Author Archive for M. Toole
Plan to create more land gets commissioner approval
(Almont) A sweeping new blueprint which would effectively create more land in Gunnison County got by a major stumbling block Thursday as the Gunnison Board of Commissioners voted unanimously to give the plan a go.
The concept, brainchild of Tiera Tiera Tiera, a Gothic-based geophysical consulting firm, calls for the expansion of current acreage some 10% each year over the next few years resulting in an additional 145,000 acres at the end of the program, which is expected to be concluded before 2030.
Cold to the idea for years, the commissioners warmed up when told that the additional expansion would be comprised of 40% wetlands and another 35% dark timber contemporary, comparable to the Ohio Pass region and lands above Crested Butte. The remaining 25% of the new land would be alpine and sub-alpine tundra.
Environmentalists reportedly have reserved final comments until a public hearing, slated for early March. Although cynical at first, many seem to have adopted the idea from a custodial standpoint allowing potential conservation measures to overcome preliminary fantasies and physical laws.
“We can envision acres of greenbelt, surrounded by Nature Conservatory parcels dotting the landscape,” said one HCCA source. “We know what these people are up to and it has to do with feeding the building boom. Sure, we can tolerate a few more trophy homes just so long as at least half of the land is protected from development for all time.
Someday soon working families will be able to afford to build a house on a piece of this newly generated soil according to TTT, alluding to endless longitudes and latitudes. This synthetic sagebrush and sediment will soon host top soil and healthy trees allowing more of the comforts wage earners deserve and economic security —an embrace of a more functional family life amid the chaos of 2026.
If the land expansion goes as proposed, Gunnison County officials will be hard pressed to find enough wildlife to fill the newly created vacuum. Expanding the current deer and elk herds won’t be much of a chore but attracting more of the right kind of exotic predators such as wolves, cougars, moose, bruins, trout and twice the eagle population could take decades. All parties agree that preserving the food chain, regarding people remains a top priority.
“People take the elements of living here for granted,” said one commissioner. “Do they think all of these animals just showed up last night? And what of the trees and plants? It took generations for these intricate elements to meld as one ecosystem. If we are going to pursue this exiting experiment with space we want to do things right. Rushing into a poorly conceived notion at this point could cause the mountains to flatten out and the rivers to overflow. It will spell trouble down the road.”
Already the largest county in Colorado, the newly emerging landscape could, in a few years, represent a mass larger than several New England states and the District of Columbia combined.
“We’re not map snobs,” said a spokesman for Tiera Tiera Tiera, “or megalomaniacs intent on expanding our reality for the sake of power or profit. We just want to offer rural counties the option of positive growth beneficial to everyone, you know, more elbow room. When the first pioneers arrived they didn’t have to deal with land use codes, covenants or easements. Why? Because there was more than enough room for everyone, except of course uncooperative residents like the Utes and the Grizzly Bear.”
Whether the existing population centers will expand has not been discussed at press time nor was the necessary construction of new roads connecting old land with new. Percentages of vertical to horizontal parcels likewise has not been undressed.
“We’d like to see more people able to buy land, more animals grazing, more water, said one commissioner, “and, yes, even more sagebrush. Let’s not forget the sagebrush.”
– Kashmir Horseshoe
“You will never find peace with these fascists
You’ll never find friends such as we
So remember that valley of Jarama
And the people that’ll set that valley free.
From this valley they say we are going
Do not hasten to bid us adieu
Even though we lost the battle at Jarama
We’ll set this valley before we’re through.
All this world is like this valley called Jarama
So green and so bright and so fair
No fascists can dwell in our valley
Nor breathe in our new freedoms air.”
BATS, BEARS AND BUTTERFLIES
It’s Getting Crowded in the Great Outdoors
(Oh-Be-Joyful) The place is overrun. Just the other night while camping out under a newly installed municipal street light up the Slate we watched in horror as thousands, well hundreds, of fruit bats circled our tent with lord knows what intent. They are nothing more than little rats with wings. I don’t care if they are blind and operate on radar. They don’t bathe regularly and can carry rabies (in their back pockets?)
