Author Richard Cahill's Website--Living By Our Motto:"There Are No Stupid Questions, Just Stupid People Asking Questions Everybody else already knows the answer to."

The Journal has recently published a sweet little essay entitled “The Science of Prayer,” during the course of which it acknowledges that there is no such thing, almost.
 
The body of evidence of prayer’s efficacy in the article is mostly provided by people who testify, “Praying makes me feel gooder.” Also, there are studies that show that people who pray have more positive self-images than people who watch porn while they are driving.
 
The psychological boost of having a nice chat with the Creator of All Things is not to be denied, despite the overwhelming evidence that if there is such a Being, He doesn’t give a rat’s ass about humanity. Maybe the transactional nature of most prayers is why He can’t be bothered with them. “Oh Lord, cure me of cancer.” “Oh God, let me win the lottery.” “Oh, Jesus, would you move this motherfucker out of the fast lane before I’m late to work again?”
 
It’s no wonder that God, instead of listening to such petitions, just turns up the radio in the Wheelhouse of the Universe and keeps on setting the quasars just precisely right.
 
But what about unselfish prayer? What about when you ask God to make you a better person? Of course, when you pray for that, the corollary question of why God didn’t make me a better person in the first place? is bound to pop into your head. Why did He make you such a bottomless pit of eating disorders and horny cravings? It was His Will in the first place that made you such an inadequate, roiling mass of conflicting emotions that you are forced to try and soothe them daily with a nearly poisonous level of substance abuse. You’re basically asking Him to acknowledge His mistake at making you such a mess from the get-go. Are you surprised when He replies, “Talk to My Hand?”
 
Having the Pope or a televangelist with his own private jet advising us to pray is one thing, but having the Journal advising us to do the same is certainly a bad sign. The WSJ has, in the past, spoken highly of junk bonds, leveraged buyouts, derivatives and Enron, some or all of which have caused Wall Street to occasionally suck up all of America’s cash, feed it into a paper shredder and blow it out of corporate windows like confetti. This has happened several times in my lifetime. Now, in this summer of depression, rioting and covid despair, the best advice that capitalism can offer to the seething masses is pray?
 
No wonder people are trying to burn the country down. And what better time? They all already had masks on, anyway.

The Caucasian-in-Chief’s latest empty threat is to yank the Republican National Convention out of Charlotte, North Carolina in August because the governor won’t guarantee that he can have a regular political convention there. A regular Republican convention means a lot of drunken, braying white men all wearing the same hats and carrying the same signs herding themselves around in circles while accusing the rest of us of being sheep.
 
“Geez, that does sound unpleasant,” you might say, but when you throw in various Republican support groups, like white nationalists, open carriers, Bikers for Trump (and their favorite subgroup, Wet T-Shirt Contestants for Trump) plus the battalions of dominatrixes, male escorts, bottoms, Boy Scouts and regular old prostitutes that Republicans like to hang with when they’ve successfully left their wives at home, you’re looking at a lot of burnt-out tiki torches to recycle when all is said and done.
 
That’s why a lot of cities gave the Republicans a hard pass when they were shopping Trump’s coronation in the first place. San Antonio, Texas, said that having the Republicans in would violate that city’s "culture of inclusion,” which, in regular English, means, “We don’t want the Klan sitting around eating our nachos,” while Philadelphia, PA, said that, unfortunately, they planned to be fresh out of cheesesteaks that week.
 
But Charlotte was willing to accommodate the Republicans, figuring their state had enough Confederate war memorials, flags and a honeyed history of local racism to soothe the savage hearts of the Republican beasts. Then the coronavirus broke out, and now the NC gov is not going to flat-out guarantee that the GOP is going to be able to have a traditional, full-throated convention with a packed floor from which the lies fly like sweet candies through the sweaty air, because those falsehoods are liable to be soaring airborne on spittle full of covid-19.
 
No, Charlotte may want the Repubs to have a socially distanced convention, which Trump would hate. Rabid Trumpaneers do not stand six feet apart. It’s tough to grab pussy from that distance, for one. They could all wear masks as they thronged oafishly before the throne, which would make them considerably safer, except that Republicans are too soaked in the lighter fluid of freedom to worry about the spark of the virus, so they won’t.
 
