On the one you and on the other you.

Cancer is a real spoilsport. I thought it had impact on MY life, for the very simple reason that it had threatened MY life. But that was a thought by far too simple.

Obviously it had impact on other people’s lives even more so. But how is that?

Well, you people in my life.

On the one YOU, you seem to go on with my life as if nothing had happened.
You sit with me.
You talk to me.
You cook with me.
You eat with me.
You shop with me.
You smoke outside my kitchen.
You drink wine in my kitchen.
You go on trips with me.
You cycle with me.
You swim with me.
You text with me.
You celebrate your birthdays with me.
You go for a pee when I am in the bathroom, because this is what girls do.
You laugh with me.
You hang out with me.
You expect me to ensure that our relationship functions exactly the way it functioned before my illness.

Before, it seems, your life collapsed.

But on the other YOU, you expect me to be devastated.
You have lost your trust in my strenght.
You doubt my competences.
You place me in the centre of your attention.
You are wary of every single one of my utterances.
You watch me closely.
You blow up everything in my life to gigantic size.
You expect me to have changed.
You don’t believe my enjoyment of life.
You await my untimely death.
You hear my clock tick.

You want THIS to be over.

You are fed up with me.
You’ve had enough of YOUR ups and downs.
You want me to stop being in the centre of your attention.
You hate it when I have to go back to hospital.
You feel pissed off with my explicit need of you.

Your “What do you expect from me?” still burns and hurts.

I will not develop a depression for you to feel better.
I will not stop enjoying life, even though you think that’s strange.
I will not stop having an optimistic outlook on life although you consider this to be out of place.
I will not stop loving you because you are afraid to lose me and have begun to stop loving me for YOUR sake.

Yours, lovingly,
Maid Manu.

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Leave me alone.

Why I cannot let go.
I didn’t have a biological family. Simply didn’t have one. But I had friends who were like family. For decades. Now they are gone. In the darkest and in the best time of my life. How can I live without them?

People ask me if I still haven’t got over them. What can I say but “Not at all.”
I can hardly breathe.

There are days when I hate them so much that my head throbs. And there are days when my throat is tied up from the swallowed tears and the forced smile.

Nothing is as it was. Everything is as it was. I am devastated. Heart-broken. Completely lost.

Happy. Content. Comfortable.

I can never talk about my breasts, my scars without comments from others like: “But you’re alive.”

Why do people always have to say something? Is shutting up so difficult?
How can you know how I feel after 5 operations?

I cannot shave my armpits anymore, for two reasons. #1: The skin is too tight and in waves, so I would cut myself. #2: I get sick, feel like throwing up, when my husband tries to shave me, because of the damaged nerves.

I don’t want to wear bras anymore. Why should I? My left implant is like an apple glued to my ribs. It doesn’t need a bra. My right breast is virtually non-existent.

I look like Frankenstein’s monster. Parts of my back have been transferred to my breast, so now my breast looks like a quilt.

The scar on my back runs from my spine to my armpit.

I loved my back. It was beautiful. Strong, athletic, perfect. It’s maimed now. But hey, “you’re alive” should do the job.

I help others to feel good. I function. I am optimistic. I am positive. I live.

But if I utter the tiniest, weeniest bit of “I wish I had normal breasts and a whole back”, it’s the good old “be grateful” and “don’t whine/complain”.

I am THE incarnation of gratefulness. Gratefulness is my middle name. Even after five hours of surgery I didn’t whine, didn’t complain, but thanked every nurse and every doctor for every fucking needle they stuck in me, simply because they helped me.

I have nobody to talk to. My two friends that I shared everything with have left me.

I have to lie to my kids. I have to lie to my pupils. My load is so heavy, I’m bent.

On the inside I walk like a very old beast. I am no longer a proper woman.

The hormones I have to AND desperately want to take have put me through menopause. I am still young. My ovaries have shrunken, but hey, “You’re alive. Stop whining. Be grateful.”

Nope. I am alone.

So stop getting on my tits. I don´t have any anymore anyway.

Yours, lonely,

Maid Manu.

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Why Darwin is the more intelligent choice. And why Intelligent Design is dumb.

The theory of evolution, of natural selection is beautiful, comprehensive, coherent, and RIGHT. And I am not at all passionless about it. Monika, rock on!

