SUNDAY SERVICE FOR THE UNHINGED ⛪🃏

joker speaks

Welcome to the sanctuary of the unbothered, where peace comes in chaos and the choir sings in sirens. It’s Sunday, baby, the one day they pretend to repent while plotting next week’s bullsh*t. But us? Oh, we don’t fake it—we laugh at it. Loud. In robes.

With popcorn.like she’s communion and he skipped breakfast. Choir singing “Take Me to the King,” but half of them plotting their next scandal like it’s a Netflix drama. The usher? Dead serious. Wrist flicks so sharp she could cut sin in half with a peppermint

.The parking lot after service? The battlefield. That same church deacon who just shouted “Amen!” just cut somebody off with a holy license plate that says “Blessed2B.” And Sister Shirley? Already peeling out, blasting trap gospel with a wig that shifts every time the bass drops.

And YOU? Sitting there, hungover on

They show up to church hiding hangovers and heartbreaks like God didn’t see them twerking on Friday. Meanwhile, you’re at home, sipping your tea, scrolling your sins like a Netflix playlist. Let’s be real—confession? You’d need a mic, a spotlight, and a commercial break.

And don’t get me started on those “Sunday Reset” influencers. Folding towels and lying to their soul. Sis, your life ain't reset, it’s on loop. The real reset? Waking up at 2pm, ordering brunch like a war general, and pretending that mimosa is orange juice.

So here’s to the psycho saints, the chaotic choir, the back-row villains watching the sermon and texting their ex at the same time. You’re not a sinner. You’re a legend in redemption's disguise. And if anyone asks why you laugh so loud?

Tell ‘em: Because hell’s full and I’m on standby... but damn, I look good in red. 🔥🖤

Amen

.