The city fathers of Charlotte are all likely hoping Trump carries out his threat now, but it doesn’t look good. All over the country, mayors are rushing to put up “Closed for August” billboards on the city approaches. From Amarillo to Zanesville, the thought of a lot of howling, coughing white guys breathing heavily on their homegrown barmaids and parking lot attendants fills them with dread.

What’ll happen is that the Republicans will be forced to say they will comply with Charlotte’s restrictions, but by the time Trump takes the stage, they will have said “Fuck that,” and sewn their masks into MAGA beanies and crammed themselves so tightly together that they are practically one organism, and roar “TRUMP” so loud that some of them are going to have trouble breathing the next day.
 
Then they’ll go home. With a message for America. They’ll sneeze it all over the land.

After proclaiming churches “essential” and “ordering” governors to allow them to open up for business, Trump reverently attended a crowded Christian Sunday service during which the air conditioning was turned up to just this side of a Category 1 because of all the sweating, coughing diabetics in attendance.
 
After hugging all those in the congregation, Trump was asked by the disabled black preacher to say a few words. “God is more important than me,” Trump said, as the congregants gasped.
 
Just kidding. As the covid death toll flirted with the hundred grand mark, The Cantaloupe Dope was relaxing at home with a fresh cheeseburger served to him by a masked valet and re-tweeting a crack about vice-presidential hopeful Stacey Abrams being fat.
 
Now, the Stace is a majestic presence, but no more so than the Caucasian-in-Chief, as noted by none other than the High Grandma of the House, Nancy Pelosi, who called him “morbidly obese” the other day. CNN primly noted that at 6’3” and 243, Trump qualifies as obese, but not morbidly so, but CNN, out of all media outlets, should know fake news when it repeats it. Trump in real life appears to be about 6 even and 290, making him the fattest President since Taft. Him cracking about other people’s physical appearance is like a plump, pimply jerk who hasn’t gotten laid since the last season of the Sopranos sitting at a strip bar and sneering at a naked entertainer whose bod would give Gal Gadot’s a run for her money, “I don’t like her eyebrows.”
 
As part of his harangue about opening up church services, Trump said that America needs “more prayer, not less.” No—what we need are MORE FUCKING TESTS! The ringleader of the American circus also bad-mouthed liquor stores and abortion clinics as being less essential than gathering in large, infectious groups and exhaling viruses.
 
Here in California, liquor stores sell way more than liquor. They also sell beer, wine, chips, snack cakes, sandwiches, candy, lottery tickets and condoms. That by no means exhausts the list, but every single one of those items sounds like a quarantine essential to me. And if you need an abortion, it’s not like you can wait for the vaccine to be developed before you get one.
 
What is not essential is packing into a large structure with hundreds of your fellow deluded goobers and pleading with God for an end to the plague, when God could ignore your prayers just as effectively if you prayed at home. Just stay there. Your pastor can get a real job. And when the thousands of dedicated medical professionals who are slaving away right now, while you sniffle over being deprived of the freedom to spray your saliva all over the other faithful, finally come up with a cure or a vaccine for the virus, you’ll get to go back to church and thank the Lord for it.
 
But Trump will want credit too, so make sure you save some for him, despite the fact that if and when the pandemic ceases, he will be the only person who has done less than God to save us from it.

​GOD: (on Heavenly throne, but with PC, blotter, In-Out box in front of Him. To the side, a fax machine that nobody uses anymore) All right, you’re My two o’clock. Remind Me why you’re here again.
 
CORONAVIRUS: For the job, sir.
 
GOD: Right, right. I’ll be upfront with you. I’m going to be picky here, even though I can’t seem to keep that spot in the plague division filled. SARS, MERS, Ebola—they all came here with great resumes but they couldn’t get the job done. So, you understand My skepticism. I’m looking for a virus that can put up Black Death kind of numbers. Real wrath of Me stuff.
 
CORONAVIRUS: The bubonic plague is one of my personal heroes, sir. But it’s kind of like asking me to follow Hank Aaron in the batting order. But solid, Spanish flu type stats--those I’m confident I can achieve.
 
GOD: Well that’s realistic, I guess. (Reaches into desk, whips out a bottle of pills, throws one at the virus)
 
CORONAVIRUS: (Startled) What was that, sir?
 
GOD: Hydroxychloroquine. Just checking. Ok, what are your qualifications?
 
