Jesus ain't gettin my truck.
The little boy awaited his turn to open his gift with a nervous energy that is known only to death row inmates, celebrities about to be weighed on the newest fit club reality show, and porn stars waiting for aids tests results. It was like each tick of the clock lasted aeons for the impatient imp. every click of the clock was torture for the five year old bundle of nerves.
His mind was racing out of control; was it a ball, was it jump rope? Maybe marbles, or a G.I Joe. Then he heard those words as omoinous as a death sentence, or as triumphant as the winning lottery numbers.
George open your present
It was a perfect yellow dump truck.
George yelled like he was at dodgers game, “This is the best b-day ever”
“George it’s not your birthday it Jesus’s birthday” the mother replied.
With his hands on his hips like General Patton giving marching orders the boy announced,
“JESUS AIN ’T GETTIN MY TRUCK !!”