I am reliably informed that the Evil Clown suffers from sciatica, and that the doctors have told him that this is not something that can be solved with some operation or other.
The guy just has to eat less.
As I read the news, I could not avoid thinking that this will be an interesting one. It is, in this Country, not uncommon for very fat people to be told that they need to lose weight before the National Health Service pays for, say, their knee operation. This makes sense, as one who already shot his knee by sheer force of eating can’t be expected to have his lack of discipline paid for by the other contribution-paying members of the Killing Socialist Healthcare Utopia. You broke it, you walk it.
So, Francis is now in front of a choice: discipline or pain. If he does not lose weight in the next months, we will know that he is so lacking in judgment that he prefers to live with the pain for the rest of his days (which, just so we are clear, I wish him short, seen that he does not want to abdicate) rather than acting like an adult. If he does lose weight, we will know that, even to a childish man like him, physical pain is a corrective.
The better part of me can’t avoid wishing, even to him, that the pains of sciatica will serve him as a warning of the much bigger pains awaiting him in hell unless he repents. Still, the realistic part of me can’t avoid picturing him cursing and blaming everybody, from the sciatica to the cook to the doctors, for an ailment that he has, largely, brought on himself.
Let the sciatica be a warning to you, Frankie.
At your age, it might be the last one.