CORONAVIRUS: I spread out like grease on a griddle.
 
GOD: Good. Killing everybody you touch, right?
 
CORONAVIRUS: That’s not my style. Some people I don’t make sick at all, but they can give me to other people who die horribly. That means I spread like Stormy Daniels' legs. Automatically. And I’ll touch down everywhere in the world.
 
GOD: Good. I love my locusts, but it's tough to get those lazy bugs out of Africa and the Middle East. But you do kill people? All firstborn sons would be nice. Remind Me of the old days.
 
CORONAVIRUS: Yes sir. I mean, I do kill, but not necessarily in birth order. Mostly the elderly, plus diabetics and fat people. But, occasionally, healthy people. Just to keep them on their toes. Once in a while a kid, for the heartbreak value. I’m a disruptor, sir. Once I get out in it, the world will never be the same. Surely you can see that?
 
GOD: Yeah, maybe. New ways for new times. But I still have a few questions for you. Want to see if you’ll fit into the company culture. How do you feel about going to church?
 
CORONAVIRUS: I love religious ceremonies. Baptisms to funerals and every crowded service in between. I want people to go to church.
 
GOD: Well, so do I! That’s a good fit.
 
CORONAVIRUS: Circulating in the congregation. Mingling during Masses. Whether its lounging with Lutherans or mixing with Methodists, I’m right at home. I don’t mean to flatter, sir, but it will make me feel closer to You.
 
GOD: Perfect. One other thing.  I hate meatpackers. Don’t ask me why.
 
CORONAVIRUS: Gotcha covered, Boss.
 
GOD: I think we have something here. Me willing, you’re going to be one of my favorite plagues!
 
CORONAVIRUS: When do I start?
 
GOD: It’s more like where. Do you like Chinese?

With coronavirus deaths closing in on 100,000 in the US, the White House just proclaimed victory over the virus, which they would have called VV Day except that sounds too close to vajayjay. Declaring victory and going home is a time-honored military tactic, but it may backfire in this case, because all of us already are home.
 
Who do we owe this outcome, with many states reopening to make the death total spiral, combined with enough of us still scared shitless to go out the door to guarantee a lingering, huge recession? Some say it’s just the genius of Trump, but the man can’t screw up everything himself, hard as he might try.
 
“It’s Jared,” said one anonymous White House source. “When Trump is Tweeting, or getting a fresh coat of orange shellac on his chins, or just watching Fox and Friends with his pants off, Jared is there. His steady presence in the Situation Room, or as some of us call it, the Clusterfuck Café, keeps our noses to the grindstone of screwing the nation over.
 
“When we needed someone to utterly botch the pandemic response, Jared stepped up to the plate. Having already not only not brought peace to the Middle East, but made sure violence there continued indefinitely, Trump knew his son-in-law was ready for the big tent. ‘What we really need to fight this virus,’ the President said, ‘is someone with shoes as nice as mine.’ Bingo! There really was no other choice.
 
“It was Jared that made sure that a nation that manufactured nearly 300,000 airplanes in World War II couldn’t cough up a decent coronavirus test and make it in sufficient numbers before the disease exploded. It was Jared who made the states bid against each other for medical gear, because that prevented socialism. It was Jared who said, ‘If we let each state do its own response, we can unleash a beautiful cascade of clusterfucks, instead of just one big one.’ It was Jared who said, ‘Hey, maybe guns and Confederate flags will stop this virus. Get behind those fools,’ to his father-in-law, when the reopen demonstrations started.
 
“Behind every bad decision and demonstration of hopeless incompetence, Jared stood strong. He inspired us to mangle this crisis so thoroughly that hundreds of thousands of Americans will needlessly die, and the country will sink into a historic depression. As Ivanka once told her dad, ‘Daddy, my man can really clusterfuck.’ It’s how he got the job.
​
“Now that he’s declared victory over Covid-19, tears of pride and joy are running down our faces. You just can’t see them because we all have to wear masks now.”

In a grudging display of responsibility and a reluctant assent to public health interest, Facebook, YouTube and Twitter have begun removing posts containing self-serving lies and quack cures concerning the coronavirus, instead of wallowing on their backs with their fingers in their ears and soaking up revenue from them.
 
