Which Reminds Me

My housecleaning standards while preoccupied with grad school did not impress that creepy snarky twerp Harold Moore, as his dog Joy was saying. So what? When did I ever dcare what sniveling little creep Harold Moore thought about me anyway. I never liked him anyway. Why this pretense of friendship? I actually never had much thought of Thomas Nelson, a Vida competitor, so how did I get in their crosshairs? Just because those Lebanese riff-raff have billions stashed away in the bank, yet we know that their fortune in publishing depended on the hired help, the expert editors who pick what sells, Larry Downs and such, for they themselves are nothing but money-grubbing merchants stashing profits in the bank. Money controls some things but without hired help the Moores are nothing but white-washed tombs full of dead men's bones, to borrow a phrase.