The Anvil

I thought I had already posted the picture of Sims posing with me. It is quite possible I did post it and using Google's internal search engine simply did not locate it under the legislator's name. Here it is:

If you look closely I am obviously emotionally ransacked, and you can hear a more able Mary Worrrilow talk over my head saying "that's better," after I tried doing Wellbutrin in 2003. This photo with a caviler and well groomed attorney who we do not need to envision in an anal posture occurs much later, perhaps 18 months before this last, perhaps final, implosion of my independence. Mary Worrilow is my mother's youngest surviving sister. She and I aren't on speaking terms, and I don't like her, never have, nor her husband, nor her daughter who says she loves me so much. But for the moment, I'll just add this. If a quadriplegic with a battering ram life can put a homosexual politician who can certainly pass for straight on his knees for the sake of being placated, then the world isn't going to end. When Isabella commissioned the Spanish Inquisition, Brian and I both would have been tortured, even ignited and scorched above faggots to purge Christendom of blasphemy.