Then it was the bears. Damn, the bats finally got tired of their mindless orbit and the fury beasts emerge. Damn, I strung all the Spam up in the tree like Mr. Ranger said to do, but bears can climb trees! I banked the fire and now they want marshmallows. Wow, that bruin just ripped the lid off my cooler and he doesn’t appear to have thumbs! I hope he doesn’t come into the tent — that’s where I’ve hidden the rum. I’ve been informed that the animals are most active at dawn and at dusk so I guess we should just sleep in the daytime and hike at night. Are flashlights legal in a pristine, wilderness area? I’ll have to consult my Nashville Forest brochure written by uniformed men over in Denver. They manage the land, you know.
Hey, the reason we are out in the forest in the first place is to observe butterflies in their natural habitat but I think the bats and bears have scared them off. We wait all year for the weather to turn warm so we can drink a glass of wine and munch on some overpriced exotic cheese and we have to share this time warp with pests. Wait. There’s a butterfly now. Where’s my net?
Do people collect butterflies due to some sadistic flaw or because they can’t stand to see a being so very colorful cruising the skies at peace all day? What eats butterflies and how did they get tagged with such a dreadful label?
At least they aren’t like bats. Despite the fact that bats eat mosquitoes they still swoop. That’s it. That’s what gets under my skin. It’s the swooping. In Mexico bats don’t tend to swoop as much as the peso. In Costa Rica someone left the bats out all night and they were stolen. In the jungles of South America they have vampire bats which is one reason travelers are subjected to all those barely pubescent soldiers standing around with machine guns. It’s bat control. That’s all. If you have a problem just call the American Embassy.
If one comes in contact with a bat, waving at it does little good. They just wave back. Flies, oh thou little bat of snot, will go away for a while. Bats, on the other hand, seem to think that if you are so intent on driving them away there must be something you are attempting to protect, like mosquitoes, rum, mosquitoes or some other treasure. They don’t know. They are like the IRS with wings.
The best way to handle a bat is to grip the bat at the bottom with both hands, spread you feet, don’t crowd the plate and keep your eye on the ball. Take a few practice swings in the on-deck circle. At the last moment of contact squeeze and swing through the ball. When reaching first base you are on your own.
I had a friend once who fashioned himself quite the mountain man. He tried this conventional approach to handling a bear, grabbing low and squeezing. He is buried in our backyard under a Russian olive tree.
Long before the native cape buffalo were run off by the high winds the butterfly and the bear were compatible. Most likely this mutual toleration resulted from the primary reality that neither had anything the other needed. Instinctually any bear will tell you that butterflies don’t generate honey. Likewise butterflies aren’t hot on eating parasites (even with béarnaise sauce) off their shaggy counterparts nor do they enjoy munching on a rotten cow that has been buried by a member of the Ursidae clan so as to create the ultimate gourmet treat. Both are generally omnivorous but, like the Epicureans of the Pacific Rim, will consume an assortment of canned meats if they have access to a can opener. Bats hate Spam, often picking at it, then feeding it to the family dog when no one is looking.
If you encounter a bat in the wilds you probably won’t notice the intrusion since they are nocturnal and hard to see in the dark. Bears on the other hand are up all the time due to their fascinating habit of sleeping all winter. In truth, bears can do without folks and usually retreat unless food, cubs, or harsh political differences are apparent.
Responding to a bear encounter is simple enough, unless it doesn’t work well. First of all, stay calm. This may be difficult considering the fact that a 300-pound prowler has just entered your domain. Make noise so that the bear knows you are around. Pretend you haven’t seen the beast and he/she may retreat. If you are wearing aftershave or perfume that smells like honey or dead cows, dispense with all logical thought and make a run for the truck. There is little truth to the rumor that bears eat Californians and Texans on sight. Statistics lie.
If you find yourself toe-to-toe with a bear back away slowly and avoid direct eye contact as the animal may perceive your stare as a threat. Give the animal an escape route, like the state of Montana. Don’t run. That bear may look chubby but he ran track in college. You can’t outrun a bear. Sudden movements (even those associated with the bowels) can provoke an attack. Speak softly. Reassure the bruin that no harm is meant. Most bears speak American. Just flip out a couple of fifties and, miraculously, most will understand you.
Try not to show fear. That’s what it says in the brochure. Fight back. If you are attacked hit the bear with a rock or a stick. Chainsaws are effective and so are child-proof cigarette lighters, Swiss Army knives, political opinions and last night’s pot of beans. Most likely the bear will tire of the struggle and go back into the woods where he belongs. If not there’s a plot next to our mountain man friend. Biting, kicking and grabbing the bear by his privates is considered dirty fighting by most animals of the forest.