It is ridiculously obscene and inanely insolent how people like the Intelligent Design (ID) fan Michael J. Behe attempt to challenge others by claiming things like:”Prove that a wing/a vertebrate eye/ the immune system is NOT irreducibly complex. NOW. If you can’t, there must be an intelligent designer! Ha!” There are at least four answers to that.

# One: Because not everybody can explain complex biological facts off-handedly, doesn’t mean that the latter don’t exist. Just as much as there are laws, ALTHOUGH I cannot quote from them, because I am not a lawyer. But I still have to accept the laws of my country. And still a decent person has the right to agree as much as they can with Darwin’s theory of natural selection even though they are not necessarily biologists.

# Two:  ID people/creationists make ME their creator, because if I cannot explain everything to them right now, THEIR god comes into existence. Hurrah!

# Three: Science goes on every day. Yes really! Nope, scientists have not found answers to all the phenomena there are. But then, we haven’t DISCOVERED all the phenomena there are. But hey, good thing is: scientists are incurably curious. Just because some phenomena haven’t been fully explained doesn’t mean there is no scientific explanation.

# Four: Why do these people think that they are right if I am not right.

Alright! Good. So then let us find a nice way of tricking THEM.This is sooo cool because it is sooo simple. Ahem, clearing my throat: I hereby challenge all creationists/ ID fans to come up, off-handedly, with a fully explained example of one of god’s mysteries PLUS a list of all scientific attempts at explanation they have been able to exclude. NOW!

… Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. Nope? Okay, then natural selection MUST be the one and only right answer. Oy! Stop whining. I love being a spoilsport. Stop getting on my tits.

But what does Darwin’s theory of evolution through natural selection mean? When you talked about it in school (IF you talked about it), did you understand it well? And did it put a big smile on your face because it is so beautiful and coherent? Well, if not, then my introduction to Darwin’s theory might be a good reason for a big, fat smile in a few minutes. Dig in. Enjoy!

Darwin’s theory of natural selection. An explanation for scientists and others. (I)

By the way, before I begin, let me tell you that the meaning of the term THEORY that we use in everyday life hasn’t much to do with the meaning of the scientific term. In every-day life it is often used pejoratively, which it most certainly is NOT in scientific contexts.

Let me give you an example. People often say things like “But that’s only theoretical. You have no idea if it works out if you put it to practice.” Strange, ey!?

In the world of science something has been put through a vast amount of tests before it has reached the status of theory. The theory of gravity is quite a good example, for most people can easily agree that they put it to the test successfully almost all of the time.

They agree so easily because they experience gravity somehow. But there is a problem there. Many people think that if they cannot see or touch or at least feel (experiencing gravity comes closest to feeling, especially if you stumble and fall on your face or if you drop a rock and smash your feet) something, it’s not there.

Which is a ridiculous misconception of our own senses. Is infrared radiation not there because I cannot see it? Well, certain snakes CAN. Is electricity non-existent because I don’t possess an electrical sense? But some fish do. Is the earth’s magnetic field a lie because I cannot detect it with my own senses? Lots of birds can.

Please, don’t mistake your own senses for the top of the senses pops. Yes, we human beings can smell, but there are large numbers of other creatures whose sense of smelling beats ours by far.

You want an example? Okay: 1. some sharks, whose sense of smell is plain massive: they can detect one “smellable” molecule in 10,000,000 (ten million) molecules of water. We can´t! 2. dogs, who can smell cancer cells.

3. And yes, we can hear, but could you hear a tsunami wave that is miles away like elephants can? Well, I couldn’t. But elephants neiter have a sixth sense, nor do they possess the long lost knowledge of the ancestors, they simple have an anatomically and physiologically  different hearing range.

And there are more examples, of course. And they are all of them NOT magic. For more look here:


Let us from now on use the term ‘scientific’ as an exclamation of happy, happy happiness in the face of scientific greatness, or whenever we come across anything as beautiful as the sense-abilities that are the products of the processes of evolution!

I promise that I will use ‘scientific’ frequently, at least once every day, from now on. Let’s practice our exclamation. SCIENTIFIC!!!!!!!

A good place might be a hospital, where you will most definitely come across patients whose lives have been saved thanks to modern medicine. Or whose broken bones can be seen on x-ray; or whose bacterial infection has been defeated by the use of penicillin. Shout “Wow, this is scientific!” Nudge others, make them shout it, too! Hug doctors, tell them what a good job they’re doing. Show your face on demonstrations that deal with the working conditions of doctors and nurses. We desperately need these people and we need them strong, well-paid, content, awake.

