As much as I enjoy the comforts of my new home and cats and a steady income and all that, I really, really can't let one thing go.
Our new priest's rather a fucking idiot. Really, you'd think the old man would know what the hell he's talking about if he's been a part of the fucking church for thirty-five years. I'd rather not switch where we go - We've been going to the same damn church since we were nineteen, Murphy and I have. I was rather happy to see that it still exists in this world. But lord, this guy's a regular fucking cunt. Hell with it, I might just wind up giving Wolfwood's church a try, even if he's not Catholic. Might be more amusing, in any case. Especially if he's giving the sermons. That and Brooklyn's not so bad. Reminds me of home without the rotting fish smell.
Could you be a champ and pick up some groceries on the way home from work? We're running low on actual food. And Drake's reminding me that we need cat chow. the kids can't eat bacon nibbles all the time, they'll get fat.
We might be showing up to the party, but don't expect me to be able to play anything that requires the use of my right arm. I'm fine -- I just had the damn thing broke. With the exception of our good Lady healing it between then and now, I'll be making Murphy play as my proxy. He's better than I am, anyway.
Is my good Lady too busy with her Papal duties to come see Her favorite sinner?