When you don the great white flowy robes, lug around a wooden cross, and put on the act that you're Jesus Christ in public; it's generally solid practice to put the profanity in timeout mode.
I want to lob our godlike broheme of the hour the benefit of the doubt, and assume he had every intention of not failing blatantly and getting his cross stuck in that underground station rafter. Better luck next time, man.
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