Liars and quacks started howling like they were tied to a 5G tower and being stuck full of vaccine needles. Victims of the new policy included Candace Owens, Diamond and Silk and some others in the “It’s my Constitutional right to cough in your face” crowd, and the “My grandmother’s already dead, so fuck yours,” set.
 
There are still great steaming wads of bullshit available on FB, Twitter and YouTube, of course. Fake moon landings, flat earthers, alien abductees and 9-11 truthers still placidly go about their business, trying to convince you that people who actually spend years in learned study do so just so they can lie to you about what they found out, commonly referred to as “so-called experts,” whereas they and their friends, community college dropouts all, have discovered the truth. You can still freely give your money to a pastor who posts a video claiming he just got back from Heaven and spotted a seat with your name on it there, thank the Lord!
 
But people who are selling fake cures for the virus, or people that are saying that you’re safer from the virus in a mosh pit than you are standing under a cell tower are getting their posts yanked from the major social media. The most famous yankage involved Plandemic This is a mockumentary that claims the current plague is all a plot cooked up by Bill Gates, that there is no virus, that all deaths and symptoms attributed to it are flared out to us from newly installed 5G towers, and that the purpose behind it is so Gates can sell us a vaccine against the virus, which will really be a secret tracking device so Gates will know everyone on Earth’s location 24-7.
 
Oh, yeah, and chemtrails. Probably. I haven’t watched Plandemic because the only site I found it on wanted me to download it. Who does that anymore?
 
But Plandemic already had people in an uproar. “I don’t want Bill Gates looking over my shoulder when I’m watching porn!” is a typical reaction, along with random sabotaging of cell towers, both 5G and the regular old 3G and 4G cell towers that the saboteurs currently need to text out conspiracy theories to each other, because all cell towers pretty much look alike.
​
If this keeps up, if you want to hear bullshit about the coronavirus, you have to turn to the White House. Trump won’t mind. Right now, 82,000 dead people are a tremendous victory over the pandemic. If it’s 300,000 in their graves by November, the triumph of Trump will be even more mind-bogglingly unprecedented in American history. Ask him if you don’t believe me.
 
Or “unpresidented.” Whatever. The coronavirus won’t care. It’s the honey badger of bugs. Covid-19 don’t give a shit.

The US Senate recently passed a bill to make all lynchings federal crimes. “Good deal,” many of you are thinking, and it’s tough to argue with that sentiment, even though the last reported lynching in the US was in 1981, unless you count Epstein, and the two KKK-affiliated perpetrators were convicted under regular, ho-hum homicide laws and sentenced to death and life in prison. So, there was not really a burning necessity for this statute, which is probably true of anything the Senate does unanimously. A law against chasing down joggers and dispatching them to eternity because they picked the wrong street to run down would seem to be more useful, currently.
 
However, Liberty Counsel, an evangelical group that opposes gay marriage, gay rights and gay cake, and its head honcho, Matt Staver, have stepped up efforts to have prohibitions against lynching someone because of his or her “sexual orientation” or “gender identity” removed from the bill before it passes the House.
 
I contacted Mr. Staver and he was more than happy to explain his reasoning. “You’re not a religious man,” he said, “so you don’t know how it is to be so full of the love of Jesus that you have to hang a homo.”
 
It is hard for me to imagine. A lot of people push Christianity because of its eternal niceness.
 
“Those people need to level up in their approach to faith,” Staver snorted. “Turn-the-other-cheeky Jesus isn’t going to get them into the posher neighborhoods of Heaven. The true vision of Heavenly bliss is one of gays getting all smote upon. The feds are infringing on our religious freedoms by passing laws that forbid us, when we are filled with the Spirit, from swinging gays from the nearest sturdy tree.”
 
You are aware there are laws that keep you from doing that already, right?
 
“Sadly, yes. We humble Christians would be persecuted if, in our longing for the joys of eternity, we happened to put to death any homosexuals that were standing between us and the unconditional love of God, no matter how we did it. Lynching would be good. Stoning even better.”
 
I think the word you’re looking for is ‘prosecuted.’ So, what you’re saying is you’re not going to do murder in the name of Jesus anyway. You’re just going to do regular church stuff—speak in tongues, handle snakes, and have cake and gun sales at your church. What’s the point of your lobbying against the lynch law?
 
“Everyone has their fantasies. How would you like yours to be made a Federal crime?”
 
Probably several of mine already are.
 
