Truth be told, I'm beside myself with inner peace right the hell now. Inner peace and also a bizarre sensation somewheres between lust and religious ecstasy. No matter how lovelorn and frustrated and embarrassed a fella might feel (and he feels all three, believe me) on this day, Kirstenmass, said fella is given a chance for to reflect on life, on God, on Kirsten, and to note something along the lines of, whatever shit might be going on, at least Kirsten is smiling someplace.
Horrific as it may seem, some folks use April 30th to do all sorts of stupid shit, like maybe go to work or listen to some song or other about Trent Reznor done smacked himself to the teeth but it's ok, he's alright now. Kirstenmass has become just another day. Just another day in any old month.
You sicken me.
On this day 23 years ago the Lord God offered unto his lowly servants a gift so precious that it troubles my soul to contemplate a pre-April 30th 1982 time.
Thankfully I wasn't born till a week later, so, worked out well. Cheers, The Lord.
Today is Kirstenmass. On this very day, back those 23 years ago, The Lord saw fit to grace humanity with a gift I spend my every waking hour thanking him for, but which I know I will never truly be worthy of. The Lord looked down upon the earth, and shook his head for a fortnight on account of the horrors he was witnessing. A world just about to step into the filthy sludge of yuppie consumerism and boy bands and still troubling itself far too much with regards the Soviets. A world that, pre-Kirsten, had shagged itself into some sort of uninhabitable void, a cranny in the arsehole of the universe that no-one in their right mind would wish to be part of. The Lord saw we had lost direction, and had focused too much on the darkness hiding away in the back of the skull, and so he said something along the lines of, "It's high time you got some light into your lives, various humans."
And so there was Kirsten.
How can you think about killing each other or making filth with your wife's parrots, when look, look at Her dimples and eyes and, oh dear god, look at Her hands. Hands that have been abused no end by wretched motherfuckers high to the teeth on the possibilities of Photoshop, and so replaced Her beautiful fingers with some CGI variant on the cover of Spider-Man 2.