One heretofore otherwise outgoing chap explained his absence from the City’s prayer rituals by noting that anything he had to say to god, he’d tell him to his face.
This one guy would periodically glance down and coyly coo, “Come up and see me sometime.” Then, every time he would come up, he’d be real drunk and often quite abusive…(and he’d just L-O-V-E it.)
One little group of would-be rebels who watch our taped proceedings on satellite have “gang-written” me to say they are pretty well convinced that the “God of distress has moved.”
The first suspicion of conspiracy is in the legend that says, when several realities didn’t know what to do next, they got together and made it up.
After a trying day dealing with the court’s complexities, this one little citizen – in the privacy of his own hovel – declared, “Screw the king and his highfalutin life; no matter WHAT he says or does, I can still get a transmission overhauled cheaper than he ever will.”