“I feel closest to God when I dream of lynching young men, their naked bodies swinging in the sun, their loins bursting with the fruit of youth, praying that they repented of their sins of desiring each other before the rope tightened…”
 
Jesus Christ, man, are you touching yourself?
 
“You took the name of the Lord in vain. This interview is over.”

2019’s Straight Pride parade in Boston was a rousing failure. Outnumbered by counter-protesters who loudly ridiculed them every step of the way, the Straight Priders slunk away into the shadows, seemingly never to pound the pavements of Beantown again.
 
But they’re back! They were behind the Re-Open protest at the Massachusetts Capitol the other day, bravely wearing Trumpgear and defying orders to stay at home, calling for America’s beer joints, gun stores and bait and tackle shops to reopen in the face of the pandemic. The organizers proclaimed the rally a huge success. I talked to one, who insisted on just being addressed as Proud Boy.
 
Okay, Proud, why do you think nobody showed up at the Straight Pride Parade compared to today’s protest?
 
“Well, I hate to badmouth my fellow straight guys, but some of them were obviously not proud enough of being straight. This is a mistaken notion. Even if you’re an overweight burpsack living in your parents’ house and your regular daily routine consists of consuming an 18-pack of Natural Light while toggling between ESPN and Pornhub every waking hour, you’re still better than gays and women.”
 
That’s a pretty strong position, Proud. Don’t you think you’re taking a risk being out here, not wearing masks or staying six feet apart, while we’re in the middle of this pandemic?
 
“Real men don’t get viruses, and if they do, it’s no worse than the flu. And don’t give me a bunch of crap about experts. We don’t like experts in any field that doesn’t involve motor vehicles, video games or killing animals. Every time somebody with a white coat, glasses, and clean fingernails comes on TV, we tune them right out.”
 
What about the Confederate flags and even Nazi flags you guys seem to love?
 
“Two words, pal—liberal tears. Plus, it lets the cops know we’re white, so they won’t shoot or tear-gas us even if we get a little rowdy.”
 
You guys were laughed off the street during your Straight Pride fiasco. Does the fact that the people who think you’re a bunch of conspiracy-theory idiots with extremely poor haircut and wardrobe choices are wisely sheltering in place at the current moment, unable to come out and jeer at you, make you feel safer?
 
“Safer? Listen, pal, straight white guys with GED’s are the best, bravest and most patriotic Americans, and if you want to disagree with that, we will flame you with misspelled memes on Facebook until you block us out of sheer exasperation. That’s courage. The only thing that will ever stop us for standing up for what we believe is if they stop making camouflage pants in plus sizes.”
 
What if you are spreading the virus though? Even if you don’t get sick from it, you could bring it home to your parents and grandparents.
 
“Well, that would make us sad, of course. But there’s a silver lining there. Some of us would get to move upstairs.”

We in the US had a National Day of Prayer a month or so ago, which did not affect the progress of the current plague one small bit. Now we have found the reason for that—while America was praying, the rest of the world was sinning away. God embraces the whole world, kind of like the virus does, and while America is His most favored nation, other nations count too, in their minor, silly ways, and foreigners needed to pray as well, and not just for Trump to let them come to America so they can buy guns.
 
So, while Americans were shouting hosannas, other countries just went right on sinning. The British continued to drink warm beer, the Scots to wear skirts and the French to eat snails, three things that are offensive in the sight of the Lord. The Chinese continued to displease Jesus by making cheap shit that doesn’t work for Walmart. You get the picture. We have to all get together and make prayer noises all at once to scare off the virus.
 
Hence the Global Day of Repentance. Organized by a bishop out of Malawi, the Day is set up so that each hour of it provides the faithful for another sin to repent of. It starts off with a bang, as Hour One is devoted to “the national sin of failing to honor the House of David, God’s global authority.” Nearly everybody is guilty of this, because they have no idea what it means. The House of David was a Jewish thing, but it’s kept its authority on the down-low for a couple thousand years. Unless they mean George Soros. Which they probably do.
 
In Hour Ten, you are supposed to repent of the “sin of fearing man instead of fearing God.” Now, men give you plenty of stuff to fear, from crime to road rage to World Wars, but when you give in to fearing scary men, like cartels, guerillas or pirates, you are forgetting that God is the Big Bushwhacker, and when you do that, He is going to line up an earthquake or a tsunami to correct your ass.
 
