“Can you please just tell me what you need me to do next? I came here, because you told me to. And I’m struggling with my purpose now; because I did the things you told me to do maybe a lot faster than I think you expected I’d do it & now my to-do list is ‘get the paperwork sorted out,’ and that’s great, but doesn’t seem super important in the grand scheme of things. The world thinks Jesus was a person and the Christmas tree is just some symbolic old tradition… not the actual, annual crucifixion of Jesus… but whatever… I think you’re not doing your job, Guardians of the Galaxy. I think you were suppose to oversee all of this and now we have pubescent kids from Sweden yelling at the humans that the humans aren’t doing enough for you, and I think you need to recalibrate your message. I think you’re transmitting your broadcast too heavy handed, too loud, but not clearly… so it sounds like a constant ringing in our ears, migraines, nose bleeds, anger and violence like static from the tuner between radio stations… you haven’t done your job, and now our kids are bearing the guilt and shame and responsibility to fix that… because your guilt and shame of failing to be the Guardians of the Galaxy is constantly broadcast, y’all need to recalibrate your thoughts and stop pumping that shit into our kids’ heads. Do your job, or shut the fuck up, it makes no difference to me which.

Now, wanna lie down in a circle and hold hands and tickle palms?”

“Yes, please.”

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