I hate to be the one to piss in your holy water, but we need to have a little come-to-Jesus talk — and by that, I mean the opposite. You gotta stop giving that long-lost, long-haired, hippie carpenter credit for your sweat-soaked hustle. Jesus didn’t pull you out of that gutter — you clawed your way up with dirty nails and detox shakes. Jesus didn’t heal your addiction; you white-knuckled through withdrawals, bit your own arm in half, and lived on ramen noodles and regret until the cravings shut up.
I saw this chick online the other day — OnlyFans success story, new car, new tits, glowing caption: “God is good. Jesus provided.” Really? Jesus provided? Bitch, no he didn’t — you did! You sucked off 20 sugar daddy regulars for an exclusive PPV live stream, let some guy from Dubai piss on your feet for two large, another in your asshole for five, sold your dirty panties in Mason jars, and flipped it all into a leased G-Wagon. That’s not divine intervention, that’s capitalism with a nipple out.
And the fertility posts — “After 7 years of prayer, God finally blessed us with a baby.” No, sweetie. You and your husband played the skin-flute symphony every night until his swimmers blessed a bullseye. That wasn’t divine conception — that was missionary to doggy-style and a well-timed ovulation app.
These “faith warriors” love to drop the J-bomb every time something good happens. But where the hell is he when it isn’t going right? You got evicted — guess that was “part of God’s plan.” Thanks, Jesus! You caught chlamydia from the youth pastor — “the Lord works in mysterious ways.” Bullshit. If Jesus had a LinkedIn, it would just say “Unemployed since 33 A.D.”
Let’s be real: the man ghosted the whole planet. The story goes he rose from the dead and dipped. No forwarding address, no press conference, no “Hey guys, I’m back!” Just poof — up into the clouds like an Irish goodbye. He’s been on the lam from Rome for 2,000 years. If Jesus was your dad, he’d owe you two centuries of back child support. That’s what all that gold in the Vatican is.
You know who deserves the credit for your success? YOU. You, who bartended with a hangover. You, who gave handjobs in VIP booths while studying for the LSAT. You, who started a business selling bathwater and turned it into a brand. You hustled. You sacrificed. You figured it the fuck out. Jesus? He’s too busy being the poster boy for the Christian Right and anti-choice billboards to notice your grind.
So next time you accomplish something — anything — stop tagging Jesus in the win. He ain’t in the group chat. Take the credit. Own the blood, sweat, and bodily fluids you spilled to get there.
Because the truth is, Jesus didn’t lift you up.
You got up.
And that is goddamn holy.
Take the win. Like I say in zero-selling book, Smart Enough to Know It, Dumb Enough to Do It — always celebrate the wins.
—P.
DON'T LET THEM WIN!
Due to recent age verification laws and restrictions from banks and credit card companies dictating what we can and can’t print online, SCREW Magazine has chosen to drop online subscriptions rather than bend the knee. With that vital revenue stream gone, we need your support to keep doing what we do. Please help us keep the content (and the chaos) flowing and FREE-TO-READ by subscribing to our PREMIUM STREAMING SERVICE or perhaps tipping us a few bucks. Whether it's $1 or $100, every penny is another big, fat middle finger to The Man...SEND A TIP
XoXoX,
The Management