If Jesus had a middle name, I bet that name was Harold.
Jesus H. Christ!
Gotta be, gotta be Harold…
A name spoken far and wide. Sometimes muttered softly under dirty clothes in a closet and many times screamed madly from a bombed out, burning rooftop.
“Harold!” whispered in disbelief. Jesus… H… Christ…
“Har!” screamed at the point of impact.
And drawn out in rare metanoic moments.
Hole… Lee… Shi-i-iit…
Either way, taking the lords name in gain.
See, without those names, those noises of recognition, ain’t no path for future astonishment to follow.
And no astonishment path, no astonishment. Period.