Dear Jesus, Will you Lend me a Hand?

Dear Jesus/Allah/Buddha, or any other less popular deity that may be reading,

Being all-knowing, I don't have to tell you that this is my first formal correspondence to you. I realize I haven't exactly been the most devout of followers, what with my tendency to deny your very existence(s) but desperate times call for desperate employment of cliches so please bear with me. I need to confess to whoever is reading that more-and-more frequently I find myself gripped by murderous urges. I fear that I am on the very brink of losing control over these ravenous, homicidal impulses.

What I ask for is simple; I seek the strength to not to choke to death the next guy I see walking out of the men's room without washing his hands. It's not that I don't think these clueless douchebags deserve to die, I absolutely do. It's just that, well, I'm really looking forward to the fall TV lineup and most Canadian correctional facilities don't provide convicted violent criminals with 'round-the-clock, intra-cell access to cable television. What I seek is the mental fortitude to channel my precious hatred towards something constructive, like simply spitting in their mouths or employing Hammurabi's code and slipping them the classic Stink Palm.

If you can't grant me the desired cerebral mastery, perhaps you could enlighten me as to how these complete fucking asshats lack the basic social awareness to realize that most people do not want to shake hands with their dicks. Or the last filthy skank they banged or the armada of genital parasites she deposited on their stinky pubes.

Failing all of this, perhaps you could use your divine influence and provide these shit-eating r-tards with the grade eight scientific education required to realize that one's cock and surrounding area (ballsack, chocolate piehole and much-maligned "taint") are a breeding ground for bacteria and viruses. They need to know that it doesn't necessarily matter that they had a shower this morning or last Tuesday, micro-organisms will grow where it's dark, moist and otherwise disgusting; specifically, their crotch.

I think they could also use a reminder that their time is far less important than they think it is and that the extra 15 seconds it takes to clean that pee of their hands is not going to prevent them from accomplishing anything meaningful. Unless they were going to commit suicide, in which case, maybe you should just let them be.

Thanks, God (or Gods), I really appreciate it. Oh, and while you're at it, would you mind giving flesh-eating disease to all those jackasses who nonchalantly touch their balls in social settings? Sweet.

Your new best friend,
Ryan