY JESUS?!' I say, 'yeah, that's him'. He says, 'SOMEBODY KILLED BABY JESUS!' It was the most sincere religious cry. If Christians did that, I would believe them. 'WHAT? THE BASTARDS KILLED JESUS!”

“I don’t blame you for being upset, Sera. But what you need to be doing is getting pissed as fuck and then stab him in the nut sack with those killer stilettos.” I look up at my best friend, Adam, and see the empathy in his eyes. “Fuck it! I’ll stab him in the nuts, and then gouge his eyes out. Girl, I’ll be the…the fucking Nut Slayer!”

“Our father. We have killed him, and we will kill him again, and our world will kill him. And yet he is there. It is he who listens at the door. It is he who is coming. It is our father who is about to be born. Through Jesus Christ our Lord.”

“The truth is I did try to stab him. I tried to stab him with a butter knife. Why? Because it seemed deadlier than trying to stab him with a melting stick of butter.”

“We must know Jesus before we can imitate Him.”