... Your chilling observations in your writing curdles my blood sometimes WG and talking of worrying stuff...... where's lychanthropist Mr. Archer gone to?
I'm not sure what you meant to say to me but I'll assume it isn't flattering, since to do otherwise would be unacceptably vain of me, or unforgivably naive. No matter, you have your opinion and I respect your right to give voice to it. I would just say that you can thin your curdled blood by warming yourself before a bonfire of Guy Fawkesed parasites, and placate the angry spirits of your ancestors with a chorus of their screams, accompanied by the chant of the Kyrie.
Kyrie, Kyrie! Kyrie, Kyrie! Kyrie, Kyrie!
Henry VIII confirmed a sentence of death by burning on a woman who felt unable to accept that a small biscuit and a sip of vinegary wine could be transformed into the flesh and blood of a man said to have died fifteen hundred years earlier by another man waving his hands and mumbling a bad poem. Six weeks later he ordered those same doubts written into English law.
Henry's acts should tell anyone all he needs to know about those who govern, and all we need to know about dealing with them: Pile 'em high and don't piss on 'em until the flames die down.