In Which Your Humble Blogger never thought they were quite that good, but thinks they probably really are this bad.
In Which Your Humble Blogger wept a bit, which felt good.
In Which Your Humble Blogger was lent the book because of this place of employment by someone who doesn’t really know about this Tohu Bohu and its erstwhile focus on Scriptural analysis.
In Which Your Humble Blogger knows that most people would deny this stuff, which it would certainly be easier to do.
In Which Your Humble Blogger can, too, post two book reports in one note, so there. Actual real essayists do that sort of thing all the time.
In Which Your Humble Blogger is also reminded of the Monty Python skit about the milkmen, of course.
In Which Your Humble Blogger is but one drop, and cannot turn the wheel himself. There is, however, good news.
In Which Your Humble Blogger bids farewell to the Steward of Illyria.
In Which Your Humble Blogger loves audiences, the bastards, but sure as hell doesn’t trust ’em.
In Which Your Humble Blogger thinks of it as masculine toast and masculine butter, ready for spreading by a masculine hand.