If I waved that in front of a museum curator, he'd promptly lose control of his salivary glands.

He will spit you and roast you with rosemary, and we will all sample your flesh tonight. Tomorrow you will be shat out into the snow. Your diplomacy is bold and edgy, sir.

Yer a good lad, Atticus, mowin’ me lawn and killin’ what Brits come around.

I suspect that many of us, if given the chance to make one person in our lives love us more, would have no trouble in choosing where to point a finger. We are all needy, all vulnerable, all terrified that perhaps that person has an excellent reason to withhold affection. We shape our purposes to make ourselves worthy and often do not see until much later how it was love-or perhaps the lack of it-that both picked us up and dropped us off at crossroads.

They never predict anything fun," Granuaile answered. "Just once I'd like to hear a prophet tell someone, 'Thou shalt win a bitchin' Camaro on a game show.

No worries, Atticus. I will snarf surreptitiously. And I should get bacon, because my adverb was two syllables longer than yours, plus a bonus for alliteration." I grinned. "It's a deal. You're the best hound ever.

Gods can screw anything and anybody. For reference, see history. Atticus O'Sullivan