AN OPEN LETTER TO JESUS H. CHRIST

Oh Dear Jesus Who Art in Heaven,

Hiya. So, first of all, let me begin by apologizing for never having prayed to you before. If it’s any consolation, I can’t recall a time when I ever actually prayed to any deity. I’m what some people call “culturally Jewish but not religiously Jewish,” which is to say I enjoy Woody Allen movies, latkes, and occasionally sprinkling my speech with Yiddish words, but I don’t actually believe that there’s a man in the sky who like, doesn’t want me to eat bacon or take the elevator on Friday nights. Now, right off the bat, I understand that that may offend you, since you claimed to be said man in the sky’s son. And I apologize if it does offend you. Or if the fact that I just implied you might not really have been The Son of God offends you. I hope the fact that I say these potentially-offensive things emphasizes the severity of my current plight. Desperate times call for desperate measures. This is why I finally come to you now. To pledge myself to you and your teachings. And I ask only one thing in return, Jesus.

Deliver unto me a new Pig Destroyer album.

In the past four days, I have listened to Prowler in the Yard three times and Terrifyer four times; as I write this, I’m on my third listen of Phantom Limb. I actually find “Natasha” unsettling to the point where it can be difficult to listen to, but I think I’m going to put it on next anyway. I’m sure 38 Counts of Battery and the Painter of Dead Girls collection will find their way into my earholes very soon, too.

My point is — like I was saying — I’m desperate. But I am jonesin’ for new PxDx BIG FUCKIN’ TIME (excuse my language oh dear holy Jesus). I dunno why it’s gotten so much worse this week than it was already; maybe it’s because there was this other album I was really looking forward to, and I finally heard it last week, and it seems as though terrible mastering has rendered its brilliance almost-unlistenable (although I’ve been promised that the promo I was sent is actually not the final master). But holy shit, the things I would do for a new Pig Destroyer album right now… they’re filthy. I mean, forget sucking cock in some back alley; I’m praying to you. You must know that means I’ve reached my wit’s end.

So, please, Jesus, do me a solid. Just, like, appear over Scott Hull’s bed tonight and spook him or something, okay? Pretty please with a cherry on top? You’ve turned water into wine and yourself into a zombie cult leader, so, surely, it must be in your power to make one little grind masterpiece materialize. If you do this, I will go to church every Sunday and not have sexual fantasies about the nuns or anything. Honest injun, swear to your dad, cross my heart and hope to die.

Thank ye.

Your humble servant,
Double-Jew Axl Rosenberg