Which Reminds Me

I do find it hard to understand why you are so obsessed with the fact that I once had a cousin named David although he is dead now. His eyes were brown. He was not your cousin anyway so what would his life matter to you unless you are well-connected to the riff-raff underground of San Francisco of which David was such a vital part in which case, well, then I don't think we have could possibly have anything in common anyway. There is really nothing that I would want to say about him in a public way. I may pity you but I do not exactly share your twisted perspective on the subject. I mean, don't we want everyone to repent of their sins and get saved as the Bible commands, whether our cousins or not? But beyond that, I really cannot handle the weight of all of your mental problems that you keep trying to throw at me. I do hope that my cousins get saved, and I have prayed for them, but beyond that I really can't be expected to keep track of what they are doing at all times. I have to have faith that God will take care of them because anyway it's really not up to me. Each person has to make their own voluntary and personal decision as to whether they decide to believe in Christ. So I might talk about that once in a while in my personal life but I also have other things to think about such as work. How odd that some shrill gutter-snipe from the Streets of San Francisco should suddenly appear before me to lecture on some obscure points. You can't really say much when I see that you have some infectious marks on your own plate. I would only be guessing if I speculated that you probably live under quarantine conditions because a lot of us don't really want to be exposed to this mysterious SKnickers Disease of which we never really understood very much. A lot of these people that I mostly avoided during college because I didn't like them very much, you drag around and stick in my face as if that proves something. They are known to suddenly break forth into strange and meaningless songs and monologues. I'll be walking along doing fine and then all of a sudden it is 1842 and I don't even know who I am or who is talking to me. Knickerbocker magazine writers certainly were genius writers of their day but 150 years later there is a lot of water under that bridge. I wasn't invited to the planning party so I really don't care that much.