Hey, Walrus Jesus. Been a while.

“I can’t even look at any of you right now.”

What?

“Meals on Wheels?”

Ah. Right. Well, you know: most of us are against cutting that program.

“I’m not mad because you’re cutting it; I just don’t understand the point. Why don’t your old people just live off their blubber until spring?”

Because we’re not walruses.

“All are walruses in the eyes of Walrus Jesus.”

Sure.

“Have their tusks worn down to the point where they can no longer scour the sea floor for clams and mollusks?”

You mean fangs?

“I can’t have this conversation with you again. Walruses don’t have fangs, you dunce.”

Wikileaks said you did.

“You shouldn’t believe everything a Russian stooge hiding in an embassy tells you.”

True. Walrus Jesus, some asshole today said that when you preached compassion for the least among us, you really only meant Christians.

“That’s literally the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

Language.

“I forgive myself. Seriously? Someone said that?”

Out loud and in public.

“Wow. Did he say I was blonde and blue-eyed, too?”

No, but I’m sure he thinks it.

“Compassion is for all. The walruses, the polar bears, the arctic foxes that we live among. The clams and mollusks that we eat. If compassion has a boundary, then it is not compassion, but strategy.”

Well said, Walrus Jesus.

“Go back to the Meals on Wheels thing.”

Okay.

“What’s a wheel?’

I do not have time to explain the entire history of human technology to you.

“I understand. Peace and ice be unto you, my son.”

And to you, Walrus Jesus. What are you doing for St. Patty’s Day?

“Me and the disciples are going for dinner.”

You should cancel.

“Why?”

Trust me.