It has been a tough weekend. I've been watching the skies, but so far no fire or sulphur has fallen. I'm sure it's on its way, though, so I'm advising the faithful to stay indoors.
I stood in line for hours Friday night, surrounded by sorcerers and witches who had cast off all pretensions. I'm pretty sure their pointed hats were woven from two types of cloth, but I was trying not to look directly at them. I, of course, put on righteousness as my clothing, and justice is my robe and my turban.
In any case, I had pre-ordered a thousand copies of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, and I got my copies at midnight. I got a few people from the homeless shelter to help me carry them away (naturally, I won't touch the books or the people). It seemed only right, since I'd taken my church's usual donation to the soup kitchen to pay for the books. They stacked up the books and I set it on fire. The glory of the Lord looked like a consuming fire on top of the mountain of books. In fact, it's still smoking, which is another reason I'm glad we lit the fire at the homeless shelter: not only does that pesky bylaw officer not know that I'm involved, but I refuse to light any fires at my own house on the Sabbath day. Someone else can be put to death for THAT sin.