N: Think this winter will be our last? Mayan 2012, remember?
    DW: Nah, might just be a peep at the God Principle by a savant .
    N: What’s with the peppy, sunshiny, head-in-the-clouds cant?
    DW: Been pecking on wood all my life! What’s with the dander?
    N: Not enough nuts or weevils as it is. Why end it all? It’s futile.
    DW: Boredom. Renewal. Occupy. He’s hinted these for a while.
    N: Occupy. Uh-oh. Come back to reclaim this neck of the woods?
    DW: Final Coming. Like Advent. Last trip, like. He’s tired. Pissed.
    N: Like driving scruffy tenants out for punching holes on the wall?
    DW: More like ozone layer holes. Global warming, oil spills, Nuts.
    N: But they’re already murdering each other. Wars, famine, Woods.
    DW: He’s got to have the last say. He’d want them to say: We repent!
    N: What’s the point? Couldn’t he consider the love he gave well spent?
    DW: Don’t know about you, Nuts. I would like to bore a few more holes.

    —Albert B. Casuga

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