reason is the reason

Zoile, quid solium subluto podice perdis? / spurcius ut fiat, Zoile, merge caput. The Romans had a way with filthy, filthy words - few more so than Martial. Martialis.

Credit where credit is due:

Lewy took the picture; this lazy sod just grabbed the image from Stock Exchange. Million pardons, mate.

Categorically Imperative wrote the first line – I just pushed it to the scenario’s (il)logical conclusion.

“Given the existence as uttered forth in the public works of Puncher and Wattmann of a personal God quaquaquaqua with white beard quaquaquaqua outside time without extension who from the heights of divine apathia divine athambia divine aphasia loves us dearly with some exceptions for reasons unknown but time will tell and suffers like the divine Miranda…” Waiting for Godot.

“They’re Made Out of Meat.” “…Thinking meat! Conscious meat! Loving meat. Dreaming meat. The meat is the whole deal! …They are indeed made out of meat. And they’ve been trying to get in touch with us for almost a hundred of their years.” A short story by Terry Bisson about an aborted alien first contact. Hilarious.

Gloria laid low by salad. I smell a conspiracy here.

I think this was brought about by a rogue faction of the Black and White movement, the Greens Brigade, which aims to bring about regime change one crouton at a time. The Brigade, a fanatic assemblage of radical vegans, sneered at the Black and White Movement’s inutile black-shirted street cotillons and decided to take some real action, whereupon a courageous head of Romaine lettuce stepped forward to fulfill the kamikaze mission targetting GMA’s gut.

Suspicions were immediately cast on the restaurateur who hosted GMA’s pre-birthday bash, the bootylicious Ara Mina, who lost no time distancing herself from any connection with the Greens Brigade. Not one to back down, Justice Secretary Raul Gonzales decided to hold her breasts for questioning. Read more…

“…A mere sore throat is proof enough that there is no God - or that if there is, he doesn’t give a toss about human suffering. In which case why bother worshipping him? That’s like fellating someone who intermittently stubs [cigarettes] on your head for no good reason. And we all know how unsatisfying that can be.” Supposing: There Were Fun Illnesses.