In the names of the father...

I’ve never been one for puzzles and codes. I would have made a useless code breaker at Bletchley Park, and not just because I don’t smoke a pipe or wear tweed. My mind works in a different way. Oh I see the connections, can spot the patterns in chaos, but if I’m asked to sit down and solve something I rarely can. Perhaps I simply don’t try enough or perhaps it is something genetic. Give me a crossword and I’ll tire of it in minutes, even though I generally know the answers.

Of course it could be that I don’t want to solve the puzzle or break that code, perhaps if I were to I might find out that the message is something I really don’t like. There’s danger in understanding things, fear in knowing what makes something tick. I know what makes one thing tick. I was scared of it for years and then one day I stood up to it and it went away. Of course there was a problem; it took everything else with it and that’s one I think I can never solve.

In the names of the father

Dirty as a graveyard dig

Arrogant as a knife

Vile like an open wound

Insidious like a pig

Despicable like trenchfoot

Wicked as slow torture

Hurtful as a seat in hell

Evil like spit on the altar

Ignorant as a dog turd

Greedy like a cancer

Hostile as a hornet’s nest

Threatening like a burglar.