Dear Comrade,

As you are aware, communism has recently been disavowed as our public political philosophy. The Nomenclative Purification Committee, a subgroup working on behalf of the Central Church of the Narrative Administrative Committee, has been debating a suitable replacement word for the salutation given in this very letter. It is, in fact, the last time it will be used in any communication by I or our fellow Narrativists; written or verbal.

Unfortunately, by using it in the salutation above, I have already violated Directive 15, subparagraph 1,703 D. See below.

The NPC has arrived at an impasse over the replacement term. It seems that half (the smart half) want to use the word Peerkin. This term is gender-neutral, stresses equity, and provides a familial tone that is of comfort to many. As you know, Narrativists are often threatened by their own families before and after they join our church.

The other half, who tend to be among our lower, less-enlightened ranks, insist that the term Mobling be used. This word is not only more descriptive, its adherents claim, but contains “truth”. “Truth” is problematic. In fact, we hold no truths. Rather, our truths change to fit The Narrative. You’d think they’d be capable of reading the sign to that effect above the sanctuary door. Several ridiculous third and fourth parties continue to lobby for alternative language choices, not that anyone is going to listen to them.

What is your say on this matter, my fellow Peerkin? Or should it be fellow Mobling? Please submit your response to the NPC post-haste.

I must now request absolution. I addressed you using the word right-wing opponents have always used to refer to one another, signalling their fascist in-group preferences: comrade. The Fairness and Forgiveness Committee, a subgroup working on behalf of the Central Church of the Narrative Administrative Action Committee, has passed judgment.

I am to proceed immediately to the nearest Starbucks, order a mondo-size Blonde Vanilla Bean Coconutmilk Latte, and imbibe the concoction in their public restroom. Should I survive, which seems unlikely, I will be welcomed back into the good graces of the Church.

Should I never see you again, please remember my final words: All Hail the Narrative!

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I’m not a particularly superstitious spork, but clearly a curse is afoot.

It started in mid-April when The Snottening rampaged through our household. As the sole bastion of health during that incursion, I made sure the cold medications stayed in good supply and the Kleenex-to-trash conveyor belts were oiled up. Squeaky belts are not conducive to sleep when the coughing, sneezing, wheezing, and other assorted biological sounds that accompany a Snottening outbreak are already on the clock.

Oh, to return to those halcyon days…

The first week in May, with perfect Spring weather growing our meadow by at least a foot daily, the mower decided that forward was not a direction it was willing to travel. The last repair place left it in worse shape than when it entered, but it was the only place I could find at the time. You’d think “riding lawnmower repair” would be a thing, but apparently it’s some kind of Illuminati underground cabal working silently in the background. They probably have to dodge assassins in the employ of Big Lawn Care.

Alas, it turned out not to matter. The very next morning I was hit square in the lungs with The Snottening, v2. There are only so many bodily orifices that can produce mucus, but I assure you they were all clogged and thus I was sweating the stuff. By the time it got to my eyes, and no, I’m not making that up, the doctor believed that it might not be viral in nature.

Fast forward four blissful anitbiotic-swallowing days and I’m somehow feeling alive once again. We’re not sure how tall the lawn is, it’s certainly higher than the roof, but we’re now in the process of dowsing for a repair person whose technique involves tools rather than checking fluid levels and alternating bouts of swearing and prayer.

Alas, The Churchians was scheduled to begin on June 4. Not gonna happen. Too many heart attacks, illnesses, and broken machinery got in the way. The new date is July 8. We could probably start on the 1st or 4th, but nobody will be around that weekend. We’ll continue to post as we can. If we resort to an exorcist or a safari expedition to clear a path to the street, we’ll post pictures.

Otherwise, Codex has promised to post the Mother’s Day card Glyph drew for her, which caused some much-needed laughter yesterday afternoon. Look for it sometime later this week.

–> Quizzer