I wish I knew what happened to you, my friend. I saw you last in the worst of circumstances, the point at which one friend loses another to a bad choice, a misstep, an ill word, a forgotten rendezvous. I miss you. I miss you all - father, mother, brother, cousin, wife, daughter, lover, friend.
J'ai des remords à la perte, mais je le supporter car je l'ai fait. In the absence of judge, jury and peers, I do the right thing and punish myself.
Or am I just a lazy lout?
Today, my house is filled with the smell of fish. Swordfish to be exact. There can be nothing more pervasive than the smell of fish, except, perhaps, the smell of skunky roadkill.
My daughter forwarded me this Tweet: "How long do I have to sit on my Easter egg for my Jesus to hatch?"
A baby is born, an elder breathes his last. This is the myth of redemption and resurrection that we, as a Christian society, cherish.
Yes, I wrote that in a fit of pique, in an attempt to prove that I could too ignore the panoply of the subversive uberlords who insist on dominance by exclusion. No, I will not have a Happy Easter, you presumptive pricks, because that is not my holiday. Bastards. Guess what? It's not a Christian World and while I will defend your right to worship in the way you choose, I know full well that you would not reciprocate, content to inaction, leaving me and those of my kind to perish forever. But my religion, even in the absence of my religiosity, embraces all whereas you will accept only those who are "right" like you.
Choke on your Easter ham, you exclusionary dipsh*ts. And, by the way, Chirst is not an excuse for murder, rape and the theft of nations. Christ would be appalled. Shame on you.