Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Warm as Toast
It’s taken all day but I’ve finally prompted the chronicler into action. She has a cold, poor thing, and claims she feels like death warmed up.
I’ll let you into a secret. Death isn’t cold. Not the angel, anyways. The act of death may well be – you might fall into a river or be discharged into space – but the Angel of Death is as warm as you or I – well, I, anyway.
I dated her sister one, Jedith, the Angel of Pestilence. She was pleasant enough company for a couple of hundred years but the relationship was doomed to failure. Can you imagine what people say about a demon and an angel? I tell you solemnly – you haven’t racism until you hear the vitriol spouted by the guys in white..
In summary: Death warmed up is hot to trot.