Write to the pharma industry and thank them for their research and their science. Did you know that the development of a new penicillin derivate costs between 500 million and 1 billion €?! No peanuts. But do you know how much you pay for them if you need them? Under ten bucks.

And you know why it is so fucking expensive to develop them? Because all those people involved in the process make damn sure that the new pills have been put through tons of tests, so that they really cure people. And do you know how much people like Behe do to heal others, to develop medication and treatments that work? That save lives?

I haven’t come across a single type of medication that can be used to cure cancer patients or to stop deseases like bacterial infections or that vaccinate millions of people developed on what´s written in the bible, or the muttered verse of the religious, or by god.

Okay. If Behe is so religious. Is he also a religious apologist? Mr Behe, why should I be interested in a god who very obviously doesn’t give a fuck about me? But scientists do. Doctors do. Whatever your answer is, it is definitely not prone to help you find an exit from the following dilemma.

If your god is almighty, it would be very easy for him to cure me, or rather to ensure that I wouldn’t become ill in the first place. As I became ill, this proves that he isn’t almighty, or, that on the other hand, your god doesn’t care about me, and then there would be no reason for me to care about him. And again. I have proven your god to be either an arsehole or completely irrelevant.

GOOOOAAAAAAL! Strike! I have scored.


The theory of evolution through natural selection (II)

By definition all life forms consist of cells. One is enough by the way, such as in bacteria.

Our bodies are made up of trillions of cells. Inside every single cell, each one of which is quite small, there is an even smaller structure called nucleus. And inside the nucleus there are genetic building blocks called DNA. Every day quite a few new cells have to be built because the old ones have been used up or damaged or done a good job but have grown old.

When new cells are made, they need a nucleus each. And in the nucleus they need the building blocks called DNA. New DNA is made by copying the DNA of another cell. As the DNA is bloody long, it is very probable that the copy contains slight changes, meaning that it is not an exact copy. A change in the genetic information is called mutation.

Mutations never have a direction, they happen accidentally, and it cannot be predicted in what part of a DNA molecule they may take place.

Mutations of the DNA of an egg cell or sperm cell cause changes in the individual that originates from them. Why is that so?

for two reasons.

# One: All the cells of the growing individual are made from the original sperm cell and egg cell after fertilisation. Thus, they all carry the same DNA.

# Two: The DNA is the blueprint for other molecules that are movable and can leave the nucleus. Their name is mRNA. The mRNA is translated into chains of amino acids that form proteins. These proteins either form small structures or larger structures throughout our bodies, or they form molecules called enzymes that help in biochemical and physiological processes inside and between cells.

A mutation of the DNA can lead to a more functional or a dysfunctional enzyme.

Or it can lead to more or less functional structures.

Some mutations are repaired by repair enzymes that constantly check the DNA for changes, but not all of the mutations become undone.

And this is the reason why evolution can take place at all. Because the slight changes that individuals carry in their anatomy or physiology or behaviour as a result of certain mutations may grant them an advantage in their given environment, so that, for example they can find the yummier food, date the hotter chicks and have plentier offspring.

And it is plain to see that only those who multiply will pass on their genes, whereas the less fuckable will die unfucked and just rot. To be continued …

For more fun and knowledge log on again next week when it`s time for “The weekly Minchin”.

Yours, evolutionary,

Maid Manu.

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Try walking in my shoes!

Like and share, add your own shoe pic to show awareness of my situation. Try and walk in my shoes for a bit. Thanks! Follow me on Facebook: Maid Manu, and on Twitter: @manumaid.

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BloodVlad. Or: Another day in paradise.

Days in hospital are multiple, so you´d better get used to these funny creatures, the assistant doctors. Don´t despair though, but have fun! Nicole, this is for you. Enjoy!

The other day, when I was in hospital to have surgery, a brand-new assistant doctor came to me. And he was obviously quite freaked out by the fact that I was a – woman. Which is interesting because this was the gynecological department of the hospital and he was training to become a – right, gynecologist.

And on top of that he seemed quite horrified by the fact that it was then his task to take some of my blood. And on the very top of this he realised that he would have to communicate in my language, as I didn’t speak his.

