Spreading the torture around

Recently, I received this little gem of a book in the mail. I didn't order it. I'm guessing someone sent it to me in an effort to save my wretched little soul. Thanks but no thanks. Jesus and I get along just fine, thank you very much.

I asked Duff if he'd sent it. He said (quite proudly, I'll add) that he "Didn't take the religious route." I'm inclined to believe him; he's gleefully taken credit for the rest of his shenanigans.

Anyway, this thing has been sitting on my coffee table for weeks. I don't like the idea of throwing a book away, but I don't want to read it and the cover kind of freaks me out. I don't want it in my house.

So, last Saturday at around midnight, I had a wild hair (and a glass of wine--or six). Dressed in sad-ass pajamas and flip-flops with wet hair, I headed for the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" asked Beau.

"Uh, to put it on my Mean Old Lady Neighbor's door. Duh."

He said something else, but I didn't hear it. I was out the door.

I was a tortured-Jesus-book-placin' ninja.

In the morning, I noticed the book was gone.

Heh heh heh. Let HER wonder about it now.

That's what you get for being a Mean Old Lady Neighbor!