November 11th, 2004


(no subject)

Attention God:
I wanted to play nice. I wanted to be friends. But now you've apparently seen fit to shove Marx down my throat. Again. If you don't let up, I shall be forced to take drastic measures.

And No one would regret anything in the nature of an interference by the Archdeacon more than I. I trust it will not come to that. But, for the last time, where are your goloshes? The thing is too bad, especially after what uncle said.