In the beginning was the Word,
and the Word was with God,
and the Word was “accessorize.”
I am equal parts holy relic and regional pageant tiara. I am crucifix and courtroom bling. I am a sacrament. I am a statement piece.
I am forged of divine gold sourced from the sacred hills of Medjugorje. I was purchased at a Miami-Dade jewelry store that is really a front for a Medicare fraud scheme. As God intended.
I sit just above the sternum, where Christ’s unblemished mercy meets freckled cleavage. I hang, heavily and blessedly, where divinity schmoozes décolletage on the clavicular altar of Florida’s own Evangelical Barbie.
I repel Stephen Miller. I have felt the breath of Bret Baier. I have grazed Ron DeSantis’s nipples during an awkward hug at a prayer breakfast fundraiser. RFK Jr. has used me to draw fault lines in the finest Colombian snow of West Palm. Lindsey Graham clutches me during thunderstorms.