Religion, Politics, and Staff Writers Don’t Mix

Diary entry: Paulie no longer attends church, he sees it as the fraud it is, actually, Paulie was asked to never return, as Paulie left his empty beer cans under the pew and the ushers complained, hey, the ushers at the movies never kicked Paulie out, Paulie always left his empties under the seat, the movies are more entertaining anyway, I never cared for our pastor because he was boring and he wore a dress thing… Our pastor was a weasel anyway, every time he came to Sunday dinner at our house, he bogarted the chicken breasts and I had to eat wings or necks… Diary entry: We no longer discuss religion or politics here at the “Diary”, this one slipped by us, one of our new, young writers wasn’t told about our policy before he wrote the last entry, and our copy editor is no longer on parole, something about hanging with the wrong crowd, anyway, much damage has been done to the “Diary” in the past, we have had bouts of upheaval over the years when the staff would choose sides when there were political arguments, religious fights, and arguments over whether the Skipper or Gilligan was stupider, during the religious war of 2018, our Labor Day watermelons all ended up on the roof and someone pee’d in the coffee pot, we have lost entire families here at the “Diary” because of turmoil over ideals and beliefs, so we no longer have any ideals and we don’t believe anything anymore… Diary entry: “Doctors without borders”, who cares, Paulie never had borders, not in his life, people have been asking Paulie for years “Don’t you have any borders”, well, I hear the dogs barking outside, they want in, Goober my cat is meowing to go out, so this is Paulie, staying somewhere in between, saying to anyone who will listen, read Paulie, love Paulie, feel Paulie while he can be felt, as he is like the spring air, the summer breeze, the howling winter wind, yes, feel Paulie now, while he can be felt, as tomorrow he will be gone and forgotten… Diary entry: Mr. Kim’s boat was sinking lower into the sea, the boat hung lower, the sea waves grew higher, the only light was the fading dimness of the compass and the compass pointed to nowhere, would I never see Santa Carmelita again, would I never taste the sweet music, the cool mescal, the soft rays of moonlight, would I never again taste the acerbic, sour tongues of frustrated senoritas on the plaza, was this it, was this it for me, damn Mr. Kim, damn the thing that ever brought us together…

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