Which brings us back to basic requirements such as language classes for foreign doctors so that they know they will have to deal with women and their breasts and vaginas, respectively, if they sign a contract for training in a gynecological department. And not with the ballsacks of old men. Or customers in a clothes store. Or bread in a bakery.  Yippee!

Well, anyway, I felt sorry for him from the moment he opened the door to my room and realisation dawned upon him.

Probably, he was a baker from eastern Moldavia, and, in the first place he had come to Germany to learn more about the fantastic Vollkornbrot that is loved around the world, seemingly (what with all the German bakeries everywhere, even in the remotest parts of the remotest countries) but somehow ended up working in a hospital, being mistaken for an exchange assistant doctor.

Who knows? The young gentleman had obviously complied to his fate and was ready to take some of my blood. But then he freaked ME out!

Back to the door, and the young Moldavian baker entering my room with a tray and a syringe in his hand. He had obviously worked for 38+ hours, which became quite evident from the look of his eyes, which were blood-shot, and his face that was ashen.

He stared at me like one of the characters from a role game, where you can acquire qualities such as “zombie stare” in a zombie reaction table, lifted the tray with the syringe and said what sounded like “Vlad”.

I pissed my pants because I thought I was facing Vlad the Impaler Himself who had just made introductions and was then after me and my blood.

But fuck! I was tied to my bed by a drip and two redon bottles filled with bloody liquid. My second idea was to offer the bottles to him to satiate his blood-thirst.

He must have read my mind because he lifted his tray-hand again and breathed through gritted teeth “blood”. Ha, now he was talking straight. So there was Vlad, wanting my blood. But ho, not with me.

My mind was racing as I speedily calculated my odds. I could see more clearly now why doctors were able to work such long shifts! – They were all vampires.

But don’t these creatures of the dark all descend from Transsylvanian ancestry and not from Moldavia?! What the fuck, I thought, because that was not the time for geographical debate but rather a question of life and death. And it was him or me.

Okay then. I pondered my up until then rather non-violent stand in questions of social interaction, but happily enough my moral notions are rather flexible. So it was him then.

Thus I lifted my drip stand and hauled it towards his chest, where it hit home and pierced his heart. Thank the whatever for my javelin throwing lessons at school. Fare thee well, you oversized bat, arri-non-vederci.

Yours, bloodily,

Maid Manu.

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Why science rocks and informed cancer patients have it better.

I have come across an awful lot of people who give up when they HEAR the words cancer, chemo, radiation therapy. Who have horrible images in their minds that appal them completely. But who, at the same time, have no clue what cancer really is, what a chemo does, how radiation therapy works. I have talked to people who tell ME, that if THEY got cancer, they would reject treatment, go on one last trip and die in a dignified manner. WHAT??? I don´t even know what that means.

I have been molested by normal people and a doctor/charlatan, who think that mistle therapy would be a good idea for me to try out. On my objection to pseudo-treatments like “mistle therapy, submerged knitting, hand laying, etc.”, I was told shit like: “But, Manu, you cannot expect anything like clinical studies in questions of cancer treatment, because that would be unethical, wouldn’t it!?” And again, WHAT???

People constantly offer me faith and alternative medicine, thinking that on the one hand my life is completely pointless the way it is, and that on the other hand the amount of treatment that medicine offers is not enough.  Although I am still alive AND very healthy after surgery + chemo + radiation therapy + hormone therapy. After more than two years and a DOZEN trips to England, Italy, Greece and the USA (not just ONE last). So there. And I have received my treatment in a very dignified manner. But to die early because you decide against a treatment that people in other parts of the world would kill for is not dignified, it is plain stupid.

Education and knowledge are good solutions to a life in ignorance. I am a teacher, I can’t help but teach, explain, enlighten. That’s one of the reasons why I started a blog: I want to inform others, promote science, offer a good helping of optimism WITHOUT falling for promises of salvation. In my blog I attempt to explain in simple language what radiation therapy does, how chemo works and the like. I am a BIOLOGY teacher. I must mediate between the world of scientists and that of other people every day. I can speak both languages: science and every-day.

But of course my blog is also my way of dealing with my life since day X. My treatment has not been a walk in the park, or, to put it the German way: life’s not a pony farm. But I love every single second of every single minute of every single hour of every single day of my life. Because I still have one, thanks to science.

