Quit Airing My Dirty Laundry, People!

Once again the Shroud of Turin - the linen cloth in which I was buried - has popped up in the news. Recently, some jackass scientists claimed that it must be a fake because they were able to replicate it.

If only I was so lucky.

No, I'll come clean and admit that when I defeated death like a fucking champ, I was a total slob and left my soiled burial shroud just laying there in a heap. Back in Nazareth, Mom's boyfriend Joe was always getting on my case for leaving my undies all over the place. He said one day it'd come back to haunt me, and I guess he was right. The Shroud of Turin has been pored over by you sick fucks for centuries. You people seriously just need to let it go. You're so cuckoo for Christ-y prints you're seeing me in your curtains now.

I just don't understand the fascination with a piece of putrid cloth I was decomposing in. And bravo on being able to reproduce my soiled laundry, the scientific equivalent of dropping a deuce in your tighty-whiteys.

Genius stuff. Really.