If you are attacked by bats you are probably dreaming or drinking too much cheap gin. If you are attacked by a butterfly you should probably spend your next outing at the dog track, the bowling alley or the local mall.
The outdoors isn’t for everyone although this time of the year it sure seems like it.
– Uncle Pahgre
MOST BLACK BEAR LIVE BELOW POVERTY LINE
(Denver) A majority of Colorado’s 20,000 black bear are indigent, penniless and otherwise destitute according to Division of Fur, Scales, and Feathers here. The Office of FSF, a division of the Colorado SOW, says the problem is increasing with sub-substandard snow pack yielding less food and fewer acres of ample ground cover in which to hide from burgeoning human occupiers.
The black bear, the smallest and most numerous of the overall species, has been living hand to mouth, trudging through the milenniums long before statistics as to fiscal well being were collected. In the years when worth was measured not in material wealth but in spirit, this did not present such a gaping problem but today the disparity runs rampant like a hungry child with his bum hanging out.
Although the bear is inquisitive, very adaptive, bright and social, he is up against the wall of progress. Despite the inequality he is remarkably tolerant of humans. A shy omnivore, the bear will eat just about anything plant or animal. Chronic problems emerge when the animals get used to eating human garbage and thus have more contact with the main predator, which, of corpse, is you and I.
Able to run in bursts exceeding 35 miles per hour and climb trees like nobody’s business, black bear are great swimmers. Often living up to 25 years in the wild, the bear exhibits incredible smell, sight and hearing.
“The bear may be proud beasts but are basically stinky deadbeats, like most other forest mammals,” said Durango biologist Lexy Brooine, head of the Fur and Feathers segment of SOW, a state component of Boneland Security.
“If you give a bear a fish you create dependency. If you teach a bear to fish you create a functional creature who embraces independence. With cuts over at welfare and unpredictable gov’ment assistance qualification (compliments of the incompetent trumpies currently in power), it is difficult to cater to our wards even with the above mentioned free-lance, expansion of the traditional bruin cusine ,” she explained. “There is only so much honey to give away.”
Often considered reasonably affluent in comparison to smaller mammals as well as fish and flying things, the black bear have fallen onto hard times due to bad investments, outsourcing, lack of leadership and a gradual departure from scrupulous survival instincts that have served them well since the species began to evolve.
“Sounds a lot like the current human quagmire,” said Brooine.
“In addition to human garbage and abandoned cars, ski areas and mountain golf resorts have mercilessly killed traditional habitat leaving the animals reliant on the gov’ment,” added Brooine. “Think of all the money diverted into already deep pockets on these endeavors, and it’s easy to see why the bear are where they are, at least in a financial sense.”
– Uncle Pahgre
For more on this sad subject see Indian, Buffalo and Bear: Subtle Suburban Genocide by Melvin Bedwetter Toole, Testosterone Bros., Boston.
ALIEN VISIT TO OLATHE COVERED UP IN CORN
(Olathe) If indications are correct aliens stopped over in Olathe back in 1947, on their way from a previous New Mexico landing site to the First ever Heeny Tick Festival. If one talks to a cross-section of residents here he will be privy to an assortment of wild tales, reenactments and yes, denials.
One overall disadvantaged man told The Horseshoe that he spent a few days with the aliens and even taught them how to plant corn and survive the winter. Then, toward the end of November the aliens had him over for a turkey dinner. Another alleged witness to the visit says the aliens showed up at her wedding, brought her and husband Red a mighty fine toaster and then hit the trail.
“Delusions of this type are quite common within groups who once experienced relative peace and then, as if overnight, were wrestled to the ground by society, the system, television, general stress…whatever one wants to call it. In short, according to social scientists, the big bad beautiful world of high technology including visitors from another world) will not leave a stone unburned in its quest for control.” 1.
Although newspaper articles are sketchy, one piece, recorded in August of 1947, talks about “out-of-towners” and their obsession with Tin Woodsman looking scarecrows that were often used in the fields to save straw. The reported was shocked to catch the visitors hauling one of the tin scarecrows onto a small, circular craft that “didn’t look anything like a Chevy pickup”. The corn field crew then told him they were just souvenir hunters and then offered to compensate the scarecrow’s owner.