For your weekly sciency Minchly amusement I would suggest his best-known and award-winning beat poem Storm in which he argues with a shitty hippy who believes in alternative medicine and fires off silly platitudes like “a sniper using bollocks for amunition”.

Yours, scientifically,

Maid Manu.

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It is good to be an atheist!

As always I would suggest you to read “About” and “Checklist for The Cancer Club” before you read on. And please remember: I don´t have any religious feelings you could hurt!

A typical conversation between blasphemist and outspokenly atheist me and one of the people I sooo enjoy making mad and sad, namely those who “have faith or believe in god”.  As a preliminary let it be said that I have been quite often molested by religious people who know I have been atheist for decades and who think their chance of converting me to their faith has finally come, what with my cancer experience. If only they had known better…

Them: “Oh, you had cancer. Don’t be afraid. Have faith. God’s always there. You’re NEVER alone!”

Me: What a fucked-up idea. Even as a child I was ALWAYS freaked out but NEVER consoled by that thought. Good thing is. I don’t believe that paranoid crap. How fucked up can a parent be to threaten their child with the notion that an old hairy guy is watching them constantly, no matter what they do. No wonder that dyed-in-the-wool Catholics often suffer from psychoses and paranoia. Imagine a child on the toilet (“You’re not alone!”), or writing in its diary (“You’re not alone!”), or examining its genitals (You’re not alone!”), or picking its nose (“You’re not alone!”), or dreaming of its secret love (“You’re not alone!”). Being denied privacy altogether leads to heavy damages of personality and usually results in massive psychological problems.

Them: But God is good. He loves you. He loves everybody.

Me: Think, think, think, think, think. Wait a moment. Ah, yes, this is bullshit.

1.     I don’t know this guy. How dares he love me? I have no inclination whatsoever to be loved by him.

2.     What calculating crap. This “He loves everybody” thing is obviously a trick of his publicity department. The strategy is called over-generalisation and is used to sell as much shit to as many people as possible. Look at adverts for products like yoghurts that contain “special strands of bacteria”. These adverts suggest that your immune system is crap. That catching cold is -if not dangerous- at least a sign of a malfunction of your immune system. And they offer cure. Their product will put an end to the ailments that your imperfect body causes you. Billions of Euros are spent on products that people believe will prevent them from catching cold, or will help them overcome colds more quickly. But colds are NORMAL, they don’t kill you and you will always catch cold, over and over and over again, for as long as you live. And no matter what medicine you take: the cold will last between 7 days and a week.

3. And I have always felt molested by these scary “father-murders-his-own-son” stories of an old (and in my imagination bearded) patriarch with NO love at all for and a non-existent relationship with his son, the outcome of which is the murdering of that named son.

Them: But it wasn’t God who nailed his son to the cross, it was the Roman Governor/ Jewish community who condemned him.

Me: Why was I told this completely mind-fucking shit as a small child? It is damaging. I was completely appalled by the notion that people nailed other people to crosses. And I was scared shitless by the idea that a Jewish zombie returned from his tomb. Gosh, he must have been in such a mess, what with his bloody skimpy loincloth, no shoes, no jumper, nothing to hide his bloodstained face and his dishevelled hair. I imagined him to walk with wide open eyes and a mad stare on his dead face. I was wondering how far the rotting of his remains had proceeded when he decided to go for another walk.

Thank you very much, catholic teachers at primary school for your unasked for intrusion upon my up until that point rather innocent world view. Thank you indeed for implanting inextinguishable pictures of disgusting horrors in my head. Whoever is responsible for this, please ensure that the horror stories from the bible are labeled: suitable only for persons of 18 years or over.

Them: (Weeping, screaming, cursing) How dare you?! (blah-blah)

Me: Okay back to Jesus  and this god. Their connection is, well, hazy, or can I saynebulous??! Who did Maria have petting with? Had she missed out on the sex education lessons at school and had fallen for that stuff that you can only get pregnant if you have actual penetration sex? Well, as a biology teacher I must contradict this notion severely. If only she had listened to HER biology teacher better. Or her mother and father. Did Maria know HER father? Or can we find the reason for her inability to show responsibility for her actions (= sex!!!) in that relationship?

Them: (exasperated) But Maria conceived immaculately. She received the blessing of the holy ghost.

