Close your eyes, Rebecca. The wind is blowing in your direction as you sell your body in the name of Christ Jesus our Lord and savior.

Be quiet, faggits, for Uri is tweeting.

Leave me be, Rebecca. For the dawn brings the reality of my nightmares forth and I am in no mood to wash the dry semen out of your denim skirt.

I N T E R N E T P O E T R Y A N D T H E C R I E S O F C H R I S T O N T H E C R O S S

I wish I was a skinny blonde teen with big titties so I can make out with other skinny blonde teens with big titties under the pale moonlight.

When Uri reads his tweets out loud

Fetch me my scented candle, Rebecca. I'm about to direct message my Twittercrush.

"I want to know what you look like sucking your husbands dick." said Jesus as he direct messaged his Twitter crush.

Big breasted pale white bitch strutting on the western concrete under the sky that God provided. Let your fish flaps spread open its warmth and suffocate us until we are no more.

The night is calm, Rebecca. The silence is deafening yet soothing. Fetch me my sock, I wish to ejaculate in it.

If your pantaloons don't smell like uncooked hot dogs dipped in tuna fish then don't bother coming home tonight, Rebecca. Rent is due tomorrow.

For the past month Uri has been on horseback riding through the Kentucky countryside searching for underage high school cheerleaders to caress as his sweaty hairy chest glistened under the Rebel Sun.

U N D E R A G E P U B I S A N D T H E B L O O D O F C H R I S T

Global warming would never compare to the importance of a strong, hard penis penetrating a bored housewife as she sits on a folding ladder while semen is being pumped directly into her vagina as her husband sits at a desk contemplating suicide.

Uri has tweeted.

I was just thinking of the time I ejaculated inside my cousin Brenda. Get me some tissue, Rebecca. I'm gonna watch The Notebook for the 50th time.

The world seizes to exist when I ejaculate inside a relative, Rebecca. So yes this family reunion is very important to me.

He rode into town on his stallion, shirtless as his chest hair glistened in the sun while a negro followed him singing hymns the Lord taught him.

Quarentine day 9: Dear Abigail, the parlor is no longer open and Mother has locked herself in her bedroom. I've decided to stand outside and watch the horses prance around in the fields as I sip on what remains of my Steel Reserve. Sincerely, Uri. P.S. send toilet paper

Quarentine, Day 11: Dear Abigail, I have been inside this cabin for far too long. Mother is desperate for a whiskey. I slapped her and said "Quarentine". Things are dire. Sincerely, Uri. P.S. send Whiskey