In Which Your Humble Blogger is, as always, impressed by the storytelling and appalled by the slaughter.
In Which Your Humble Blogger still likes pretty lights and fried foods. And gambling!
In Which Your Humble Blogger does not point out that the person in question ran for the same office two years ago and got twenty percent of the vote.
In Which Your Humble Blogger does find it amusing, in a terribly immature way, that MAGA is evidently acquiring low-quality but comically oversized horns in vast quantities.
In Which Your Humble Blogger tries to keep the stuff about slaughtering people to a minimum.
In Which Your Humble Blogger has never reduced his merit by receiving miraculous assistance, other than the whole breathing thing.
In Which Your Humble Blogger wrings yet another note out of the haggadah text. Surely, though, this is the last one, and next year I will not find anything new to say.
In Which Your Humble Blogger also wonders what we are missing by not having the other goat, the one that doesn't live.
In Which Your Humble Blogger lay down and wept, and wept, and wept, for thee, Zion.
In Which Your Humble Blogger could also have worked something about counting the omer, but yeesh it's already a thousand words innit.