“I would have taken pictures and all but I was late to cover that week’s city council meeting where the proposed paving of Main Street was to be discussed,” said Melvin Toole, 78, of California Mesa. “That would be front page stuff.”
Scientists at NASA, speaking with the understanding that no one would take them seriously anyway, say they think the visitors were simply trying to retrieve one of their own. They quickly added that the “aliens” were probably a Mesa College fraternity from Grand Junction or possibly a 4-H group from over in the Beehive State.
According to an official release from the space agency, UFO watchers suffer from the Goldilocks Syndrome which, like the Peter Pan Parallel, has never been clearly defined by those who managed to coin the phrases.
“We have observed this kind of creeping neurosis in small towns before,” said Dr. Simon Lackluster, a psychologist/irrigation enthusiast from Pueblo Golf and Water World. “The treatment, although incredibly painful, can be effective. I myself rather enjoy it.”
Lackluster, who appeared at the closing ceremonies of last year’s Olathe Sweet Corn Festival in a red chiffon evening gown and matching shoulder holster, told reporters that he’s “seen it all” and that “his patients have had a far stronger affect on him than he has had on them.”
Many experts in the field of mass hysteria are convinced that it is too much idle time that causes this contagious condition. They feel that everyone should work two or three jobs to keep their minds off what is really going down on the planet. 2.
What may have caused these alleged visits is still unknown 50 years later. The aliens seemed to have been polite, clean and respectful to the elderly and didn’t leave anything behind to chronicle their stop.
“How can there be any question as to the validity to alien stopovers. Just look on the streets of our shabby little mountain towns in the summer,” said one resident. “Are you telling me these pigeons are from the same planet that I’m from? C’mon.”
One visit that can be confirmed was that of the late Soviet Premier Nikita Krushchev to the first Olathe Sweet Corn Festival, hosted in the 1950s by the Colorow Sugar Beet Consortium. This group, in an attempt to get the smell of sugar beets out of their nasal passages turned to sweet corn for relief. In accordance with the silliness they invited Krushchev to attend.
Nikita, as many of us still remember wanted to visit Disneyland in the worse way. His trek to Olathe may have been related to attempts to placate Washington. Unfortunately, it failed and World War III, as we all know, was the frightening result.
Anyway, Krushchev showed up one sunny morning, checked into the Potato Palace and emerged in a pair of baggy bermudas, white knee socks and wing-tips.
“He looked like a real turkey,” said Toole. “I couldn’t let him walk around like that so, telling him the festival was a formal affair, I gave him one of my newspaperman suits to wear. He never returned it.”
It was during that time that the Cold War was hot. Korea was raging, China and Russia were in bed down the hall, the New York Yankees were in their prime and Joseph McCarthy, a champion of the mindless right, was pointing the finger at political enemies like a proctologist on his fifteenth cup of coffee. One can only imagine McCarthy’s reaction to a communist in the wood pile at Olathe.
Calling farmers, Olathe, and sweet corn “soft on Communism” McCarthy effectively black listed the festival until his descent and subsequent death..
“Our corn ain’t soft on anything,” stressed Toole. “It’s tender.”
Despite the efforts of McCarthy and his storm troopers to sabotage the crop that year, the festival went off like a firecracker. Krushchev and his entourage had a great time and even brought home sweet corn seed which was later planted by slave labor in Siberia. Before his departure for the United Nations the Russian was give the keys to the city and in return he kissed some babies and waved from atop a 1936 Henway Concubine, a gift from the local Rotarians.
1. Atlas Shrugged by Ann Rand-McNally. Page 67.
2. The Idle Environment, by Melvin Toolini. Page 299
If anyone out there in robotland we wake onto, knows the whereabouts of Ambrose Bierce
please call Donald J Powers Jr., formerly of Silverton, Colorado.
THE MOONSHINER’S SONG
In 1925 Ouray was still unmistakably a mining town. There had been ups and downs but the mines were still employing hundreds and yielding almost immoral tons of precious ore. There were plenty of churches and plenty of brothels. The Utes had long gone, replaced by new immigrants from Italy, Ireland and Eastern Europe. Most were thirsty fellows and ladies.
