My appendix was infected. Did I get it fixed? No. Getting sh*t fixed is weak. My appendix let me down, so I tore it the f*ck out. I rock hard.

I was on an operating table shaped like a cross – with my arms out (cause they was full of tubes and wires and sh*t) like I was being crucified. So, if I were Jesus I would have been crucified on Christmas, not Easter. I’m way ahead of Jesus. I rock hard.

I had a lot of morphine. I had so much morhpine they put a tube in me so they wouldn’t have to find a vein every time. I rock hard.

I have a giant wound in my belly. I have not one or two, not three or four, but five staples keepings my guts in. But not my appendix, they tore that m*th*rf*ck*r out. I rock hard.

Unlike all you weak suckers out there, I have one less crucial organ. I have no appendix. I rock hard.

Merry Cristmas,
Matthew

Note: Swearing has been carefully edited as Christmas is no time for swearing. There will be no exceptions, especially none for me.