A play there is, my lord, some ten words long,
Which is as brief as I have known a play;
But by ten words, my lord, it is too long,
Which makes it tedious; for in all the play
There is not one word apt, one player fitted:
And tragical, my noble lord, it is;
The only thing that keeps me here is the smiles of my children, who for some bizarre reason, neither actively hate me (like the Church does), nor are callously indifferent towards me (like God and their mother), for what reason I have no idea. Stupid kids. Not to worry folks, I won't be converting to EO, the laughable protestantism, and even more historically and epistemologically farcical Mormonism, no post hoc, ad infernam.
