This is how I envision my potential children

In The First Scep­tic, an age old argu­ment is re-enacted by a piece of fluff and some chub who sits at home knit­ting. Never have two finer minds met.

Really though, this is exactly what I’d be scared any future chil­dren of mine were like (don’t worry, I’m not preg­nant). The birth cer­ti­fic­ate would never be enough for them in case I’d forged it, and the DNA test would have been taken by a dis­hon­est doc­tor that I’d paid off. He might not even be a doc­tor; he could just be a dent­ist. Then they’d kill me in my sleep and steal my iden­tity because they never truly believed they had one of their own. Kids, eh?

But The First Scep­tic. It’s short and I think it rushes past like a strong wind, but that’s what you’re get­ting. An eas­ily digest­ible nug­get of words. It’s a shame I’m pub­lish­ing this at almost 10pm because really it’s break­fast read­ing. It’s what should be prin­ted across from the cross­word in a news­pa­per. I don’t have a cross­word or news­pa­per though, but I can get you some cer­eal if it helps.

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