Yea, the sparrow hath found an house, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may lay her young, even thine altars, O Lord of hosts, my King, and my God.
I spent the day at the Brain Death conference today, listening to all the gruesome details of the dozens of different criteria by which they can declare you dead-but-still-alive so they can have your bits.
The world is no fun when Monty Python's weirdest routines are no longer satirical.
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