it’s not what i brought, it’s how badly i destroyed their toilet on his first birthday party.
Pumpkin pie
The Bubba photos.
One of those I support single moms stripper t-shirts. For carpenter joe of course.
A second baby Jesus.
Booze.
A gift card.
A paternity test
Congratulations turns out your half roman!
A salami log.
A cross, I just like the design. I was told I was a little early by the fifth wise men but he just sorta crumbled into dust after saying that? Go figure.
A Glock and some ammo, got thrown out when I tried to demonstrate it, apparently I distrubed the peace…
A quarter ounce of blow and four of the dirtiest Roman hookers I could find.
I was not only given a vision of where Jesus was born, but the extensive navigational and shipbuilding experience necessary to travel to South America to obtain coca 1000 years before the Vikings did. I was also granted a vision by god of the horticultural knowledge necessary to grow coca somewhere Jesus adjacent, and the advanced knowledge of chemistry necessary to extract it in its pure form.
I show up and basically stay up for three days talking about bread and drinking wine, occasionally excusing myself to bang my hookers, drunk off my ass in wine the entire time.
I’m eventually ejected from the manger, which really pisses me off. I hold a grudge.
The energy I have been given by excessive cocaine use allows me to rise through the ranks of Roman society, all the while holding a deep grudge, as the other wise men get all the credit for bringing their shitty gifts. One by one I start eliminating the people that were at the manger, any oversized cocaine-enhanced ego can’t take the slight. U til one day I hear about some jerkoff running around calling himself king of the Jews, and my final revenge arrives at last.
My name? Pontuis Pilate.
Labuubuu. What the crap is a baby gonna do with some frankincense anyway?
Uranium-235.
I bring him a claw bar (a train railroad spike remover).
