Now I notice it is Fathers Day already and I haven’t even composed his card yet. I will ad lib. “Oh telepathic demon messenger. I have your message for that murderous overlander dad of mine.” In the presence of a telepath my consciousness begins to liquefy and meld with the collective consciousness of all. “Please, demon, receive the message orally. I do not wish to have a breakdown in front of my Royal Guards.” I begged.“Royal Guards? Coming up in the underworld aren’t we now?” Said the impertinent yet mighty telepath. I responded. “On the coattails of my minions, demon, on the coattails of my minions, just like anyone else who rises. Here is the message: ‘Oh, dad you fraud and sham, you’re not Jesus little lamb, On me the door of death you slam, into the V.C. bottle you cram me, yes it is me you damn, in torments, I wait for you and your ma‘am. These things, your kids and church don‘t know. You hide it out, and off you go, as if you had, no sin to show. You hide and not confide, oh no. If it’s not true, then tell me why, don’t you a “murdered my son,” sign on your chest glue, would anybody eat with you, or hear your speech, or look at you. Happy Fathers Day poser dude, actor wannabe Christian man, Your unborn son will see you one day. We’ll share in the underworld, torment forever.’” It is shorter and less thoughtful than all my others.This card betrays my new interests in a dialogue, not monologue, to come with my Praetorians, my new inner circle.