In Hour Sixteen, the world gets down to the repenting nitty gritty—it’s time to atone for “the national sin of approving sexual perversions.” As many American pastors have already said, it’s baking gay wedding cakes that has brought us the scourge of this virus, despite clear evidence that what the virus really enjoys is a nice crowded church service, and if there’s a good bake sale afterwards, of strictly heterosexual cakes, it’s all the better. A lot of us have grown lazy about bullying, shaming and randomly assaulting gay people, and God is angry about that, and apparently, He is angriest with the elderly and people with underlying health conditions for their continuing failure to gay-bash.
 
You might be getting tired or repenting by the time you get to Hour Twenty, and be tempted to say “Screw it, I’m stopping for lunch,” but don’t you dare, because after nineteen hours on your knees, it’s time to repent for your sins of “lukewarmness and apathy.” Thou shalt always give a flying fuck, especially about Jesus. It is the will of God.
 
At Hour Twenty-Three, we get down to real business. Start repenting for the existence of “humanism and other religions.” It’s your fault that there are three thousand or so religions, and the fact that you belong to the right one entitles you to rampage against all the other ones. God is disgusted by all those “Coexist” bumper stickers, for there is nothing the Almighty enjoys more than a good jihad, or a mighty Crusade, so after you get a little sleep, get out there and spread some religious hatred.
 
If everyone does this for a whole day, the world will be cleansed of its sins, and the coronavirus will disappear, just like Trump says it will, and it will be all a miracle from God, although Trump will doubtless take credit for it.
 
But now that I take a closer look at the website, I see that the Global Day of Repentance was last Friday and Saturday, depending on your time zone, and the virus is now prospering just as nicely in a sin-free world as it did in a sinful one.
 
Forget I said anything.

​James Goll, who calls himself a Christian prophet, which he most certainly is in the sense that he gets paid to prophesy, had a free revelation for us all the other day, which is that the Holy Spirit wants Trump to be re-elected.
 
“So what?” I hear you saying. “Evangelical leaders are telling us that God wants Trump to be re-elected nearly as often as they tell us to send them money. What’s so special about Goll?
 
It’s because the Holy Spirit speaks to him, you sourpuss unbelievers. The Spirit! Other members of the Trinity are much more regular about putting in appearances. God appeared to Moses and started the whole thing off. Jesus is the Kanye West of Heaven, showing up regularly in venues ranging from Oral Robert’s visions to toast, bagels and clouds, so much so that you’re sick of looking at him. Mother Mary, although not technically a member of the Trinity, regularly slips out of one of her weeping statues and materializes before a bunch of illiterate peasant children in some foreign land and drones on in Latin while they wet their pants.
 
But the Spirit hardly ever shows at all. Until now. Goll says:
 
“I believe it is the will of the Lord for President Trump to be reelected for a long-term reason if Jesus tarries any at all…It is to turn this nation for lineage and legacy unto—this was the exact phrase the Holy Spirit gave me—to true constitutional conservatism. So, I believe it’s God’s will for him to be reelected.”
 
Now, tarrying is what Jesus does best, apart from showing up in your bag of Funyuns. The big Apocalypse show, where He appears in the sky and starts judging all of us, has been postponed every single day since He first scheduled it. The chance of it happening between now and Election Day is pretty remote. That’s why the Holy Spirit is urging you to vote Trump.
 
Now, the Spirit (who was called, in my Catholic childhood, the Holy Ghost and who possibly changed His name to avoid being confused with Casper, the Friendly Ghost, who was also popular at the time) just doesn’t do revelations. For that reason, many people, when they think of Him at all, think He’s a second-track Supreme Being, a divine journeyman who keeps Heaven’s toilets flushing while God and Jesus are busting out new galaxies and in general doing important cosmic shit.
 
But Goll’s experience with Him reveals a whole new side to the Holy Ghost--He is a constitutional scholar. He is the law school brains of the Trinity, the Brett Kavanaugh of Heaven!
 
Now we know--The Holy Ghost is where the other members of the Big Three go when they need help preserving America as a Christian nation. Whether it’s keeping those children of rape and incest coming, putting crosses in classrooms, or protecting our right to cram together in churches and give each other the plague, the Holy Ghost makes sure the Constitution is strong on our side.
 
Praise be!