So it's seven 47 in the morning on Christmas day, and I'm debating with myself whether I should sleep or whether I should start opening presents

And then

I realize something

I don't care if it's Christmas morning, I don't give two shits if it's my fucking birthday, hell, if fucking Castiel appears at seven in the morning at the foot of my bed and says I'm the fucking daughter of god, I'll probably say "good for u, now fuck off and let me sleep"

And that's the gospel truth
D0ct0rgrl out

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