Hail the Size of Birth

 


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Hail the Size of Birth


Also, hope there is no god, as you've been declaring since the hailstorm of 1979, because that would be an irreconcilable error in judgment, a dispurgatory twist.

Without punishment for the ants you've killed, the times you've been late to pap smears, blew off an email, misremembered a name, disparaged accountants, you would never reemerge from the loch.

That hailstorm was writ into history, blood to lit screen, by a bead-eyed miscreant. The people in town are still pissed about damage to cars they never owned.

What kind of god damages cars? What kind of god creates chipmunks? What kind doesn't wear scrubs and a mask, carry water across the Kalahari to you from the magic fountain?





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