The only thing missing were the boisterous saloons of frontier living. The temperance folks had had their way. Prohibition was in full swing with ax-wielding do-gooders saving the population from the evils of demon rum. They had failed to convince the thirsty and the great unwashed as to the moral implications of boozing, so they simply legislated them into dusty submission. The noble experiment doomed to failure.
One man, set on making a living in his hometown, saw a window of opportunity. His family had made what they called mountain dew, or hooch since coming to the San Juans in the late 1880s. Then they sold it more out in the open. Today’s whiskey runner would have to be more careful. Although the authorities generally turned their backs when it came to the sins of the populace, one never took that benefit for granted. Only last spring the police had reluctantly arrested two Montrose men for selling bootlegged whiskey. Now the two were in jail and their families were hungry. What good did that do?
Abe Morrow had served in France during the war. He was convinced that the teetotalers had conspired against the doughboys during a time of national emergency. They had stabbed them in the back with all this Prohibition. If men in France forgot the horror of war with a good bottle (or three) of French wine what harm was done?
By 1925 the nation had settled back into what historians call the Great Dry Spell. Morrow, now approaching 3o years of age had a thriving business. His stills ran all day and he ran around all night satisfying the needs of his customers from Silverton to Dallas. It always amazed him how happy they were to see him. Very little sales work. Just a good sense of public relations and jugs of excellent souma, white lightning or poteen.
Most of his elixir was safe enough to drink and varied in quality and barter capacity. It was rumored that he distilled a sort of kosher whiskey and some powerful bailie, distilled from sorghum, that he sold to the Chinese in town and even up n Silverton, when the opportunity presented itself. He had to be careful not to step on the toes of other moonshiners who did not appreciate the intrusion into their territory and often met Asian customers at the top of Red Mountain Pass.
But most of his customers were miners, good hard working people in need of a good whistle wetting after a long shift underground.
He was looking good, but he needed to take on a partner, someone who could run the operation when he got too old. A bachelor, Abe had no kids to bring into the business. His prospects must know about hard woods and where to get them for a smooth taste. They had to study his bottling procedures. They had to be good in the woods at night. They had to shut their mouth about this and that. They had to be aware of what cops were also customers and which ones would be trouble. Most of all, they had to be honest…yes honest, with the customers and with Abe too.
Since most of his potential associates were employed, he would have to search the ranks of newcomers, or teach some kid the grist mill and mash trade before he embraced some other profession. The population of newcomers was peppered with a sad assortment of ragamuffins and scalawags and that was on a good day. He didn’t want to hook up with his competitors, the Carlson Boys, down valley because then he would have more than a partner, he’d have a boss. The same would go for alliances in San Juan County.
One afternoon as he was headed up to work up Hayden Mountain he noticed a young man coming out of the miner’s union. He knew the kid. His name was Richards. The two had stopped and talked before. His father had been killed at Belleau Wood in 1918. His mother had died of scarlet fever a few years later. Like many of the town’s younger men he had been rustling a job at one of the local mines. At present he said he had few prospects other than nipping at the Old Maid or tending to cranky mules up at the Camp Bird.
There were always jobs in the coal mines but that was far more dangerous work and besides, he had hard rock mining in his veins.
Morrow told Richards he was on his way to work and that he might be looking for some help later in the week. He was afraid to say more, but he needed to start somewhere. He felt like a high wire performer, sans net at his first practice session.
“I know what you do,” said Richards. “I see you coming and going. I don’t drink myself or I might have sampled your wares.”
Abe was dumbstruck. He thought he had covered his tracks better than this. He always took the back roads and never even drove his empty delivery wagon into town. He figured that the miners thought he was a rancher and the ranchers thought he was a miner. He hauled around an assortment of serious-looking tools that he had no use for simply to keep nosey sniffers off the scent. This kid was paying attention.
“So what is it that I do?” he finally asked.
“You deliver milk,” was the answer. “Mother’s milk, I suspect.”
Both men laughed. Abe carefully cross-examined Bobby Richards, attempting to sort out opinions on the morality of the liquor business.
“You looking for a job?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’m getting tired of sweeping up and hustling newspapers at the brothels. I think I’m ready for a new career, something stable, with a future.”
“Have you checked at the bank?” smiled Morrow, looking Richards square in the eye.
“No money in that,” said the younger man. “Is this a job interview?”
“Maybe, but I’m having trouble with where to start,” said Morrow.
“Got some deliveries tonight?” asked Richards. “I can drive, you can drop.”
