Repressing my inner cunt: Jehovah’s Witness edition

Dear Jehovah’s Witnesses,

For three days in a row you have had your people show up at my gate, and it is becoming quite exhausting to dodge out of your line of sight in through my windows.

But... I brought you some Watchtower magazines.

But… I brought you some Watchtower magazines.

Haven’t you figured it out yet? I am pretending I am not home, that means I really do not want to talk to you.

If I didn’t convert a year and a half ago when you sent the Buddy Holly hipster and rockabilly Zooey Deschanel to my home then *nothing* is going to convert me. I knew it was a mistake to take that Watchtower magazine from him, but I felt a pang of guilt after seeing the look of mouth-gaping horror on rockabilly Deschanel’s face after I told them I am an atheist.

I am trying to be a less shitty person right now, and the lot of you are making it difficult. The duck-and-cover near open curtains as your people stand idle at my gate for 10 minutes waiting for me to answer *several days in a row!* has my inner cunt scratching to come out. It looks like it might be time to order some more atheist nontracts to hand out.

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