My faith gives me the ability to say, whatever is next, I’m ready. If it is Hillary or Trump I am ready because they might sit on the desk but they do not sit on the throne.

Okay, news flash. Jealousy is not something I enjoy. I hadn’t felt it much before. But I’d also never been in love. And I’d never been 3,300 miles away from the girl I loved while some punk sat next to her on a couch. A punk who had designs on her, according to Dylan. I needed to lay eyes on this guy.

If I’ve got a Dad, and his name is Wormwood Rot, and he’s in some heavy metal rock band called Grave Dirt . . . then I’m definitely meeting him!
She stares at me awkwardly, and I’m about to ask again-maybe even insist-when she says, “Honey, why do you think he’s on the news? Wormwood, I mean . . . your father? Becca, he’s . . . dead.

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