“I’ll think on it,” said Morrow without sharing further secrets.
Although his recent successes were closely aligned with keeping his business to himself, Morrow knew his prayers had been answered. The next day he approached Richards on the street.
“Still want that job?” he asked.
“Sure, except for the fact that I start my policeman training on Monday.”
Abe’s heart stopped. Was the kid serious? Nobody was smiling. Here in his first attempt at expanding his services he had just hired a cop, or at least a rookie one. He froze.
“Don’t worry about me, Mr. Morrow. Everyone knows about your war record, how you were a hero and all. Even my dad talked about you in his last letters from France,” he said. “I have no problem with you. Even a cop takes a drink once in a while, illegal or not. Ain’t none of us voted for this Prohibition business anyway.”
Abe began to sweat. He had been so careful and yet this kid knew all about him.
“Lot’s of people know who you are and what you’re doing,” said Richards. “As far as they’re concerned you’re not hurting anyone…You’re just providing a needed service. The marshal and a lot of others don’t want anyone else coming in here upsetting the cart, no matter what the cargo.”
“So you won’t turn me in?” he choked.
“What for?” laughed the kid, “and if my new job doesn’t work out I might consider going to work for you. I think I’d be good at it.”
“No doubt,” thought Abe as the two parted ways. “I’d better move my copper kettles nonetheless,” he mused as he headed out of town.
As he made his way up past Ironton Park, Morrow took time to reevaluate his security procedures wondering how many other people knew his business. The money was too good to stop smuggling booze but he might have trouble sleeping from now on. Prison was not a part of his agenda.
He was far too afraid to conduct any more job interviews. He would remain a one-man enterprise, at least for the time being.
From time to time over the next few years Morrow would watch a young railroad cop walk his beat in Montrose. It was Richards. The new job had worked out fine but neither felt comfortable to resume earlier conversations.
Life goes on.
On February 20, 1933 a Lame Duck session of Congress passed the Twenty-first Amendment to the Constitution, repealing Prohibition. It ended an era of gangsters and widespread disregard for the law. It also killed Abe’s moonshine operation and he was forced to find another, more suitable occupation. One place he didn’t look was in the area of law enforcement.
– Uncle Pahgre
Eating garden tomatoes not a sin says Pope Leo
(Vatican) In a rare departure from socio-religious issues the leader of Roman Catholic Church today decreed that eating juicy, homegrown tomatoes was not in conflict with its teachings.
Pope Leo XIV told a throng of well-wishers in St Peter’s Square that although eating a drippy, sweet, red and meaty garden-grown tomato feels much like a mortal sin, it is not. It is not even a venial sin.
He further encourages his flock to “eat as many tomatoes as you like while the season is on”.
Pope Leo, an American, went on to say that he misses his garden in suburban Chicago and that a newly tilled one will be up and running next year in the Vatican.
“The Pontiff was too busty addressing war, poverty, starvation and racism to plant a garden this spring,” said a close aide. “Next year we hope to have corn over there (he gestured toward a basilica) and cucumbers over there. The tomatoes will be right in the middle getting full sun in the morning and shade in the afternoon.
The aide refused to comment when abruptly asked why the Vatican does not share its vast wealth with the impoverished of the planet.
Recent criticism leveled at the Church claims the religious body hoards riches and does not do enough to help the poor, especially those living in Latin America and Africa.
“Sure, they have all kinds of beneficial programs,” said one man who would like to see all of the Vatican gold redistributed to the poor.
“Isn’t that what Jesus would have done?” he smiled.
Back at St Peters the Pope told a cheering crowd that tomato sauces, stuffed tomatoes, tomato soup and even such nominally secular dishes as tomato bisque and fried green tomatoes are all fine to consume, even on meatless Fridays..
“These are not at odds with the doctrines and practices of Christianity,” said the Pope who scoffed at dispensations for eating apples.
“Especially when they are offered by snakes,” he laughed, “which is not a likely scenario.”
In closing the Pontiff warned the faithful about the pitfalls of eating genetically modified foods, which he said, is directly against the teachings of Christ and the Apostles as well as the Bible.
He also expressed distaste for what he called Christian arrogance and Judeo-Christian cherry-pickers who he said will not enter the gates of Paradise no matter how many hours they log in at a pew or Bible study.
– St Roscoe of Runnymouthe