Me: Instead of condemning girls for having sex, which they clearly do, and driving them into some schezophrenic self-delusion, we need to appreciate them as human beings. How horrible Maria must have felt, how terribly alone and let down. I am sorry for her and for every other girl in history and even today, who is driven into an equivalent of Maria’s actions, just that today you may replace her weird choice of place for giving birth,  “the stable” by “a toilet”. What bigottry.

I bet the guy who impregnated her had a good story to tell. Where were all the good people then? But actually I don’t really give a fuck about Maria. I only give a fuck when I see how in the year 2014 in Germany girls are forced to wear their hair in long plaits, and how they are not allowed to wear trousers.

Some people argue that it is only hair and clothes, but don’t they stop and THINK before they speak? If girls are slaves in questions of haircut and clothes, how will they be treated if it comes to anything as important as say, sexuality? What if they don’t like cock but prefer pussy? What if they don’t want to get married at all? What if they want to go to University after school? What if they fall in love with someone outside their religious community? How can I shut up when I witness anything as medieval as that. These girls are denied basic human rights. Mr Ban Ki-moon, can you please send blue helmets to intervene!?

Them: (again AND stomping their feet, in a whining voice) But Maria conceived immaculately.

Me: You are repeating yourself. But okay. – Ah, yeah, that’s also what my friend said about herself when she became pregnant at 15. But later she told me that she had just fucked a bit. Of course I had no idea that her condition (pregnancy) had the least connection with sex but had naturally assumed that she had had a date with the holy ghost. Because that’s the far more convincing story.

Them: But you cannot say that. Don’t besmirch Maria’s innocence.

Me: Ohohoh, sooo sweet. Aren’t you an inconsistent little fucker!? And now you want to exchange opinions with me. But your premises are invalid for me.

1. YOU think that sex is dirty. I enjoy sex and hold it to be extremely natural and healthy. I’ve a question: Do you hate yourself if you feel anything like lust? And another one: do you have to punish yourself IF you experience an orgasm? And if yes: Would a whip be adequate or do I have to think more along the lines of thorny rods? Or would more sex be a suitable punishment as it is so dirty and bad.

Oh wow, what a complete nutter you are, if you think that Jesus didn’t need a Y-chromosome. Congrats, you have just proved to be too dumb to understand the world better than  the people 2000 years ago. Can you please pay the tax-payer the money back that your school education cost?!

2. you suggest that your world view and mine have anything in common. Your ignorance and studpidity have nothing in common with either my knowledge or my intelligence. I don’t actually want to converse with you because I am pretty sure that you won’t be able to intellectually digest any of my arguments.

3. what you say and do is wishful thinking. Your behaviour is that of a small child sitting with crossed fingers and crossed legs and eyes closed wishing soooo hard that please, please, please there be miracles.

4. you seem to think that I am interested in theological debate. With you. Sorry to disappoint you, but I am neiter interested in you, nor in theological debate, and as I don’t believe in your little god or in any other, there are no grounds for debate either. Plus, a debate is only possible with someone whose intellect equals mine and who has my respect, which brings me back to number 2. Full stop. Thank you for your attention.

Them: (Outry, outrage) How dare you insult me and my religion?! blah-blah

Me: I’ve had enough of that passive-aggressive bullshit. You know what, I really cross my fingers for you to be RIGHT about your stories about eternal punishment in hell. And that it is YOU who will end up there. God, this is such a reward for all my year-long patience in hours of intense bullshit from you.

Them: This is blasphemy!

Me: Oh, I am sooo sorry. Crying “blasphemy” is the standard excuse of the believers.

Blasphemy is the joker card of the religious, the equivalent of the “you-will-be-released-from-prison”-card of the monopoly players.

Them: (Blah-blah-blah!) God will help you back on the right path. (Blah-blah!) Never forget: you have to be greatful because god healed you.

Me: It is quite interesting to witness the weird reflex of many people who ascribe the power to an allknowing Superbeing to cure a woman of the breastcancer that this same Superbeing has equipped the woman with in the first place because it is also an allpowerful Superbeing. And it is even weirder to find these people turn against one if enthusiasm for their concept is rather – shall we say small. And my thanks go to S again (to understand this, please read “Haunted by music in the head 2: K and S” in the section “No regrets”)!

It has NOT been a pleasure.

YOURS, unfaithfully,

Maid Manu.

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