You took your best shot. And that shot bounced off the golden walls of life like an air-soft pellet off a mountain. You fail. You are weak. You’ve injured me in the past, and what bad has it done? None. Jesus is doing the whole hand-on-your-forehead-while-you-flail-helplessly thing. And the “stop hitting yourself” thing. You are beyond funny; you are laughable. You live in fear of imminent death and destruction, and yet you cannot admit it. You are foolish, and of all living things most to be pitied. Because Christ did not rise for you.
The only salute you will ever get from me has one finger.