I was walking then-five-year-old Hugh home from school one rainy day. We were about halfway home when he turned to me and said triumphantly, "I've figured out how God can make it rain in lots of places at the same time." Oh, and how's that?, I asked. "He has lots and lots of penises," Hugh said, very matter-of fact, but very satisfied.
For ten years now, every time it rains, an unbidden, entirely unwanted image appears in my mind's eye: the God of Many Penises, pissing in great fountains.
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