Dear Martin Luther,
Dude. Chill out.
Love, Leo X.
Martin Luther and I have a complicated relationship.
Not enough that I went to a Lutheran school for three years where they painted over the Blessed Mother in the chapel and called me a papist and that one really angry seminarian told me that he would never deign to pray with a Catholic. (What? I promise not to get my incense on you.)
Nope. Not enough. Now I’m writing an essay on him. I was going to do just a general 95 Theses thing, but meh, boring. So! I’m writing about Exsurge Domine (the bull that ended up excommunicating him) instead and contrasting it with the points in the 95 Theses. I know, right? Brilliant. I fully expect a fantastic grade. And not just because I usually get papers for that class back with drool on them.
But first I have to write the damn thing. I don’t want to. So I’m thinking of offering it up for the souls in purgatory just to piss off Martin Luther. Who died four hundred and fifty years ago.
Vengeance is mine.
Oh, also. Did you guys know he was a freak? Like, “in the biblical sense”? Well, okay, not exactly weird per se, just…really…wow, inside thought Martin.
Okay, I’ve embarrassed my Dad for tonight. I’m going to bed.