An Erisian Prayer

From the Apocrypha Discordia

Lady, protect my enemies. Let them remain strong enough to continue blocking my path whenever I might otherwise run into danger. Let them know they have helped me almost as much as my friends.

Lady, protect my enemies, locked down inside their closed minds with the shades drawn tight and the doors barricaded against fresh thought, which might *poof* them like sunlight on the vampires they're becoming.

Thanks you for their sensitive knee-jerk reactions. I enjoy making them dance when I'm bored. Don't let me gloat when I scare them so easily. If I were small and grey and cold, I'd get scared too. You might let them know how pathetic they look in their pointy-headed-bigot caps, hatred congealed on their faces like drool.

Should they ever become brave enough to abandon their brain's musty attics, and come out to play in the sunshine, please make me big enough not to hold a grudge.

Amen.

Guns don't kill people; people kill people. And monkeys do too [if they've got a gun].

I lately find that things work despite the circumstances.