It had been three miserable days and four lonely nights since Jennifer gave Randy the news that not only was she abandoning her Abstinence Promise – which they'd made together sophomore year of high school, right before he slipped her that sweet pre-pre-pre engagement ring ring – she was also leaving him for some F*CKING SUPERHOT ATHEIST GUY ("Whoops, sorry God," Randy thought) from her Intro to Philosophy class.

Randy's roommates, who'd always been dicks to him before tonight, suddenly, mysteriously changed, coercing him into joining them for a night on the town. Having never before imbibed alcohol, Randy insisted on wine. ("What Would Jesus Drink?" he thought, before logically grabbing some Melon Ball-flavored Boone's Farm.)

That was half-an-hour ago. Now he stood in front of the two cheapest tattoo parlors in town, trying really hard to focus. Wait, nvm, it's just one tattoo parlor.

"She's probably making mouth love to him astride some demonic motorcycle, surrounded by flames," Randy thought. He tried to pray for her, but instead a single tear crept down his left cheek. He pondered a moment.

"SHE WANTS A BAD BOY?" he wailed at the sky. "A BAD BOY WHO PROBABLY HAS EARRINGS AND AN EIGHT-PACK AND THE THIGHS OF A CLYDESDALE?? – oops, sorry again, God – Well, I'll show her a MOTHER-EFFING BAD BOY."

Randy stormed inside, his new buddies in tow, giggling to each other about something. ("Probably giggles of admiration," Randy thought.) Soon enough, he was next in line. But as he sat down in the chair, Randy's eyelids became heavy – the Boone's Farm up to its awful, sinful tricks.

The tattoo artist shouted: "What do you wanna have done, kid?"

"Um, something… something God…hic…would be OK with," he slurred. "Jesus, maybe? Yeah, Jesus and… um…hic…ugh, Jesus Christ." Randy nodded off.

The artist became agitated. "OK, you're gonna have to be a little more specific than that," he said, rousing Randy from his stupor.

Randy mustered every last ounce of energy he had, yelling: "Jesus-f*cking-Christ, man! SURPRISE ME, OK??"

The artist nodded in agreement, and silently went to work.

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