Cranky Large Medium reading, 16 November

Go away.

Why aren't you gone, yet? Don't you hear your mummy calling? Or is that the zombie mumbling? I can't tell the difference. Anyway, what are you still doing here? Oh, right, the reading. Well, then, here you are:

You are wrapped up in lofty thoughts without grounding in reality. Snooty and focused, you are fond of reading, as long as you can call it "literature"; you can talk up a snowstorm about what you think you know. You have a tendency to believe any new religion which crosses your path, especially if it's orthodox in nature, and spend little time exploring genuinely new ideas. Your love is focused to the point of being scary, and you will need somebody equally loony to return your feelings to a similar depth of madness.

Are you happy, now? Well, break my heart if you're not. After all, you have it so very much better than all these other people, who found their way down the tunnel toward the light, on this date in history: King Henry III, Hisaaki, Daniel of St. Thomas Jenifer, Moses Cleaveland, Sam Rayburn, André Michaux, Christian Hendrik Persoon, Max Abraham, Daniel Nathans, Henry Taube, Milton Friedman, Saint Margaret of Scotland, Saint Edmund of Abingdon, John Hawkesworth, Jack Finney, Vic Dickenson, Dino Valente, Robert Earl Davis, Jr., Joseph Calleja, Clark Gable, William Holden, Siobhán McKenna, Jim Brewer, Robert Tisch, Pierce Butler, Bob Smith, Edie Sedgwick,

and Tommy Flanagan.

No minor mishap, you.
Happy birthday, anyway.