“I can see clearly now, for, as you have so eloquently put it, ‘We do have gods for everything,’” said Yoki.
“Yes, and we have gods for YES, and CLARITY, too. And I like it, it teaches us to respect and be grateful for everything. Memphis mud, Nebraska sod, and Mannahattas wow: these name gods, spirits– spirits of the airie land. Spirits from erosion and drainage, distillery and brew. Spirits of YES and CLARITY. A yes and clarity in Memphis mud, Nebraska sod, and Mannahattas wow,” Jokie muttered, muddily.
Yoki paused thoughtfully and added, “But praying to the same god in different ways is good for business? Sure. Memphis mud is a beer, as dark as a Guinness. Nebraska sod– that’s whiskey, for the sod is a form of peat, and peat is important in whiskey, witness. Mannahattas wow– a mixed drink, or martini, the mixed drink known as a Mannhattan, not known for fitness.”
Yoki and Jokie serve up the above low key conversation while serving out their sentences, in Reading Gaol. Had they been wordsmiths, in other words lawyers, perhaps their sentences could have been reduced, avoided, as a taxi unhailed. Yet lots and lots of prisoners unnecessarily serve sentences because of wordsmiths who exhale. Sometimes a wordsmith got the book thrown at the accused, hitting the newly pressed prisoner smack dab on nose’s hook. Then the sentence is dizziness, for sentenced prisoners have spirits, along with regrets, which derail. Regret is a spirit. A God? A mixed drink? Squeezin’s?
Spam of Human Affection 
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