Your wife is out of town this week on business, which means you have the house all to yourself. Or at least you would. If it weren’t for all the fuckin’ angels wandering around whining about what it’ll take for them to get their fuckin’ wings. They won’t shut the fuck up and it pisses you off. You’re supposed to be watching porn or sports while your wife's away but you can’t because an angel will inevitably walk in front of the TV and start yammering about how she doesn’t sprinkle enough God dust amongst the living and she really should sprinkle more if she wants to get her wings but she’s just always so tired and busy. You tell the angel to shut the fuck up and get out of the fuckin’ way but she just starts crying and yelling about whatever angel got her wings that day and why can’t she. You tell the angel to stop comparing herself to other angels because who knows what gets one angel her wings as opposed to another. It’s different for everybody. But the angels never buy that. They know it’s a contest of status and that if you haven’t gotten your wings by a certain age, you’re pretty much doomed to be a haunter. And no one likes a haunter. Then she starts crying and you grab your coat and stomp out to a sports bar where you can get some peace and quiet without all the fuckin’ angels and their fuckin’ angel bullshit. Fuckin’ angels.
Happy Just You And The Fuckin’ Angels Day!
