No one's god likes your grammar, or your drunken idea to get a novelty bumper sticker permanently inked on your chest. (Using the word chest very liberally; I haven't seen that little definition since the Supreme Court described pornography.)
Too much ink, bad subject content, and way too much pride in what's unequivocally a terrible piece of work.
Is Jesus performing the Heimlich maneuver, holding his disfigured bro back from a fight, or is my first assumption correct?
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